BRIAN
Hello! I’m Emrys, often called Em. It was a shock to hear that Brian had passed away. He seemed like an institution, which would go on for always. Our thoughts are with his wife Doreen, and their children, William and Allison and their families.
I have known Brian for over sixty years but not so much of recent times because circumstances have caused a divergence of ways and lives. We now live in different parts of the country, families come along, work and interests change but the strong bond of friendship remained. We both knew that a friend was always there.
That bond of friendship was forged at a very early age. We grew up in the same neighbourhood in South Norwood. We lived in similar sorts of houses in similar roads and endured the terrors and deprivations of WW2 and its aftermath. My first encounter with Brian was at the time when he was called William. The war had ended and the local council organised celebrations which included a fancy dress parade for the primary aged school children with a promise of a prize of some sort for the winning entry. Naturally, mothers considered this to be a great opportunity to show off their sewing skills and a chance to be a bit flamboyant after years of drabness. Remnants of old coloured material which had lain in darkened cupboards and cabinets since pre-war days were fashioned into fairies, snow-white dwarfs, robin hoods and all sorts of historical and fabled characters.
The time came for judging the winning entry. And the winner was a boy who had come in his usual school uniform but with the elaboration of a few ink spots on his face, and a bit of cardboard hung around his neck with post office string. Scribbled on it in large smudgy ink letters were the words ‘Just William’. (Richmel Crompton). His name, announced over the public address system, was Brian Ward. Thrifty but successful. An early demonstration of those qualities which might be desirable in a profession such as accountancy.
The world seemed a much smaller place in those days. Very few of our families had a car so it was walk, bus, or bike. A lot of us in the area went to the same school, which wasn’t too far from where we lived. The Stanley School. It was a school for boys and small by today’s standards. About 270 pupils. Whilst we were there the GCE examinations were put in place and each pupil had to take six subjects at ‘O’ level. Given that the school was a technical school, metalwork was included in the subjects to be taken and it was a popular subject in which most boys did well. However, after the results of his GCEs Brian decided to embark on a career in accountancy rather than train to become a blacksmith.
I am so glad to have many happy memories of the times spent in the company of Brian. There were regular visits to the ‘Goat’, mostly Friday nights with Cyril and Michael, eventually to be joined with Margaret (Sommerville), Tommo (David Thomason), Valerie (State), and one or two others who would drop in now and again. We decided to form a club, for the benefit of furthering social activities together. The Goons were a popular ‘listen to’ activity at that time and many of us were imbued with their style of humour. We called our club ‘bulc snoog’ and went to print with a magazine. This was ‘roneoed’ off by a girl friend of Cyril who worked for a large electronics company in London. I remember in one issue an article written by Brian. I think it was about converting London buses to run on tomato ketchup which must have been very cheap at that time.
It was about this time that we instituted the annual Rottindean Golf Fest. The event took place on the real mini golf course by the windmill on the downs and afterwards for refreshments at the Black Horse in Rottingdean itself. I’m not sure which event most of us went for, the golf or the Black Horse. Brian’s enthusiasm for this outing kept us all up to scratch golf-wise and kept it going for many years. It brought us all together with other friends and families for a day’s jolly. I think that Brian also bought some trophies to present to the day’s winner and the runner up. Brian liked a little bit of ceremonial and banter associated with the c presentation of the trophies – not to mention a pint or two at the Black Horse.
Brian also enjoyed a ramble in the countryside. This was brought about by early training called walking the dog. The Ward family had a dog called Scruff and when it was Brian’s turn to take the dog he would often call at our house to see if I would like to join him, which I generally did if it was fine. We talked as we walked mainly about classical music, cricket and – guess what - football.
He was very knowledgeable on music matters particularly opera and kept endless records about cricket and football. He was a tireless supporter of our local team, Crystal Palace, for well over sixty years from when they were in the Third Division South to where they are today. Saturday afternoons would find him on the terraces whatever the weather. I was an occasional attender. I enjoyed the highlights of a game, but Brian studied the strategies and was very analytical in his opinions and fearsomely supportive of the home team.
This early training brought about by dog walking paid dividends some years later when Brian and I decided to walk a ‘coast to coast’ in Scotland. This was before any thought had been given to the laying down of the classic footpaths and trails that are known today. Advance planning was the key – always good advice on undertaking for such a trip - so we bought a map opened it up and there was our walk - Fort William on the western coast to Inverness on the eastern coast and with what seemed like a myriad of footpaths and small roads and places in between. A doddle. We caught a night train from Kings Cross to Spean Bridge, a small community not far from Fort William. It was raining when we got off the train but as we only intended a first day’s walk of about 5 miles to Inveroy, no sweat. Unfortunately Brian had left his walking stick on the train, so we had to wait until the train returned from Fort William for repossession of the stick. No bother, cup of tea or a coffee would fill up the time. No such refreshment facilities at all in the town so with the return of the stick we were more than ready to hit the road. When we got to Inveroy there were no pubs, no tea shops and certainly no B&Bs. Press on, but we found that most named places on the map were just a cross roads, or a dead tree, or some other undistinguished landmark in a landscape which had become very hilly and barren. We had to walk fifteen miles before we came across a B&B. Brian’s optimism, his fortitude, and a sense of humour kept us going. The rest of the trip was easier after this, and Brian was able to establish that at some time the family roots could be traced to the Ward clan – quite a few Wards around the Black Isle. He was quite proud of his Scottish connection.
The last time that I saw Brian was on at his eightieth birthday celebration. He was so pleasantly surprised and so happy at being among family and with friends, people that he loved. He was generous in his thanks to all those who had made it such a lovely occasion. But this was Brian. Loyal and generous to friends. He pursued all things in life and in work with a purposeful dedication. He was also staunchly loyal to those people and institutions which made the world a better place. These qualities contribute to a legacy of values which we will remember as Brian.
Em