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NEWS OF OLD BRUTONIANS
good; we even managed to get beaten by the Cricket
team!
But, being in the tennis 1st team meant that you got to
represent the School at Wimbledon in the Youll Cup. So,
with great excitement the team went to camp at Verity
Bernays’ residence at 58 Roxeth Hill, Harrow, only to
discover that the competition that year had been moved
to the Courts at Eton as there was some other major
event, like a Davis Cup Tie, being played in SW19. So, to
Eton we went, and lost in the 1st round!
After King’s, Nick went to the London School of
Printing where he met and became friends with,
amongst others, Jeremy Maclehose, Chris Pollera and Tim
Woodward. He studied and gained a Diploma in Printing
Management, and, after graduating, he went into the
publishing world, starting, I believe, with the Alden Press
in Oxford.
He moved to this area and one of his first ‘abodes’ was
a house called ‘Bel Croute’ which he shared with, amongst
others, Max Pemberton, Bill Haggis and Alan Potter. He
then acquired, and moved into, 30 North Street in
Marcham which he initially shared with Rupert
Pilkington until he met this very young Scottish lass who
was working as a Sales Executive for 3M and whom he
was to marry in 1971.
The last major company that Nick worked with was
the Pensord Press. He had joined them in 1988 as Sales
Director and took over as Managing Director in 1992. He
was well known and respected in magazine publishing
circles and his colleagues have fond memories of his time
with them down in Wales. A couple of stories have
emerged from there!
Firstly, and I have this on good authority from those
who have shared rooms with Nick over the years, he not
only snored but, allegedly, used to sleep walk! There was
the time when he was staying in a New York Hotel when
on a business trip to the USA. During the night, whilst
presumably looking for the bathroom, and with nothing
much on at all, he let himself out of his room into the
corridor. Of course, the door slammed behind him,
waking him up, and there he found himself....well, you
can picture the scene, I’m sure! The story does go on, but,
to keep it short (and clean!), it finishes with this very
large Bell Captain coming up to the floor, opening the
door to Nick’s room to let him in and saying nothing
other than, “Have a nice day!”
The other story is that at management meetings in
Wales, Nick would often quote a Latin Phrase to the
bemusement of his colleagues. They sometimes
wondered if he realised it was inappropriate terminology!
Non mea culpa. Not my fault.
Caveat emptor. Let the buyer beware.
And after a heavy day at the office, when appropriate,
of course, In vino veritas. In wine there is truth.
They all used to say, “What on earth is he talking
about?” and set about looking up those phrases. It wasn’t
until one day a reply to a memo was sent in stuttering
Latin. Nick immediately charged into the office with a big
broad grin on his face, saying, “So you have the same book
as I have; I wondered when you’d cotton on.”
Despite jobs taking him to London, Wales and other
parts of the South of England, he always kept his home in
this area. Workwise, he more recently was based at home.
I understand from Janny that there was immediately a
battle of radio cultures going on across the gallery
between their two offices, with his Radio 4 versus her
Radio 2.
He was interested in a couple of business ventures,
some of which he did with Vhari. He also helped out with
Janny’s thriving B&B business. It’s here that I should point
out that Nick was a very active member of a small email
group of old chums, most of whom are here today, who
communicated most days. This group was often
entertained by Nick’s tales of what he had served up for
breakfast that morning, and to whom. He did not hold
back on some of his descriptions, and this quickly earned
him the nickname of Fawlty.
You can just picture him, can’t you?! Sadly, over recent
months, the group affectionately referred to him as
‘Faulty Fawlty’!
Nickleby had an amazing number of interests. When
talking to the family the list seemed endless. He was in to
diving, travelling the world to look at reefs and wrecks. He
and Janny even went diving in Cornwall and trained in
flooded quarries! He enjoyed cycling and was often seen
leading the way out of Steventon with Pete, his son-inlaw,
and David Otterburn in tow. (Well, that was his
story!). Late last summer, he also thoroughly enjoyed
cycling the Camel Trail with Sarah, my wife, that wellknown
global charity cyclist, having only just recovered
from another torn Achilles tendon. He played golf (not his
strongest sport, it has to be said!); tennis, which has
already been mentioned, rackets, and Real Tennis, which
he took up only recently. His travelling included sailing,
although there is a feeling that this was a self-imposed
discipline to impress the Scottish ‘in-laws’, as I
understand from Mike Bradley and Alastair Duncan (for
both of whom Nickleby supposedly acted as crew) that he
was not a good sailor. He would invariably become ill,
take to his bunk for the whole trip, and then have the
annoying habit of recovering on arrival, acting as though
everything was normal, and asking where was the party.
He enjoyed good music; he devoured books, and
dabbled at gardening. He loved cooking, choosing a good
wine, drinking a good malt and having a dinner party
and all the good banter that went with it. (Although
again there are a number of us who remember him in the
days when he’d fall asleep during the meal and then
wake up, just as we were all leaving, and get very upset
that we were not prepared to engage in further
conversation and compete with his second wind!)
But there was little that he did not have an interest in
or a view on, and the frustration over these last few
months of not being able to communicate, deeply upset
him. It was also upsetting for all his friends and
especially, of course, his family: Vhari, and Pete, Jules,
Rory, and Janny. He loved his family. (He even told Janny
so after his first Op!). And they loved him.
He was a fabulous husband and fantastic father. He
was always interested in what his children were doing; in
Vhari’s business ideas, in Rory’s decisions as to how he
could combine his love of wind surfing with a
qualification at university, and in Julie and her career.
30 OLD BRUTONIAN ASSOCIATION NEWSLETTER 2005