Farewell Hugh

A hundred or so gathered in Stratford this afternoon for Hugh Chatwin's funeral, the average age well below the usual upon such occasions. I knew hardly more than half a dozen of those present, but it was good to see those few very old friends again, and to celebrate Hugh together.

I have to admit to feeling distracted during the rather long service: the words "transport of delight" in the first hymn induced a frisson, reviving the memory of Hugh's car being squashed by a bus. And the lights were blazing throughout: given that the chapel was more than full of natural light on this hottest of days, that would no doubt have appealed to Hugh's sense of the ridiculous - being the good Green that he was.

Following discussions in my early days of blogging, apart from the family I generally try to avoid naming living people who are referred to in these posts - unless it's a public occasion I'm writing about. But, following receipt of the news of his sudden death, in mentioning Hugh's experience as a sailor, I included Rosalind Anderson's name - she being the third person on a not-to-be-forgotten holiday Hugh had organised many years ago; and glad I was that I had done so, as otherwise Ros wouldn't have heard about Hugh's death and been there at today's send off. "Who's the bikini girl?" asked a friend. "Let me introduce her," I was able to say!

Having lived within half a dozen miles of Stratford all my early life, I felt strange discovering for the first time the beautiful Guild Chapel and Shakespeare's adjoining school room - that's it in my photograph: how old are those formes?

Hugh Chatwin RIP

At the end of last year I mentioned a spell I'd had, living in Chelsea - part of a male foursome (sharing with women in those days was hardly thought of): it included Hugh Chatwin. I'd known him since childhood, our parents being friends.

The photograph on the left was taken in July 1971, when Hugh invited Rosalind Anderson and me for a fortnight's sailing in his Atalanta, "Rakia" along the beautiful coast of South Brittany.

We didn't see a lot of each other after the flat arrangement came to an end, indeed the last time I saw him was in July 2004 (see the other photograph). I never knew, therefore, that Hugh had been a member of the Green Party, standing for election in his home town, Stratford a couple of years ago (as I did many years before in the Cotswolds). Likewise (as I have) he had been involved with Transition in his beloved home community.

What a pity! As the news has just reached me of Hugh's sudden death last week, following heart surgery. He was a man with eyes wide full of life, and with the most infectious laugh I knew. A great story-teller too.

It was a wonder Hugh never seemed to settle down with any one person: he would surely have been a magical father and grandfather. I suppose he must have suffered more than anyone realised from the very serious traffic accident in which he was involved 30 or more years ago: afterwards, he seemed to have become an exaggerated version of himself. But also, surely, he suffered from being the younger brother of so famous a man as Bruce.

Hugh’s funeral service will take place in the Stratford-upon-Avon Guild Chapel (on the corner of Church Street and Chapel Lane) on Tuesday 24th July at 2 p.m.

Randomness

Our friend's Edmund de Waal pots can be rearranged ad lib., which gives him (and others) enormous pleasure. We had a jolly lunch there yesterday. Equally random seems the ability of certain streets to attract wealthy people to live in them.

Back in the mid- to late-Sixties, I shared a flat with Mark Fuller, Geoffrey Tilleard and Hugh Chatwin in Chelsea. It was on the first and second floors of no. 13 Bramerton Street, which runs South off the King's Road, not far down from Sydney Street. Then, with its gay nightclub in the adjoining basement, it really wasn't all that smart a place to live: I guess my rent might have been £6 a week. Now I read in the paper that Bramerton Street is in the top 10 list of dearest addresses in Britain.