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Richard Belton and Tribute by Richard Morrison
In many ways a sense of the importance of collective memory is particularly pertinent as we think of Richard, for in a characteristically ordered way, he seems to compartmentalise his many activities, and the people that he knew within each of them. Richard was totally his own person - who ordered his life maintaining a balance between responsibilities and interests. He had boundless energy of course, packing as much as possible into each week: his work, much more a real interest, than just a job; choir; church; tennis; badminton; running, walking; the Lodge; and of course the care of his mother - which he made a priority above everything. Although Richard felt the importance of boundaries between different aspects of his life - he was undoubtedly and consistently the same person. In many ways, and in certain situations, deeply private and reserved, distant from general social chit chat, and certainly any gossip, but in other ways, and certainly in a one to one to situation, chatty to the point of being garrulous. On our many walks together Richard would talk for hours - when after 30 or miles it was as much as I could do to breathe - let alone talk, Richard showing no sign of fatigue, would be chatting away nineteen to the dozen. Telling me stories - stories of school days at Mill Hill - of the plethora of eccentric masters, that had in their own way been such an influence on him: O.J. Waite, with his austerity, massive physical presence, and intellectual brilliance, teaching from behind the sports pages of the Telegraph; Mousey Vine, with his economic but outstandingly effective teaching style, whose wonderful flute playing would often be heard emanating from the physics lab, and whose coffee making in glass lab beakers was legendary; and above all Sydney Barlow, whose organ playing remained one of Richard's most cherished musical memories; he talked of his hatred of playing rugby and love of cross country running; how being in School House, which had the dining hall within it, enabled extra time in bed while still being down first to breakfast - food was always a priority for him. The stories of life at St. Andrew's University, particularly the Madrigal Choir, and stories of St. Mary's Choir in bygone days. He would also tell me about his work and the financial world; we would discuss politics and I would listen attentively to his extensive knowledge of economics; he would tell me of his holidays and journeys to different places - especially to Malta with Roger - characteristically combining time spent relaxing, with long walks exploring the island; stories of family life - the day he died he described to me the first holiday he went on with Elizabeth and his mother after the death of his father, where Elizabeth, who had literally just past her test, drove all the way to Norfolk in third gear; he talked about tennis and badminton; and of course aircraft - passing as we frequently did on walks around Luton airport he would identify each aircraft and explain to me the intricacies of air traffic control. It was in these conversations that I could see Richard's love of everything that he did - even in the simple things he discovered deep pleasure - eating his evening meal in the garden after a summer time evensong - lying in bed reading the paper on a Saturday morning - and yes even watching Blind Date after a 40 mile walk through Hertfordshire. As I have already said his professional life was much more than job - he genuinely enjoyed his work and put tremendous effort into it - not only achieving great respect for his knowledge and financial skill - but for his totally trustworthiness and integrity. Jean and other colleagues have used epithets such as: conscientious, ethical, principled, high standards, quality, and above all gentlemanly, kind, and generous. Richard worked as a Financial Consultant with Allied Dunbar for 12 years, before that, in marketing and finance with Debenhams and British Home Stores. However, in his last year of university he was set on a professional career as a singer - and it's the fine quality of his singing voice of course which will stand out in our memory - he had a great gift which had played a significant part in his life since the day his mother brought him up to join the choir here in St. Mary's in 1958 - Richard sang in the choir here as a treble, firstly under Albert Howe and then for many years under Charlie Weston - apart from school and university years, as well as a brief spell in Southampton, Richard had been a prominent member of this choir. For the last 24 or so years singing under the direction of Richard Morrison, his old friend from childhood days when they were trebles together. Richard loved his music - and although undoubtedly one of the best voices and skilled singers in the choir would practice the hardest - rigorously going through the bass part at home on the piano or on his electronic organ. Richard never sought the limelight - however it was always a joy to hear him sing a solo in an anthem or in an oratorio - a tribute to the quality of his voice is that Richard Morrison has revealed that much of the music that he has written had Richard in mind - although I don't think Richard was ever aware of that - and if he was with characteristic modesty he would never have said anything. It wasn't only at work that Richard's ability and integrity was recognised - in two Lodges, the Old Millhillians, and the Old Kings Arms, he attained high office - as Master, as a holder of LGR and recently one of the highest accolades, as a Grand Steward Officer of the Grand Lodge, as such attending functions with the Duke of Kent. Richard was deeply interested in the history of Masonry, and with his phenomenal memory, had an extensive knowledge of its rituals. He clearly valued the support and friendship that he found there, as he did in his tennis clubs, initially the Neeld round the corner form Sevington Road, that his parents had helped found, and then Potters Bar and Radlett. Also his Badminton club in Edgware. Above all family mattered deeply to Richard - Richard and Elizabeth lost their father when they were relatively young - and I'm sure that this must have brought them and their mother even closer together. Elizabeth we can only imagine the your pain and loss and the shock that must still be very much with you - I know how grateful you were for the care and attention that Richard gave to your mother, and I know also how grateful Richard was to you for your preparedness to come down at any time all the way from Aberdeen to enable him to go away and engage in his interests. We particularly feel for you, Roger, and all who were especially close to Richard. You obviously come here today with your own huge loss and personal sacred memories. Although Richard's death was sudden and tragic - cutting his life short when he still had so much to experience and to look forward to - his life was filled with so much. In 49 years he had achieved and done a tremendous amount - established so many firm lasting friendships - living every moment to the full. It was clear that his motivation was not least his faith - his deep sense of the sanctity of life, which for him emanated from God. Therefore although our cherished memories are mingled with a deep sense of loss and the pain of saying goodbye - we must remember that memory in the Christian faith isn't just about nostalgia - events and times come and gone - for God gives us life, his life: we are not just people of chronology - with beginnings and endings within time and space - but people of eternity, whose lives are not limited by change and decay, but rooted in a Reality which transcends our knowing, our seeing, our imagining, our speaking. It's this eternal, transcendent Reality which is at the very heart of who we are. We come together with all of our memories of Richard, to remember and give thanks for the way that his life has touched us, for the privilege of having known him - and to remind ourselves of the Easter truth, that death is not an end - but yet another beginning in our eternal life in God. Father Paul Taylor
The Vicar's eulogy paid eloquent
tribute to the many different facets of Richard's life, to his steadfast
loyalty to friends and colleagues, and to his unfailingly courteous
personality. Now that the shock of his death has receded a little -
though not the sadness at so abruptly losing a friend whom I had known
since childhood - I would like to write a few words that concentrate
on Richard's contribution to the choir of St Mary's. And he did have a unique voice:
warm and mellow from top to bottom, powerful yet never strained or strident.
Some of the solos he sang - the Libera Me from Faure's Requiem, or the
arias from Bach's St John Passion, or Cornelius's Christmas anthem The
Three Kings - I have never heard better delivered, either by professional
or amateur soloists. He also had an unerring, and very
natural, sense of pitch. In 40 years I never heard him sing a note that
wasn't bang in tune. Again, I cannot say the same for most professional
singers. He was a magnificent role-model
for less talented or experienced singers to emulate. Youngsters learnt
from listening and sitting next to him, but so too did old hands - if
they were wise. He made his colleagues in the bass line feel secure
in the most taxing music. And in the vestry after a service, or the
pub after choir practice, he was the model of civility. He was one of
those invaluable people who bind organisations together, rather than
setting up tensions that break them apart. The choir will not be the
same, musically or socially, without him. But I hope we can go on striving
to reach the marvellous musical standards that he so memorably embodied. Richard Morrison, Director of Music |