I was taught by John’s father, Gwilym, at South County Junior School in West Bridgford. So when I arrived at the High School in September 1961 – during the headship of K. R. “The Duke” Imeson – I knew of John’s existence, and was on the lookout for him. However, since he had been in the Prep School, initially he was in a different class, and it was only the next year, together in 3B, whose form master was the legendary Colly B (Frank Collander-Brown, EFCB), that I got to know John properly. We became friends, with similar interests and sense of humour.

As John lived near me, we would often travel together on a maroon-and-cream West Bridgford No. 14 bus from South Parade. Sometimes we visited Sisson & Parker’s in Wheeler Gate, Nottingham’s only proper bookshop, where one day the lady with the moustache, who worked there, challenged us loftily with “do you intend to purchase that volume?” as we sniggered over some mildly risqué paperback. No, we didn’t (snigger).

John was constant and steady, his friendship reliable and supportive. He gave generously of his time to many School activities, and gained greatly from the variety of influences and resources on offer. In the CCF Naval section he learned to shoot, and enjoyed an arduous expedition to Glen Nevis, demonstrating the resilience that was characteristic of him. Like most of us at that time, hungry for knowledge, he was interested in many subjects, both on and off the curriculum – among the latter were psychoanalysis and astronomy. Subsequently he acknowledged the benefits brought to his social and professional life by the knowledge thus acquired. School possessed an imaginatively stocked and well-run library, with a set of the Encyclopaedia Britannica (the wonderfully chunky Eleventh Edition, I think). On certain lunchtimes, on one of the (seemingly always sunny) landings of the staircase near the front of the school, a pupil-managed Penguin Bookshop operated. Avidly we studied the new additions to the monthly catalogue. Sharing my interest in our then famously swinging capital city, for my seventeenth birthday John bought me the Pelican “London: The Unique City” (Rasmussen), which I still have. He was thoughtful, sensitive, and empathetic.

We had the good fortune to enter our teenage years precisely on cue in 1963, that annus mirabilis of Kennedy, Profumo, the Great Train Robbery and the Beatles. With perfect timing we enjoyed the creative and social ambience of the Sixties, whose influence still endures. At School we were encouraged to think differently by some newly arrived teachers, among them D. N. “Noddy” Aspin (English); an American exchange-teacher called Hiram Gillespie who used expressions like “faulty parallelism”; and language teacher Allan Leadbeater, who once sent John to The Duke for being unable to master the “liaison” in the French term for the United States. Alan Locke, C. H. “Charlie” Stephens, I. L. “Fez” Parker, and D. J. “Slob” Peters were among many memorable teachers from this period.

Though our interests were wide, from fairly early on it was clear to John, and to myself, that we both sought a science-based career. Chemistry was our favourite subject. Together with Douggie Astill and Mick Bownass, and spurred on by a dynamic young chemistry teacher, P. J. “Josh” Roebuck, we would scrabble fiercely over the handful of marks separating the top few positions in end of term and exam results. I think this friendly rivalry underlines the seriousness with which learning was undertaken. Despite a career preference for science, John was also blessed with an artistic eye. Referring to a General Studies module on art history, he spoke later of being fascinated and inspired by the illustrations that art master J. A. “Jaffa” Foister presented using the remarkable apparatus known as the epidiascope. In Florence many years later, John was mortified to find the Uffizi gallery closed, but subsequently enjoyed a visit there.

Over at Valley Road we found our own take on the notion that sport is character building, and in rugby, John and I were assigned to the “Remnants”. I don’t think self-esteem had been invented at that time. I must have been the despair of gym teachers “Chalkie” White and Geri (“Dai”) Thomas, but John did rather better, and in the sixth form did lunchtime circuit training and learned to row. In his thirties he bought a rowing machine, so he could continue with a pastime acquired during his teenage years.
As sixth formers, during free periods we would often decant to the Sixth Form Centre in Waverley Mount, listening to Bruce Goatly performing his composition “Square Waves” on an upright piano. I wish I could remember how it went. Meanwhile, John and I made another mutual friend, Piers Merchant, later a newsworthy politician but sadly no longer with us. I remember enjoying a meal with John, Piers, and John Willie Richards on the sixth form visit to London.

Around this time we had to submit ideas for projects to be undertaken during the holidays. John and I hatched schemes to study farming in Shetland (where his maternal grandparents lived) and canals in the Low Countries. Neither proposal was accepted, but never mind, we got through ‘A’-levels and we went on, to university and to our careers and family lives, and we remained in contact.

After obtaining a degree in Electronic Engineering at Bangor, John worked for British Telecom in London. Married to Jane, and with three children to bring up, he sometimes found the long working hours and the daily commute from Welwyn an irksome distraction from family life. In his community he chaired the fundraising committee for the local scouts, supervised the public address system at the Baptist church, and acted in the local amateur dramatics society, continuing a pursuit begun at school. His death from colon cancer at the age of 67, in June 2017, was deeply shocking and saddening for me, as it was for all those who knew him.