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GAZETTEWilliam Woodruff’s widow, Helga, introduceshis recollections of an extraordinary life:I realise now, looking back, that the SecondWorld War was a fulcrum point in my husband’slife. Whenever things became difficult he wouldsay, ‘nothing is as bad as war’. Writing Vessel ofSadness liberated him from the nightmares hehad had for twenty-five years. He had kept hisbattle jacket to remind him of the worst deedsof man, as well as the high levels to which thehuman spirit can soar. He asked that it shouldbe cremated with him… it was.William had an ability to focus on essentials.In the 1960s, when it was fashionable forhistorians to talk about the western ideaof ‘Progress’, and the ‘Development of theUnder-Developed World’, he talked aboutthe limits of western power. When westernscholars were still denigrating Japan, Indiaand China, he foresaw the resurgence of Asiaand talked about the turning of the tide ofAmerican power. He was always searching forthe core of truth. He had no tolerance forintellectual dishonesty. Whereas I would getlost in the details, he could sweep throughhistory and put it all in focus. His no-nonsensebackground, with its daily challenge of survival,had endowed him with a huge supply ofcommon sense, not to forget his wonderfulsense of humour. What fun he had writingParadise Galore. His spirit is still with us.William Woodruff(1938, PPE)I was born in the hills of northern England,destined to become a weaver. I was taught theskills of weaving, standing on an empty orangecrate at my father's side. But in the 1930s, like acreeping paralysis, the looms fell still; the sourceof our bread dried up.Becoming poorer by the day, I ran away toLondon in 1933, when I was sixteen. I finishedup as an unskilled labourer in an East End ironfoundry. At the end of each day I was blackwith soot and could hardly stand, but at leastI was not begging on the streets, as manynortherners were.Two years later I discovered ‘larning’. With penciland pad I went to night school – often in dirtyoveralls. My northern background had taughtme that a boy could go anywhere if he had thewill. In 1936, my mad dream began to cometrue when I went to Oxford University on ascholarship. I was too conceited to realise thatI was ten years behind. The University knew.They told me that letting me in without anentrance examination was the only concessionthey were prepared to make. I'd have to meetthe same standards as other students or fallout. The foundry's drop hammer began to echoin my head.At Oxford, everything I touched turned to gold.I not only passed my examinations, Idistinguished myself. I even won a wife there.‘Take a first-class degree’, A B Roger, my tutorand Dean at Balliol, advised, ‘go to the Bar in60/ WILLIAM WOODRUFF