My first memory of David, from 1992, is of overhearing him boldly pronounce, ‘It depends upon what you mean by chair’.
How could I ever relate to such a great philosophical mind, I thought. I was at once both alarmed and in awe.
All his writings, TV appearances and the like show him as a man of great intellect. But never did he boast of the scholarship he won to Christchurch, Oxford or his degree in mathematics.
He once told me he might have gained a higher classification had he been to more lectures. He went instead, he said, to the more interesting ones on philosophy and theology! I have memories of our many stimulating conversations, conducted at my level, to which he graciously descended.
In Trustees’ meetings, to which he contributed much wisdom, he could also demonstrate a mischievous streak. Occasionally he would stridently advocate a view diametrically opposed to the feeling of the meeting, prompting long drawn-out discussion, during which passions ran high. Eventually, on losing his case, he would declare, ‘Oh well, it wasn’t that important anyway!’ The rest of us, worn down by a pointless diversion, would look to the skies, while he would chuckle to himself.
Some issues did seriously concern him, such as our taking on Trust Status (which he regarded as dishonest) and the National Lottery (which he regarded as a tax on the poor). I think he never changed his views on either.
He was a passionate advocate and practitioner of inter-faith dialogue and understanding. Over many years he made an annual trip to India, maintaining relationships which he had made with charities there, the same itinerary each time. Firstly, a stay in the village of Valod, then the town of Bhavnagah and finally the city of Ahmadabad. He began and continued this in his search for greater awareness of the cultural histories of immigrants from Gujarat to his parish in Loughborough, where he served for 40 years as Priest of St Peter’s.
Between 1998 and 2006 some of us were fortunate to go with him. In 1989 he took me, my wife and two daughters, then aged 9 and 14. To suggest he became an honorary grandfather on our family expedition may appear presumptuous but it seemed so to us, and he certainly had a great care for Jenny and Sarah in the strange new world he introduced to us.
I myself travelled with him again in 1999-2000 and in 2006. This last time Kit Widdows, then vice-Chair of the Network, came too. In Kit, a fellow Oxbridge mathematician, David seemed to find and very much enjoy the companionship of a man of similar background and intellect. They got along very well together.
I feel that David and I ‘clicked’ at a personal level, if not an intellectual one. He was a man of immense generosity, understanding and compassion, though he did not always suffer fools gladly. (On reflection I got off lightly). Given his love for India and its people, it was amusing to see him shouting crossly at an awkward taxi driver – as if forgetting himself and supposing that, when communicating with ‘foreigners’ in English, the louder he shouted the more they would understand. They didn’t.
David’s friendship with me and my family far outlived the India years. He had a number of stays in Newcastle or at our cottage on Holy Island, which he particularly enjoyed. He paid special visits for my wife’s ordination and for my 60th birthday. He was supportive of me during studies for my doctorate, taking my side against the pretensions of academia.
And he rather liked the novel which I wrote … or so he said! When we next met he beamed at me, ‘It really is surprisingly good, you know.’ Like a proud son I grasped at the word ‘good’. Only later did I ponder the word ‘surprisingly’!
About that chair by the way, 27 years ago: either I was missing something profound – just possible, I suppose – or perhaps he was just being his endearing mischievous self? David, if you are out there, which I guess you would say you are not, we all miss you.
John Pearson is Chair of SOF Trustees and Editor of Portholes.