In Memoriam of Mr Bob

‘From quiet names and first beginnings, out to the undiscovered ends, there’s nothing worth the wear of winning but laughter and the love of friends’[1].

My friend is dead. Though in truth he was a brother to me. Bob was killed fell running in the Lake District, last August, at night and in cloud he slipped and fell. A sudden and shocking end to a life.

I knew Bob for 25 years. Firstly, as colleagues as we served in the same Mountain troop. My first memories of him are of his quiet professionalism and sage advice.

When we had left the military and I had set up Metris, Bob was there working with me with our first clients. Always anticipating, always prepared and everything set just so. His penchant, bordering on mania for neatness could be infuriating – no point turning up at the crag to climb in a rush, Bob will have to lay everything out in neat lines and hang things up before we can begin. You knew where you stood and where things would be. Likely inside a box or a pouch, inside another box lined up neatly next to some other boxes.

As a leader, I came to think of him and admire him as rather exceptional. His genius was to be able to impose a set of incredibly high standards and exact compliance even from the typically awkward and recalcitrant – the Regiment after all is not short of characters with a slightly poor attitude to authority. Always with humour, a little nudging here and there and most of all with a deep and genuine care, every man was truly seen, appreciated and cared for. The skill of that humour and his care for people could be easily overlooked but he certainly ran one of the happiest and tightest troops. He found new purpose after the military in helping people, mostly in the hills and in the mountains, where his business flourished because he put the needs of his clients above everything and went mile after extra mile. No doubt why so many of them came back time after time and became friends more than just clients. His neighbours would attest to the same selflessness.

Life is really only understood in the context of death. Only the end, its finality and uncertainty can bring us to a full appreciation of what we have and stand to lose. Death is a challenge not to waste life. Bob’s life was full up and lived to the full. He won’t suffer the indignities of age, of fading years and waning strength. His was a noble death song, full throated and strong in the midst of a thing he loved. It is the hardest thing to have to let him go.

Pericles said; ‘What you leave behind you is not what is engraved in stone monuments but what is woven into the lives of others’. Bob’s death leaves a huge scar in my life, and in the lives of many others too, most of all his beloved wife. But how true that he is woven into my life. For all those days and experiences, I am left with a deep abiding gratitude that will come to outweigh my selfish grief.  His voice will always be there, in my head, with wisdom, sound counsel and some endearing term of abuse.  God speed cat fanny.

[1] Adapted from Hilaire Belloc