My father, who died on 4 May 2020 at the age of 93, was a man of courage, energy and magnetic charm.  Brilliant, wise and a devout Christian, he wrote the script for his own life and he did it in the beautiful, literate English of a born raconteur.  Time and again, he dodged the option of a dull or much foreshortened life, choosing adventures that resulted in an inexhaustible fund of stories for anyone who would listen.  Above all, as he once put it to me, he created one paradise for his children to remember – his antique business, house and garden in Stockbridge – and then moved on to make another – this time in the smallest cottage in the smallest village in England’s smallest county – to share with his beloved Anne.  He had a magic touch with life.  As Anne remembered, thinking back to the days of their courtship and the St Albans Abbey Fellowship: ‘You’ll be all right if Philip’s there.’
  A memoir of Phiip’s life is in preparation.  It is turning into a very long document and there are many lovely images still to remember and try to render into prose.  We’ll get there.  In writing it, I am continually reminded how lucky we have been to have enjoyed his love and companionship for so many years.   We’ve been all right.  He’d smile at that.