Guest post by John's sister-in-law

                                                                                                                                                                                    Sent originally on 21 October

Hi John,

I wanted to write with just a few of the many memories I have of time we’ve shared over the all-but forty years we’ve known each other.

I think you’d be sixteen when we first met – I came to One Acre between Christmas and the new year; ended up having to go to Giggleswick with you all, which was a baptism in fire when Auntie Marg yelled to the kids, ‘Come and meet Richard’s girlfriend!’ I didn’t even know I was! You were pretty quiet then, as far as I remember, but when you were a year or so older, I remember you once mooning at me in the little bedroom – why, John, why?! Your mum went mad when she somehow found out!

You were best man at our wedding, aged only eighteen which is pretty young for the role! I remember it was announced during our reception that you were going to study engineering at Cambridge.

Then I remember you emerging as this really cool and good-looking guy, once you’d grown quite a bit more, ditched the glasses, wore trendy gear! I have a really vivid memory of you coming to Scarborough on holiday with us, your parents and our boys. You were watching girls your age come and go along the prom and everyone time you saw one you fancied, would say, ‘Well hellooooo!’ in this mock smarmy voice!

And of course I recall the first time you brought Liz to meet us in Clifton. She was really good at playing Scalextric with the Tom and Ollie, and going in the hotseat for Mastermind too! You and Liz brought baby Amber there a few years later. I came across a photo of that recently. In between was your lovely wedding in the grounds of your lodge near Warwick. The other day, I found the beautiful order of service you and Liz made. Richard gave a silly best man speech involving sheep, your shared in-joke at the time (we still have a pink t-towel you bought us with black sheep all over it). I know you’ve been so very happy with Liz and that she’s everything you need in terms of supporting you, being with you, reassuring you.

I remember well Amber’s christening and you bringing Amber to Croissy, when Liz was pregnant with Charlotte. I think you went out on a date night to La Marais. We all went to walk Millie at Versailles – I have photos! All four of you came to the chalet in the Alps and I know that was a hard thing to do when the girls were still in nappies and it was so cold. You did really well and got the most out of it you could.

Remember that mad Zorbing we all did together too, probably twenty years ago now?

More recently – last year - I’m so glad you came and stayed with Amber and Will, went shooting at Phillip’s, enjoyed some time with Richard drinking red wine late into the night. It’s good you and he went on a bike ride a couple of years ago to some milk machine and HS2 works, though you had to keep stopping on the way back for Richard to keep pumping up a puncture. Meanwhile, Liz, Charlotte and I were filming a trailer for ‘Igloo’ in the middle of an August heat wave, with Charlotte in full ski gear! We’ve had some good times at your Leamington home playing board games and sharing some great food, usually cooked by Liz! We’ve had some happy family times too with your parents at Cawthorne, usually around Christmas.

You’ve always been a great brother-in-law to me, John. At Ollie and Nicole’s wedding, when I got upset about my mum just having died the week before, you comforted me. I’m so thankful you’ve had your own relationship with Tom and Ollie, nothing to do with us. Wasn’t there some drink-fuelled visit to Selwyn about fifteen years ago. I know Ollie and Tom think the world of you, as do Richard and I.

As well as being obviously a great colleague for all who worked  alongside you at Jag, most of all, you’ve been a brilliant dad to Amber and Charlotte. They’re great girls, so personable, savvy, mature, resilient. I can only imagine how it must feel to be leaving them at some point. But you’ve got them this far, seen them set up in their fab new homes and given them all they need to continue to be secure, make their own way as well as making you proud. Rich and I will always be here for them and Liz, if and when they want us.

There will be so many more times we’ve shared, John but there’s a few. The John I know has great humour and mischief, a bit of rebellion alongside great kindness, compassion and responsibility. Where does the frequent mocking of my Lancashire accent fit into that?!

Thank God you’ve always had the impulse to get all you can out of life, John – you’ve packed so much in. As the poet Andrew Marvell wrote:

 ‘…though we cannot make our sun

 Stand still, yet we will make him run.’

That’s exactly what you’ve done.

 We couldn’t be more sorry for the physical and mental suffering you’ve had to go through during this last year, John. You’ve been totally inspiring in your courage. We know too that you’ve had some positive, peaceful experiences, enjoying the changing scenes in your glorious glen, visiting some of the stunning scenes in your area and, most importantly, sharing some very special times with friends and family. Thank you for sharing your ‘corner’ with your dad, Richard and me back in February – we’ll always treasure it.

Love you, John.

Jenny xxx

And here is a beautiful sonnet Jenny wrote, inspried on their trip to the glen to see us in February 2024.

John’s view of Gleann Da Ruadh

A love song

His scene’s screened by a wispy mist so fine;

from the glen’s south end enters a keen wind

and the sun paints the rounded hill’s faint outline

until the whole silhouette is filled in.

Untainted by hand, tones are muted, winter:

pointing serene-green pines in scattered clans,

silver birch branches turned lavender,

yet flames of gorze flare around rust-dun bracken.

Closer, stone walls wear soft, mossy cushions;

lichened boughs sport dainty birds; a squirrel blends

balletic, into the bronze hedge; from Clacheranmor,

his eyes meander over his ever-changing glen.  

Not anyone’s, of course, no one’s but its own; yet

 ethereal Glendaruel is John’s dear home.