A force for good
I thought long and hard about whether to
write this post in memory of Crispin. It is too easy to bash out trite words
and push them into the vastness of cyberspace, hanging the sensibilities. I
don’t want to do that. There is a danger of invading the space of a wonderful
family and of friends and relatives who knew him better than me. I would hate
to do that. Such a post could overflow with sentimentality in a frivolous
social media world, alienating those who did not know him. I may have to risk
that.
Crispin was a man who touched so many lives in
such a positive way, mine included. And for that reason I am compelled to offer
my own tribute.
Crispin and I arrived at the Countryside
Agency within a couple of years of each other. He became my colleague, my boss
and my friend in quick succession. On my last day in the job, he gave me such
an affectionate man-hug in the middle of the open plan that my ribs still ache
to think of it…
At work, Crispin was a
blend of idealistic visioning and pragmatic realism: he knew the battles that
he wanted to fight and win. He held the bigger picture firmly in his sights,
whilst acknowledging creeping myopia about ‘interminable’ budget processes and
blurry ‘detail’ that could be resolved later. He also knew the value of a
contented team and the balance between hard work and rewarding play. I remember
waking up the morning after a drink with Crispin and Justin at the launch the
State of the Countryside report in 2008 to my laptop bag filled with the
contents of my stomach (is this too much information?) and a two-week dose of
conjunctivitis… I blamed them squarely for both!
My fondest memories remain those outside the
direct line of duty, such as his brazen encouragement of my horse racing vice.
When I booked time off for the Cheltenham Festival, he was more interested in
my ante-post portfolio than my leave sheet. He was a regular commentator on
these posts, offering hearty congratulations on those rare occasions of a
successful tip, notably when Masked Marvel won the St Leger last September. And
he remained supportively encouraging or mercifully silent about the pile of
steaming junk that comprised the vast majority of these ramblings. The very
fact that Crispin was reading them, let alone backing the horses displayed his
typical loyalty, humour and mischief.
Crispin liked nothing better than
a day at Lingfield races, his home track. In fact his house couldn’t have been
better positioned, sitting between the track and the railway station. Crispin once recalled an encounter in
which a couple of lads returning from the races knocked at the door and asked
“Scuse me, have you got any playing cards?” In response to this slightly odd
request, Crispin’s unflappable daughter happily produced a pack and wished the travellers
a safe journey. “No, no, no we can’t just take them. Here, have this”, said one
and proffered a twenty-pound note! Despite all protests and refusals, these
boys wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer and left to play snap with their
expensive cards on the train home, after - one would assume - a pretty
successful day on the gee-gees!
We had a great day there last
Summer. The racing was good,
although Crispin was unable to urge 100-1 shot Barello into the frame of the
3.50. This despite summoning up the spirit of his Italian-based brother,
domiciled in the region of the famous wine. In consolation, we enjoyed a couple of pints of delicious Finchcocks
ale from a Westerham Brewery barrel mounted on the bar. We had a teary
discussion about this vicious, unjust illness that has now taken his life
prematurely; and about his plans to make the most of the time that remained. He
told me he was stopping short of a bucket list - a wish-list of things to do before
the final curtain - but was taking and enjoying every day as it came. I saw how
he was drawing such strength from his family, his friends and his faith. I was
in awe of his humility, his fortitude and his positive outlook. I still am.
At last week’s funeral, the tributes were
uplifting. The readings were moving. None more so than a passage from a letter
Crispin had written to his wife which, in parts, served as a goodbye to all of
us. “Grieve and grieve well”, he had said. The phrase was resonant and heartfelt.
And it sliced through the carefully laid defences of the congregation like a
rapier. This was raw emotion. I am not a good crier. Some dab delicately at
moist eyes. Others blink away a salty trickle. I convulse with chesty heaves
and a shoulder action more at home in a rugby scrum. It was not pretty.
And we did grieve well. We raised a glass to
Crispin in The Star Inn. Such occasions are always bittersweet. This was mostly
bitter, to be honest, but catching up with old friends and colleagues and
meeting new ones was sweet enough. We read stories that had been collected by
Crispin’s wife as a keepsake for his children and published in a booklet for
everyone to take away. This was a lovely touch. Vivid reflections of an
inspiring, humorous, talented, eloquent, intelligent and passionate friend and
colleague.
Crispin’s love of Twitter was well known.
Never have 140 characters been more effectively deployed. He harnessed the
medium to his world-changing causes. Even whilst undergoing treatment at Kings College, he tweeted, “Thinking as a
patient, one of many things the NHS needs is a betting shop in each hospital.
Why not an ‘NHS Tote' or a 'People's Bookie'? I have now posted this approach
to the DoH consultation on their NHS reforms ....”
Fantastic stuff. Crispin
Moor: a force for good.
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