I was sorry and sad to not have been able to share in the service at Altrincham Crematorium today, due to ill health. I missed the sense of collective grief, of drawing together with friends-in-common, of sharing memories, and of celebrating a precious life. But in the quiet of my own home, I was there in spirit as I lit a candle and held Nigel in its light.
 
I like this photo of Nigel, taken at my 40th birthday party, many years ago. He and I became friends after our postgraduate years of violin study at the RNCM, he having finished a few years before me. We shared experiences of adapting to the different culture of a music conservatoire after being in a university environment, he at York and myself at Sheffield. From the beginning of the 1990s, we would often find ourselves gigging together. I have happy memories of conversing across the aisle on a coach late at night after a choral society engagement, or of sharing lifts to many an ‘underground’ theatre pit. We would co-discover the joys of the musicals or find ourselves holding our breath at certain challenging passages of Don Quixote or Swan Lake ballets. These were days of seriousness and of humour. We would often have a laugh; our senses of humour seemed to click, and Nigel had an infectious laugh.
 
Later, as we both began working at the RNCM, our friendship continued. I would pop into the library for a chat. If he wasn’t manning the front desk, I would find him in one of the back rooms, poring over new additions to the library’s collection, always in an inquisitive attitude. His knowledge of music was phenomenal. This was because he was a learner through and through. He sought to enlarge his horizons and perspectives whenever he could. He was interested in both people and ideas, particularly in history and in art.
 
When I would be looking for musical inspiration for a Dalcroze lesson, Nigel would always be interested in my topic and would often go and pick out the odd CD or piece of sheet music from the library’s collection that might serve the purpose. Once, when clearing out old stock, he produced a couple of old LPs from the RNCM’s library’s archives of Emile Jaques-Dalcroze’s chamber music and said, ‘why don’t you have those. I don’t think anyone else would want them!’ They’re here, on my shelf.
 
Nigel had a big heart. He was a loyal and caring friend and would be concerned when someone dear to him was facing a challenging time. His concern would overflow into practical help. My circle of friends was enlarged through Nigel, (I probably would have caught up with some of them today, had I been able to be at the Rope and Anchor). He was a generous host who enjoyed lively dinner parties. On other occasions, when he couldn’t be bothered cooking, we would pop over for a quick home-cooked meal at the Jam Street Café, in its early days.
 
After moving to Anglesey and, in particular, becoming carer for my mother, I saw Nigel infrequently. I do regret not having been able to share more of the latter chapter of his life with him, knowing of his struggles. However, I know that our friendship accommodated life’s changes of circumstances and they do not detract from these memories. The riches of friendship remain in the heart. I am happy to have been part of the tapestry of his life, a life well lived.