The Death Of An Englishman

John Leonard King FCA JP was 69 when he died last month. I attended his funeral this morning. A great affair in its own charming way. As a catholic I have to concede that Anglicans have the best English churches - stolen from Rome one might say but we should let that pass. All Saints Alrewas was pretty, patrolled by two insouciant cats and reachable most easily by canal boat.

Above my head in what I like to call my study (I believe in the earliest incarnation of this much altered and stoically plain house it would have been the garage) hang three racing pictures - two are prints of the Champion Chase, my favourite race, presents for my 40th from a great friend and gambling accomplice; the third is a watercolour of a point-to-point meeting given to me by John King when I did some legal work for him. Most often I worked with Kingy rather than for him. I met him early in my days in Walsall and there must have been something he liked about my uncultured style because he became a major and generous source of introduced work. We had fun and as the Americans probably don't say, John definitely gave good lunch. He was my favourite kind of Englishman - self-made but not chippy, bloody-minded and fiercely loyal. He did the right thing by his clients and by his mates. He called a spade a spade but only after he had inspected it first. He was also the only accountant I worked with who could add long lists of figures in his head, a legacy of the family fruit and veg business. I saw him use this gift to intimidate a bumptious young type from Brum - teach him to play with the grown-ups I thought.

So the great and the good of Walsall said goodbye to Kingy this morning and did it just right. As well as the best churches you protestants also get the best hymns - I Vow To Thee My Country; Guide Me, O Thou Great Redeemer; Jerusalem. Who wouldn't want to go out to that lot? John's old business partner, Geoff Griffin, gave a wise and witty eulogy.

I was lamenting yesterday the awfulness of our political class and I'm afraid much the same goes for the professions - the hard-nosed competent decency is being replaced by self-serving and back-watching. This is, I know, a jaundiced view and echoes exactly what my forebears must have said about my generation. But there is an important difference - I am right.

One last thing about Kingy - he was a rugby man as player, referee, administrator and bar-room expert. If you have the stamina to stand at a rugby club bar long enough you will eventually hear some resounding good sense. All you have to do is master the art of distinguishing it from the good-natured but utter bollocks you will also endure. Talking to John was a shortcut to the good stuff.