My memories of dad, at Peterhouse, are of his being an extremely active, outdoorsy man, involved in numerous sports, and organising the school’s participation in the “Outward Bound” programme. I was just six weeks old when my family boarded a ship to start a new life in Africa. After a few years he was offered a housemastership at a rural private school, Peterhouse, in Marandellas, near modern-day Harare, Zimbabwe. At that time my father was a school teacher at a boarding school called Haileybury, in Hertfordshire. I was born in England, as were my two older sisters, Jenny and Tess. Talk about persistence! Thank goodness he was as persistent as he was, and thank goodness Mom changed her tune. He’d reply with: “Vivienne, you are the right person for me, I’m convinced of that we’re meant for each other I know we’re going to get together.”

Mom would say: “No no no, I want to broaden my horizons… see more people, meet more men.”īut Dad hung in. And every time, for a long while, he’d get nowhere. The story goes that every three months or so, Dad would broach the topic of a relationship with her. She was a fantastic, very attractive young woman, from a family much better off financially than his family was.ĭad was so sure that she – Vivienne Short – was the person he wanted to marry. It was at Oxford that Dad met Mom, who was just 21 at the time. He excelled in sport, getting his Blues for both cricket and squash, and reaching the semifinals of the British Open Squash Championships. For the rest of his life, my dad simply could not stomach the very sight of blood he would turn sheet-white and would sometimes faint, all as a direct result of that war experience.Īfter the war, my father attended Oxford University, where he obtained a Master’s in English and Classics. One such incident – the most horrific – was his witnessing the death of a fellow soldier who was shot in the back of the head by enemy fire as Dad and eight others were crossing a river in France. In 1944, my father went to war, an experience that left some indelible, awful imprints on his memory. This all gifted him a great deal of stability and happiness.

And, they stayed together until death separated them.

My dad had a very good start to life: He had caring parents who sacrificed much to give him what he needed.

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