When, a couple of weeks ago, I received an e-mail from John’s son, Roy, letting me know that John had suddenly passed away (he had a cardiac arrest whilst in hospital suffering from a chest infection) to say that I was shocked and unprepared was a gross understatement. Only that day I had been reading John’s latest blog on humour posted only a day or so previously (http://raycharlesblues.blogspot.co.uk/). Once the initial shock had died down my immediate thought was of what a fine thread we all hang by and how easily this can be broken.
John’s cremation at our local cemetery, Wilford Hill, was a sincere, quiet, dignified, understated and yet joyous reflection and celebration of his life. I felt privileged to be there amongst the thirty or forty family, friends and work colleagues. We heard about John from his two sons - Chris and Roy - both making quietly moving and dignified personal tributes to their dad. I’m sure that if John was watching us as we sat in the Chapel and listened he must have been immensely proud of his sons and the words they spoke. And as these two young men spoke it brought home to me how little we know of each other and how so many people – John Evans especially – have much to be proud of and which they hide from public view.
We live in an age of “transparency” where the private lives of the celebrities fills our media and newspapers. We hear of the good works and the grand ambitions of the great and the good but forget that across the world ordinary people are quietly getting on with it and making a real difference to those around them. Only this week we have heard of the terrible slaughter of the aid worker- Khalil Dale - in Pakistan – a man few of us have heard of until this week - but who has given much of his life to quietly helping others in far off places. And at a more local level we all know neighbours, friends and work colleagues who, in their way, quietly get on with making the world a better place – all unrecognised and unacknowledged and most probably unrewarded. In a society increasingly dependent upon the balance sheet and the accountants unrelenting eye, where everything has a cost, people like these are perhaps a beacon of hope for society.
And so with John – who spent much of his life in occupations helping others. Up to his retirement he worked for a charity (“The Seaview Project”) on the south coast of England – its primary function being the provision of housing support health programmes to those in need. The project, however, is particularly aimed those who feel that they are living on the edge of society, and are often struggling with life. Earlier in his life, his sons told us, he worked in Northern Ireland during the sectarian troubles that blighted that part of these islands for much of the second half of the twentieth century. John worked for a charity which crossed sectarian divides and he regularly crossed the “battle lines” in order to bring aid to the vulnerable whatever their religion or political affiliation. And finally, in his personal life, too, John cared – if you read his blogs of a few months ago where he recorded caring for his terminally ill sister you would be hard pressed indeed not to empathise or perhaps, even, shed a tear at this words.
If you read a selection of John’s blogs you will find these common themes of helping, social justice and caring running through many of them. He never boasted about his work nor indeed ranted about the unfairness of society (as I am prone to do!) – he simply and quietly stated his case in a caring and authoritative way. We all smiled in the Service when his son Chris reminded us that John was thrilled to come and live in Nottingham on his retirement – because Nottingham is the fabled home of John’s hero Robin Hood – the great fighter against oppression and unfairness. I felt very guilty as I sat in the Chapel and for some inexplicable reason pictured John in Lincoln green, feather in his cap, sporting a bow and arrow and wearing Errol Flynn type tights! I’m sure that if John was looking into my mind at that point he will forgive me! He never boasted about his life or his work – as we were told, two words characterised the man – humble and humanitarian. Exactly right – no grand gestures or pontificating just quietly getting on with the job. And the job was caring and “living” a life reflecting his social conscience .
But, of course, John had another side – and again not things he boasted of. I learned that despite his quiet demeanour he could speak at length to a large audience and hold them engaged. He was no mean singer – as one would expect from a proud Welshman. He was in his youth a better than average football player and as he grew to adulthood developed a lasting love of Jazz music. We all grinned when we learned from his son Roy of John’s little secrets and luxuries – he could easily have developed (perhaps even did have!) an addiction for ice cream – and, his son told us during the last couple of years he had discovered blogging – which is where, of course, I met him!
And it was through blogging that I discovered something else about John. I came across John’s blogs almost by accident and it was an even bigger surprise when I discovered that he lived just a mile or so from where I live. I discovered John when I was doing a Google search about Nottingham and found that John Evans was worth reading. He could write widely, sensitively and knowledgeably on almost any subject. He was meticulous in his research and attention to detail and at the same time presented it in a readable, interesting and enjoyable way. Although social justice and humanity were common themes, John could write (and did) on anything – topical matters, personal interests and observations, people and events, local and national history – and he wrote it all with equal flair and sensitivity. His social conscience and championing of those less fortunate shone through, but so did his inquiring mind. I was fascinated by his researches into his new home, Nottingham. I have lived here for almost half a century but within weeks of reading John I was discovering things about the local area and the people that I knew nothing of. And I also loved the little comments that, as someone about the same age as John, I could relate to – he had a favourite bench in Nottingham that he enjoyed sitting on while he watched the world go by (whilst probably enjoying an ice cream as he did so!) – and (and I could relate to this) he got grumpy if he discovered someone else sitting on his bench! Just like I would! Yes, John Evans was human – and that came through in all he wrote.
John’s cremation at our local cemetery, Wilford Hill, was a sincere, quiet, dignified, understated and yet joyous reflection and celebration of his life. I felt privileged to be there amongst the thirty or forty family, friends and work colleagues. We heard about John from his two sons - Chris and Roy - both making quietly moving and dignified personal tributes to their dad. I’m sure that if John was watching us as we sat in the Chapel and listened he must have been immensely proud of his sons and the words they spoke. And as these two young men spoke it brought home to me how little we know of each other and how so many people – John Evans especially – have much to be proud of and which they hide from public view.
We live in an age of “transparency” where the private lives of the celebrities fills our media and newspapers. We hear of the good works and the grand ambitions of the great and the good but forget that across the world ordinary people are quietly getting on with it and making a real difference to those around them. Only this week we have heard of the terrible slaughter of the aid worker- Khalil Dale - in Pakistan – a man few of us have heard of until this week - but who has given much of his life to quietly helping others in far off places. And at a more local level we all know neighbours, friends and work colleagues who, in their way, quietly get on with making the world a better place – all unrecognised and unacknowledged and most probably unrewarded. In a society increasingly dependent upon the balance sheet and the accountants unrelenting eye, where everything has a cost, people like these are perhaps a beacon of hope for society.
And so with John – who spent much of his life in occupations helping others. Up to his retirement he worked for a charity (“The Seaview Project”) on the south coast of England – its primary function being the provision of housing support health programmes to those in need. The project, however, is particularly aimed those who feel that they are living on the edge of society, and are often struggling with life. Earlier in his life, his sons told us, he worked in Northern Ireland during the sectarian troubles that blighted that part of these islands for much of the second half of the twentieth century. John worked for a charity which crossed sectarian divides and he regularly crossed the “battle lines” in order to bring aid to the vulnerable whatever their religion or political affiliation. And finally, in his personal life, too, John cared – if you read his blogs of a few months ago where he recorded caring for his terminally ill sister you would be hard pressed indeed not to empathise or perhaps, even, shed a tear at this words.
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| The Order of Service |
If you read a selection of John’s blogs you will find these common themes of helping, social justice and caring running through many of them. He never boasted about his work nor indeed ranted about the unfairness of society (as I am prone to do!) – he simply and quietly stated his case in a caring and authoritative way. We all smiled in the Service when his son Chris reminded us that John was thrilled to come and live in Nottingham on his retirement – because Nottingham is the fabled home of John’s hero Robin Hood – the great fighter against oppression and unfairness. I felt very guilty as I sat in the Chapel and for some inexplicable reason pictured John in Lincoln green, feather in his cap, sporting a bow and arrow and wearing Errol Flynn type tights! I’m sure that if John was looking into my mind at that point he will forgive me! He never boasted about his life or his work – as we were told, two words characterised the man – humble and humanitarian. Exactly right – no grand gestures or pontificating just quietly getting on with the job. And the job was caring and “living” a life reflecting his social conscience .
But, of course, John had another side – and again not things he boasted of. I learned that despite his quiet demeanour he could speak at length to a large audience and hold them engaged. He was no mean singer – as one would expect from a proud Welshman. He was in his youth a better than average football player and as he grew to adulthood developed a lasting love of Jazz music. We all grinned when we learned from his son Roy of John’s little secrets and luxuries – he could easily have developed (perhaps even did have!) an addiction for ice cream – and, his son told us during the last couple of years he had discovered blogging – which is where, of course, I met him!
And it was through blogging that I discovered something else about John. I came across John’s blogs almost by accident and it was an even bigger surprise when I discovered that he lived just a mile or so from where I live. I discovered John when I was doing a Google search about Nottingham and found that John Evans was worth reading. He could write widely, sensitively and knowledgeably on almost any subject. He was meticulous in his research and attention to detail and at the same time presented it in a readable, interesting and enjoyable way. Although social justice and humanity were common themes, John could write (and did) on anything – topical matters, personal interests and observations, people and events, local and national history – and he wrote it all with equal flair and sensitivity. His social conscience and championing of those less fortunate shone through, but so did his inquiring mind. I was fascinated by his researches into his new home, Nottingham. I have lived here for almost half a century but within weeks of reading John I was discovering things about the local area and the people that I knew nothing of. And I also loved the little comments that, as someone about the same age as John, I could relate to – he had a favourite bench in Nottingham that he enjoyed sitting on while he watched the world go by (whilst probably enjoying an ice cream as he did so!) – and (and I could relate to this) he got grumpy if he discovered someone else sitting on his bench! Just like I would! Yes, John Evans was human – and that came through in all he wrote.
And finally. John and I despite meeting only once had another love – again one I didn’t know about until his funeral. One of his favourite books was the wonderful Welsh classic by Dylan Thomas’ “Under Milk Wood” and we heard the opening lines of that wonderful play. And as I sat there listening I was taken back to my years in the classroom – this exact extract was one I used over and over again. As the words were repeated in the Chapel I found myself quietly mouthing them while Chris, John’s son, read – I knew them so well.......
“It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black. The cobble streets silent and the hunched, courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisibly down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishing boat bobbing sea.
The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine to-night in the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.
“It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black. The cobble streets silent and the hunched, courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisibly down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishing boat bobbing sea.
The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine to-night in the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.
Hush, the babies are sleeping, the farmers, the fishers, the tradesmen and pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher, postman and publican, the undertaker and the fancy woman, drunkard, dressmaker, preacher, policeman, the webfoot cocklewomen and the tidy wives.
Young girls lie bedded soft or glide in their dreams, with rings and trousseaux, bridesmaided by glow-worms down the aisles of the organ playing wood.
The boys are dreaming wicked thoughts or of the bucking ranches of the night and the jollyrodgered sea.
And the anthracite statues of the horses sleep in the fields, and the cows in the byres, and the dogs in the wetnosed yards; and the cats nap in the slant corners or lope sly, streaking and needling, on the one cloud of the roofs.
Young girls lie bedded soft or glide in their dreams, with rings and trousseaux, bridesmaided by glow-worms down the aisles of the organ playing wood.
The boys are dreaming wicked thoughts or of the bucking ranches of the night and the jollyrodgered sea.
And the anthracite statues of the horses sleep in the fields, and the cows in the byres, and the dogs in the wetnosed yards; and the cats nap in the slant corners or lope sly, streaking and needling, on the one cloud of the roofs.
Only you can hear the dew falling and the hushed town breathing. Only your eyes are unclosed to see the black and folded town, fast and slow asleep........”
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| John with his beloved ice cream |
As I listened to those words I felt a small link with John. I will miss his blogs and the occasional comment he sent to me through cyberspace. He was, in the best sense of the word, a gentleman – with the emphasis on gentle. He was not, I think, one of the world’s loud noises. He wrote, like Dylan Thomas, about the ordinary and the everyday and he did it with an attention to detail, a lightness of touch - to use Thomas' words "like dew falling" - and this combined with a humanitarian eye and a concern for others. A year or two ago we were all being told by the great and good of our government that the “Big Society” was the thing. It all seems to be slipping into history now as another political sound bite bites the dust. But from what I know John Evans was a walking, talking example of the best of a society at work – a humble, hard working humanitarian who, through his everyday life and work, made quiet, perhaps often unrecognised, contributions - like dew falling - and they made the world a better place.
I will miss him.
Hi Tony,
ReplyDeleteMany thanks for posting this wonderful tribute to my father. I was so pleased you were able to attend the funeral, apologies for not catching you but there were so many people I needed to speak to. I know dad was 'chuffed to bits' (his phrase) to discover both blogging and someone like yourself through it. I always felt when dad joked about his 'reader' he was referring to you. Thank you again for such kind and thoughtful words about a man we will all miss.
Chris