When I was growing up in Rugby, I had the extremely good fortune of having Nick Tyndall as my nextdoor neighbour. He was married to Elizabeth, who at some point or other became my godmother, and they had four children who used to play with me/beat me up/appear extremely grown up/ignore me (depending on which one). Nick died last week after a battle with cancer and I went to his funeral today. The Guardian has an obituary that highlights some of Nick's life achievements, but when I read it I was struck by how dry it comes across.
Nick was a fantastic person to be around. He had a tremendous (silly) sense of humour and loved people, especially children. One of my earliest memories of him was when he hid behind a window that connected our back garden with the pantry in his house. My family was sitting outside having lunch in the summer sun; the first we knew about Nick's being there was when he started squirting us with a water pistol!
I remember Nick leading midnight walks (he liked walking in the dark, so we didn't use torches) and organising barn dances (at one of which I got stone drunk with the son of Rugby's then rector... we were eight!). I remember the warm atmosphere that Liz and Nick managed to maintain in their house in Rugby - full of laughter and happiness.
I recall that it was Nick who correctly observed that my sister, Caty, has an unusual talent for dealing with people who are suffering, an observation that led to her becoming a Macmillan nurse.
Most recently and more personally, Nick listened to me when I was at a low point and gave me advice and encouragement that enabled me to bounce back.
Both Nick and Liz have always found time for those around them and they are loved by everyone whose lives they have touched. It was no surprise that the church in Faringdon was filled to capacity with mourners today.
Goodbye Nick. I will miss you.
Posted by dompannell at April 24, 2006 10:03 PM | TrackBack