My most beloved image of Bampa, the one I return to again and again, is one from Club Day many years ago. It was a beautiful sunny day and, as was tradition, we had returned to Silver Birches from the parade to have a barbeque. I remember playing in the garden and looking back to the house, to see Bampa emerging out of the French doors, the sound of Elgar wafting out behind him from the living room, with large jug of Pimms in his hand. He was wearing cream trousers and top, hair still auburn in the sunshine, looking utterly at peace with the world. The king of his kingdom, doing what he loved best.