Paul Hobday
22-10 2020 20:09
wrote:
I can’t remember life without Mick because there wasn’t any. He is in my earliest memories.
I regard myself as being very lucky to be born into a ready made large family. Three older brothers — in their different ways — inevitably were to be role models.
At Woodford I remember Mick fighting (yes, physically) with another brother (who shall remain nameless) in support of Pete and I because we wanted to watch a cartoon on one channel, and this clashed with the other’s wishes. We were no more than 6 and 4 and the two boxers were just teenagers. The first sign of sticking up for others.There were only two black and white TV channels then of course.
Blindley Heath lit up when the older brothers visited. Mick and Pat seemed to visit most weekends (although obviously it wasn’t as frequent as it seemed). There was then a party atmosphere. Beatles music dominated from 1963, and we gathered around the TV for “Not only… but also”, Dr Who, and The Frost Report. We played a lot of games and Mick seemed to always win, but he never gloated.We went on walks and outings like the trips to Tilburstow and Outwood caught on Dad’s cine film. Some might have been irritated at two young brothers always tagging along, but not Mick. Even a shopping trip to Crawley seemed exciting.
Mick took me to my first Proms, aged 11. 25th July 1967. Mahler’s 2nd symphony, conducted by—guess who ? — Bernard Haitink. He bought me my first LP—Smetana The Moldau. I remember sitting in the lounge at Blindley Heath with him listening to the whole of the White Album, with Tricia giggling to Piggies.
At University when I didn’t have a clue about how to write a sociology essay, he wrote it for me. He introduced me to the thoughts of Tony Benn, and showed me it’s good and principled to stand up for what you believe in, even when attacked by those blinkered within the “Overton window”
Those holidays in Berlin, Madrid, Hamburg, Krakow, Lille, Munich and Sri Lanka — great memories, especially of Mick with a huge two (four?) litre glass of beer that he could hardly lift. Then staggering around art galleries : Mick told me where to find the highlights just to keep me happy. Always thinking of others.A memorable rail trip around Germany.The last was Paris and the opera / ballet at the Palais Garnier.
I wished he’d had been fit enough to join Dave and I in Africa, and that we could have used those ballet tickets this year. But no other regrets.
It’s hard and painful that those days are over.
If only there were more like Mick the world would undoubtedly be a better place.
I echo the descriptions of his character others have beautifully described.
I'm glad one of the last things he really enjoyed was the programme about Bernard Haitink.
So for the first time in 64 years and 87 days life is without him.
A massive hole is left.
Paul Hobday
22-10 2020 20:09
wrote:
I can’t remember life without Mick because there wasn’t any. He is in my earliest memories.
I regard myself as being very lucky to be born into a ready made large family. Three older brothers — in their different ways — inevitably were to be role models.
At Woodford I remember Mick fighting (yes, physically) with another brother (who shall remain nameless) in support of Pete and I because we wanted to watch a cartoon on one channel, and this clashed with the other’s wishes. We were no more than 6 and 4 and the two boxers were just teenagers. The first sign of sticking up for others.There were only two black and white TV channels then of course.
Blindley Heath lit up when the older brothers visited. Mick and Pat seemed to visit most weekends (although obviously it wasn’t as frequent as it seemed). There was then a party atmosphere. Beatles music dominated from 1963, and we gathered around the TV for “Not only… but also”, Dr Who, and The Frost Report. We played a lot of games and Mick seemed to always win, but he never gloated.We went on walks and outings like the trips to Tilburstow and Outwood caught on Dad’s cine film. Some might have been irritated at two young brothers always tagging along, but not Mick. Even a shopping trip to Crawley seemed exciting.
Mick took me to my first Proms, aged 11. 25th July 1967. Mahler’s 2nd symphony, conducted by—guess who ? — Bernard Haitink. He bought me my first LP—Smetana The Moldau. I remember sitting in the lounge at Blindley Heath with him listening to the whole of the White Album, with Tricia giggling to Piggies.
At University when I didn’t have a clue about how to write a sociology essay, he wrote it for me. He introduced me to the thoughts of Tony Benn, and showed me it’s good and principled to stand up for what you believe in, even when attacked by those blinkered within the “Overton window”
Those holidays in Berlin, Madrid, Hamburg, Krakow, Lille, Munich and Sri Lanka — great memories, especially of Mick with a huge two (four?) litre glass of beer that he could hardly lift. Then staggering around art galleries : Mick told me where to find the highlights just to keep me happy. Always thinking of others.A memorable rail trip around Germany.The last was Paris and the opera / ballet at the Palais Garnier.
I wished he’d had been fit enough to join Dave and I in Africa, and that we could have used those ballet tickets this year. But no other regrets.
It’s hard and painful that those days are over.
If only there were more like Mick the world would undoubtedly be a better place.
I echo the descriptions of his character others have beautifully described.
I'm glad one of the last things he really enjoyed was the programme about Bernard Haitink.
So for the first time in 64 years and 87 days life is without him.
A massive hole is left.
