A letter to the EDP  editor (not published)
on the death of Aubrey Aitken, Bishop of Lynn

A Kind Man
 I first met Bishop Aubrey Aitken through his son, John. The Bishop saw my paintings, and asked if I exhibited at the Norfolk Show. I said I didn’t know how to get in. He said he would see that I was invited, and he did.
     It was the sort of promise we all make from time to time, at a party, to strangers, knowing we won’t pursue it, and our listeners know it too, but it makes nice conversation. But  Aubrey was a kind man, and though I am nobody and I didn’t matter, (though now I know that I mattered to him, as we all did) he kept his promise. When my wife, Valerie and I delivered my paintings  to the regimental badged and cravatted gentlemen in the President’s Pavilion, we evidently tarnished Aubry’s image, by association.
     The nearest worthy gentleman looked us up and down in our comparative Bohemian tat, and said “Oh!” (Pause) “So you are friends of Aubrey?”   Instantly grasping the significance of the word ‘friends’ and what it implied of the Bishop’s handling of the strings, I summoned up much dignity and said “In the summer, we are next door neighbours”, not bothering to add ‘because we pass by his river frontage in our dinghy’.
     Those worthy gentlemen have since laughed with us over this incident, as indeed the Bishop did when we reported it to him.
      Another kindness we received at his hands, was when Valerie and I decided to get married. Because I came from the ‘part worn stores’ we were obliged to marry civilly, and could only ask the church for a blessing, so we went off to Elsing and asked the Bishop if he would do the honours in Thurne church. He received us cordially, and on hearing our request (first expressing much joy)  he explained gently that he wouldn’t want to tread on the local man’s toes (Robin Elphick, since moved on, and in the event a perfectly worthy alternative). Then having said that, the Bishop lead us through to his private chapel where we said prayers, then he blessed us in our forthcoming marriage. Then he said “There- now you have my blessing already”.
     We came away feeling that we had indeed been blessed- by his hands’ his words, and his kindness.
     This letter should have been sent to you, Meg, but knowing how many letters you must receive, and how the paper knife will cut into sadness with each one, I couldn’t post it to you.
     Then there are hundreds of other people who will feel loss, but being even more peripheral friends, or being busy, or not feeling able to trap the sadness between the pen and the paper, will not quite get round to writing, well this is for them too.On reading this they will all say “Well , he thinks he knew how kind Aubrey was. He obviously doesn’t know about the time when…”  So though I can’t speak of the church, or Carrow Road, but only of the rivers, every time a white boat smoothes between water and sky, or a holiday-maker asks why the Bishop’s Mill is so called, and at every regatta, the air will be a-flutter with thoughts of the kind man, and the times when…
     He was a blessing on us all, and that blessing will never leave us.