<<  -- 10 --  Adrian Williams    JOHN RUSSELL FRCM (1916-1990)

John had an enormous number of friends and admirers. His welcoming warmth endeared him to all who met him. In my case it was certainly that plus a healthy distaste for stuffiness which drew us close as friends.

During the eighties he was invited to become editor of the RCM magazine, which publication suddenly became more approachable, too much so for some. Even I was asked to contribute; an article about Bernard Stevens' 60th birthday concert at the Workers Music Association ... Many complained about the magazine's tone, saying it had become more like a student rag than the formal RCM magazine they'd known. Maybe my childish offering hadn't helped. In the end John resigned. He fitted only very roughly into the RCM establishment, but he loved time spent there, loved the company of other musicians, those he'd spent his life working with.

Here is a lovely piece of observation in a letter shortly after Bernard Stevens died: I enclose the Times obit. Of Bernard [1916-1983] I assumed at first that ER was E Roxburgh, but it is so unlike him and his style that I wonder if it might be E Rubbra, except that he's coming up to 82! (Cripes! Is he still alive?)

On Monday in the SCR [Senior Common Room] there were Ridout, Horowitz, K Jones and J Lambert, all discussing technical matters. I could almost see the wraith of our dear 'Elder Brother' hovering over them.

He was larger than life-size among us, it is cruel that all that vitality should be gnawed away by the relentless CRAB. [Bernard Stevens had died of cancer]

I recalled how John had been delighted to be given the all-clear for cancer some years after his operation. 'You're not going to die of cancer' his doctor had told him. 'What will I die of then?' 'I haven't the remotest idea'.

During the 1980s correspondence between us slowed as I became ever more involved with 'real life' in the Welsh borders and John and Margaret withdrew for longer periods into home life. We sit quietly in the Folly the Friday about 7.30pm, Ma making bread and me writing to you.

I managed to get over to ice the Christmas cake occasionally.

His last letter came about four months before he died: I've been six weeks and four to follow -- treated for a stroke. L H is useless and right leg is dragging and cannot stand up if I'm sitting down. Write to me about you when you've time and cheer me up. Love from us both'. PS Was with Edwin Roxburgh when it happened in London. He got me back to Reading, saw me into hospital and in fact saved my life! When I told him so he said 'John, don't be daft, I just happened to be in the right place ...'

The end came that autumn; Margaret in her own special way broke the news over the telephone, how John had suffered another bad turn during the night ... 'he didn't survive'. It was I who took John's place in the organ loft, surrounded by the streaming-eyed souls of his beloved choir. Missa de Angelis from above. Requiem mass below.