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News From the Churches

We were most fortunate that the Revd. Diane Clark agreed to take the Holy Week and Easter services. If you have not encountered her yet, here’s an opportunity to do so. She has a lovely, lively style, directly appealing to all. She held a service on Maundy Thursday in St. Giles, and took the Family Communion Services at St. Margaret’s and St. Giles. Meanwhile on Good Friday St. Margaret’s was open from 12.00 to 3.00 pm. For the last hour we were privileged to welcome Canon Tim Bull to help focus our hearts and minds. The Black Horse Sermon, was delivered by the Vicar of St. Peter’s London Colney. This short (10 minute) service takes place in the bar at the Black Horse, a tradition started in the 1930s by Fr. Allen Hay.

St. Giles was packed for two events in March. The Baptism of Harry Whitehead, son of former choir member Margaret nee Gee, who brought many singing friends along. And Derek Binstead’s funeral: we will publish the eulogy soon.

Repairs to St. Giles have now been completed. Soon the architect will make further recommendations for keeping this ancient church safe for years to come. Finally, as noted in the Editorial, we still wait for someone to lead both churches onward, and to engage more fully with the community. Please pray for us!

 

KIT NAYLOR RIP: EULOGY BY HS SON

Kit was born on the 23rd March 1929 in No 5, St James Square, the building that became the Libyan Embassy. It took three days for word of his birth to reach his father Frank, who was stationed with the West African Frontier Force in Nigeria at the time. Wrotham was Kit’s main home growing up. His father’s career in the army meant a peripatetic life, and Wrotham provided a stable home with an extended and loving family in holidays.

Mischief defined Kit’s nature. The greater the amusement to be had, the better the story to be told. And the worse, or more foolishly, he behaved, the better the friendships he built. As a jape, while stationed in Germany, with the assistance of friends, he put Gerald Charrington’s horse in Charrington’s room. Up a few flights of stairs, it was quite an effort. The shock and surprise, and perhaps even fury of Charrington, can only be imagined. Once, organising a trip to listen to a concert in Oxford with regimental friends, “Have you got the tickets, Kit?” his friend David asked when they departed. “Yes.” was the confident reply. When arriving after a long drive, the envelope was opened, to say “I’m sorry, there are no more tickets available”. I hope I have set the scene.

His prep school was Hawtrey, based at the time in Shropshire, safe from bombs of the Second World War, and nearer to his father, then based in Chester. There, with his siblings Molly and Edmund, he arranged the chucking of mud balls at passers by from behind a wall, the occasion of a major ticking off. It was not how the children of the General were supposed to behave! On to Eton, where, not being overly keen on cricket, or indeed rowing, he was a founder of the first tennis team. Academically very bright, History was his favourite subject.

Following Eton, Kit chose to follow his father’s career and went to Sandhurst, and on passing out, he joined the 12th Royal Lancers. Kit’s father Frank broke the Army long jump record in1913, with a 23ft leap – a record that remained unbroken for a further thirty years. Kit inherited his father’s athletic prowess, however his bigger passion was horsemanship. While stationed in Germany he won a major race, to the pride and surprise of his brother officers. He was posted overseas in Malaya. Kit gave a friend a Sulphur Crested Cockatoo as a house gift to supplement a menagerie of animals they had at the time. His gift is remembered by the family to this day as a particularly irascible bird who bit visitors. There was time for snipe shooting, wild pig hunting, and playing polo. Although my father did not talk much about his time in Malaya, he did tell me once that he led over 200 food escorts. Logistics though, particularly during the rainy season, were far from easy.

His relations with his commanding officers were not always cordial. Once, when on the phone, the box he was in was struck by lightning. Kit was flung to the ground. He got up, went to the dangling phone. His commanding officer was still on the line. “What are you doing!?” And Kit’s answer “I’ve just been struck by lightning”. The officer’s response: “Serves you bloody well right!” He thought the outbound troop ship journey to Malaya interminably long and boring, so decided it would be better – simply – to drive home…Kit managed to get a friend to support the idea, who later wrote “To whom it may concern. Lieutenant Naylor and Second Lieutenant Gerrad of the XII Royal Lancers are driving by road from Malaya to England when their Regiment leaves this country towards the end of this year. It is a purely private undertaking, arranged by these young officers, and it will give them invaluable experience of every sort.”

They bought a 1952 Ford Ranch Wagon and he and Peter Gerrard took it from Penang to Calcutta by boat, and from there to drive back to London. The adventure almost came to a premature end, when, en-route through India, my father visited relatives in a tea plantation close to Simla. He was a day late. But the coronation chicken that had been prepared was kept for that second day. And as a result Kit got very ill indeed. His hosts were nervous as to whether their visitor would survive.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Kit’s sister Molly, while working and travelling in America for six months, met Helen via a mutual friend, and they talked about the drive that Molly’s brother was doing. A year later, when Helen was in London, Molly invited Helen to lunch at Dancers Hill, the family home. And by chance, Kit, joined as he was on leave at the time. Kit was enchanted by the beautiful, intelligent, lively Helen, who had a passion for history and poetry. After a few months, they decided to marry. My father was never one to express his feelings in words… apart from his letters to Helen when she returned to New York. The couple were reunited in New York for a few weeks during their engagement. They were married in 1959 in Tuxedo Park, New York State.

Shortly after getting married Kit left the army and started working for Marconi Avionics, which became part of GEC. The work that he really enjoyed was the trade trips to China: he got on very well with the Chinese. Kit’s friend Adam Williams observed: “He was the best and cleverest boss I ever had to work for, but even more, a good friend, and working with him was always an adventure, fun, and nearly always successful. I think for your father life always was an adventure, and I learned a lot from that. In fact he was my mentor in many, many ways, and he was never really a boss, from the beginning always a friend - as were our China counterparts who I think also came under his friendly spell.”

After more than thirty years at GEC Kit retired and looked around as to what to do. He had an interest in his ancestors, especially Henry Colebrooke a polymath, an administrator and scholar with the East India Company, one of the first people to translate Sanskrit, a founding member of the Royal Astronomical Society and the Royal Asiatic Society. Kit duly became a member, Treasurer, Vice President and then served on the council of the Royal Asiatic Society. it is close to the British Library and SOAS. In the Lecture Hall, you will find a bust of Colebrooke, with a profile very similar to Kit. Alison Ohta was curator at the Royal Asiatic Society: her key observations were “Kit was absolutely devoted to the Society which of course stemmed from his respect for the family relationship with Colebrooke. He was so observant, very fair, saw everything as it was, and had a great sense of humour”.

Above all, Kit was defined by kindness, and by observations, quiet or humorous, to help steer his children through life. A common guidance he gave being “If you can’t be good, be careful!” An avid bird and butterfly enthusiast, Kit loved nothing more than a walk; he was walking in the woods close to Knightsland a few months before he died. When I hear a wood pigeon coo, a wood-pecker knocking, a cuckoo singing the first sounds of spring, when I see the fledgling swallows taking flight, I will think of my father. The doctor shortly before he died, asked what do you like to eat or drink? His answer “Champagne”. As if the answer would be anything else. On his last days, he asked me “Who are you?” I said, “Your son Thomas” “Aha – the mischievous one!” “No”, I replied, “you are the mischievous papa”. And his response “No. I am the perfect Papa”.