Richard and I were like “chalk and cheese”: a particularly apt simile, given his massive predilection for all things “fromage”, preferably the stronger and pongier, the better. It was an “acquired” taste of his which, despite his protestations, especially in the case of Epoisses, neither I nor my two daughters ever managed to acquire.
Richard’s mathematical, sporting and wine-tasting interests were similarly not shared. I never managed to get further than the first paragraph into his learned tome “Swaps and other Derivatives” and, when I asked him what he really liked about Maths, he would smile and say “the beauty of an elegantly expressed mathematical proof”. Well, I speak several languages, but I never really managed to understand the concepts behind that one. In that respect, he inhabited a realm that, sadly, I could never share.
So, what did bring us together? Serendipity, happenstance: call it what you will. Having worked together in the City of London in the late 80s and 90, our paths had drifted apart until by chance, after both of our previous partners had tragically passed away, we happened to make contact and started slowly to build a rapport.
Upon reflection, I think that, once we’d realised just how different we were, we just relaxed into an appreciation of that difference and simply enjoyed each other’s company: at the theatre or the opera, when dining out, travelling, or just simply “pottering about”. However, what I greatly admired in Richard was his devotion to his family and friends, his calm, level-headed approach to life and his generous attitude to helping and serving others: not in a loud or brash way but rather in a somewhat “softly-softly” manner. In addition to his great academic acumen, he had a finely tuned emotional intelligence and sensed immediately whenever anyone was upset, at which point he always offered a discreetly willing ear and non-judgemental support. He was an old-fashioned type of English gentleman: not in the stiff-upper-lip type of way but with a non-invasive, impeccably mannered approach to any problem. His understated sense of humour was not without irony and whimsey and his softly spoken put-downs when dealing with “bumbling officialdom” were legendary.
So, was he perfect? Not if you ever heard him singing Christmas carols at Midnight Mass with great vim, vigour and gusto but no sense of tuning whatsoever!
Was he an atheist? Ever the scientist requiring empirical proof of anything, yes. But how many atheists do YOU know who attend the 8am Sunday Communion service at their local church and read far more books on the history of religion and existence/non-existence of God than anything else? I always joked with him that his next step should have been a PhD in Theology and, when our local Vicar later said that when he first met Richard, he thought that he must have been a "retired bishop in mufti", I was not surprised!
The former Imperial College chaplain and close friend of Richard’s, David Ashforth, sent a recent message that he had been reading Chown’s book “The Magic Furnace” about the discovery that all the atoms we are made of, are created in the hearts of stars which had exploded billions of years ago. Our role, as human beings apparently, is to create consciousness out of the dust of exploding stars. What happens when we leave our stardust behind, we shall see. Knowing Richard’s scientific enquiring mind, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already in the middle of conducting his own experiments into that one.
He leaves a great big Richard Flavell-sized hole in the hearts of me, his two sons, Rob and Tim, his two step-daughters, Hannah and Sarah, his brother Martin and family and his sister Kay and hers. The fact that you have helped see him off either physically or virtually and have taken the trouble to send cards/flowers and post dedications on his virtual tribute page, all prove without a doubt that our dear Richard was much loved and will be sorely missed.
May he rest in peace!
