Post #63
December 7, 2022
Claire Bodanis
In memoriam Roger Windsor MBE (26 August 1939-22 November 2022).
With a gargantuan effort, he pulled himself up to a sitting position, swung his legs off the bed and placed them firmly on the floor, leaning his hands on his knees. It was my cue to move from the armchair by the window. As I sat down next to him, he turned towards me and opened his eyes. ‘Wotcha,’ he said, eventually. ‘Hello,’ I replied, with barely disguised relief. I leant against his broad shoulder and we sat there peacefully for a few minutes. ‘You’ve been a good daughter,’ he said. ‘And you’ve been a good dad,’ I replied. Then, after a pause: ‘And a very good grandpa.’ He smiled and moved to lie down again, and I settled the bedclothes comfortably over his feet.
----------------------------------
Dear Dad,
You’ll be pleased to know that arrangements for your send-off are progressing excellently, with the celebratory tone echoing loud and clear – Julius had a lovely time choosing the most exuberant items from your waistcoat and bow tie collection, to wear in your honour. Although I hope you’ll forgive a few small deviations from your instructions, this blog being one. We decided that Richard and Guy should give the eulogy without me, but with the addition of Rebecca representing the grandchildren. You see, the Rector has asked me to sing the Nunc Dimittis for you, as well as the piece you asked for, and it might have become a bit of a ‘Claire show’ if I’d joined the boys in the eulogy too. But I hope you feel I’m honouring the spirit of your request by responding in this form instead.
I have a feeling that, had you been giving your own eulogy, it would have gone something like this: born in London just before the outbreak of the war (with many asides on the family); evacuation (cue beginning of veterinary interest and lots of deviation about distant cousins); school (yes, the Old Bancroftians are all coming!); Edinburgh University (meeting Mum, although she still doesn’t agree where/when); every single posting of your long and distinguished veterinary career across 42 countries (many, many details of diagnostic samples); and post-retirement activities from gallery-owning, to amateur dramatics, to saving Moat Brae, the Birthplace of Peter Pan, for the nation.
And not one detail would be spared. Not even the random visitor who turned up to the lunch party for the opening of the new wing of Labvetsur in Arequipa in the summer of 1988, and who turned out to be that delightful chap you met by chance in an airport lounge en route to a veterinary conference in Khartoum in 1979. Or whatever. But you get my point. The thing is, sometimes the main point of the story – the real highlights – get lost if you overwhelm them with too much detail. (I should warn you, Guy’s not just going to publish your last volume of memoirs, he’s going to edit them nice and thoroughly first. Please don’t get God to send down a thunderbolt; believe me, they’ll be even better for it!)
But you know what? Your obsession with every detail, despite being something of a drawback on occasion, leads me to the first thing I – and Falcon Windsor – want to thank you for. Because behind it lay your profound belief that everyone has their merits, everyone is worth listening to and remembering, everyone has some good in them and it is up to us to find it. It also reflects something I certainly inherited from you – the ‘party’ gene. Life is a sociable thing, to be shared with other people; and what better way to honour that than to throw a party.
So thank you, Dad, for the truly brilliant parties you created for us when we were kids, and for inspiring me to do the same not just for the family, but for FW too.
You weren’t naïve about people, however. Even though you always gave everyone a chance, you knew that some people were in it only for themselves, including, from time to time, your own bosses. And this leads me to the second thing I – and Falcon Windsor – want to thank you for. Do you remember, when you had your aneurism in 2011, I sent you a letter which I’d written during a Dark Angels writing session? In it I said something along the lines of how I really hoped you wouldn’t die because without your example I’d find it difficult to hold onto the belief that we can change the world by doing the right thing.
I spoke to your old actor friend, Frank Barrie, on the phone the day before you died, and he said, ‘The world will be a poorer place without your father in it.’ And that’s been echoed by so many people in the last few weeks. A member of Cumbria’s farming community, for example, wrote: ‘I shall never forget seeing your dad on television at the beginning of the foot and mouth epidemic in 2001. He was so brave, standing up to the awful politicians, which hardly anyone was prepared to do.’ The thing is, you never spoke out meanly, or attacked people personally – and even if you weren’t always right, you only ever spoke out to right a perceived wrong, in service of the greater good. And you always apologised if you made a mistake.
So thank you, Dad, for the truly brilliant example you set of standing up for what’s right whatever the cost to yourself, for being brave enough to apologise when you were in the wrong, and for inspiring me to do the same. Although of course I don’t have any bosses to annoy, so it is rather easier…
There are many other things I could thank you for – not least for being such a wonderful role model for Julius – but there’s one in particular that is especially relevant to Falcon Windsor, and which relates to that code of yours of speaking out in service of the greater good. And that’s your ‘fruity letters’. Over the years, Richard, Guy and I learnt (I hope!) to appreciate as well as dread those letters; because, once the immediate self-righteous indignation of wounded pride had worn off, we realised that you invariably had a point and that you were only highlighting our misdemeanours for our own benefit.
I well remember that awful weekend in the autumn of 2019, when FW – and I – were on the point of floundering, FW having grown beyond my ability to manage it and all its projects. You and Mum came to visit, and I spent the whole weekend stressed beyond measure with work, such that I could neither enjoy the time with you, nor be anything other than snappy and irritable with absolutely everyone. The fruity letter that arrived the following week was tough to read, conveying as it did your fear that I was jeopardising my relationships with Julius and David in the service of work, and the need to find a better balance. However, framed by the expressions of pride for what I’d achieved, and recognition of the pressures of paying the mortgage and so on, I was able to take on board its message. It was a great relief, actually, to have things pointed out so starkly – since it gave me the kick I needed to do something about it. And, because you’d alerted me early enough, that something didn’t mean sacrificing FW; in fact quite the opposite. It resulted in Neil joining as MD a couple of months later – in the nick of time, as it turned out; since, as Mark (Noad) so succinctly put it: ‘FW just wasn’t fun any more.’
So thank you, Dad, from me and from all of us at Falcon Windsor. Thank you for speaking out when it mattered most, for reminding me what life’s all about, and thus for making FW fun again. All the success we’ve had since then stems from that truly brilliant intervention.
To quote Frank, the world does indeed seem a poorer place without you in it. However, I know that if I were to let that be your legacy, instead of throwing parties, speaking the truth and standing up for what is right, I would not only be dishonouring your memory, but I’d be earning a whole postbag full of (heavenly) fruity letters…
Love,
Claire
----------------------------------
Roger Stanley Windsor MBE – Dad – died after a short illness, at the age of 83, peacefully in his sleep at home, on 22 November 2022. If anyone would like to pay tribute to Dad, please make a donation to Moat Brae, the Birthplace of Peter Pan, and National Centre for Children’s Literature and Storytelling. As its Patron, Joanna Lumley, said on hearing of Dad’s death: ‘He was an extraordinary and one-off character, wise and charming, and brave and funny and very, very clever. Bless his dear, giant heart: Moat Brae owes its existence to him.’ You can donate here: www.moatbrae.org/support-us.