Leo Abse - a personal note - Leo Abse died last month
How to convey, let alone explain, the excitement of knowing Leo Abse? I first met him when, in the late 1950’s, I applied for a job as an assistant solicitor in hi office. I was interviewed, not in his office, or at The Law Society, but in his study in the house in Cardiff where he lived with his wife Marjorie and their two small children. The house itself was extraordinary, decorated by his first wife in a manner which seemed to me exotic and romantic in its dark colours and bold patterns. Leo’s study, and the man himself, were all of a piece with the setting. We talked about a suite of Chagall prints and about a Picasso pot he had brought back from France. We may have spoken about my suitability for the job, I cannot remember; but when offered me the job, I accepted without stopping to think.
Other events soon took me back to Cambridge but the short time I was in Cardiff made a lifelong tie between us. We kept in touch erratically; for tea on the Members’ terrace at the House of Commons, or in committee rooms when one or other of us was arguing a cause. Leo came to Cambridge occasionally when renewing academic contacts or speaking at the Union Society.
Visits to his London house, again bearing his wife’s changing tastes were never less than absorbing, not least the wide range of interests of the people he gathered round him. His energy seemed limitless, to the point that he once complained that people at a party would wait in subdued tones for him to arrive and set the room ‘on a roar’
One of the many contradictions about Leo was that although you might think that underneath the sponsor, and co-sponsor (he was never possessive) of a prolific range of social legislation, there lay an idealist. In Leo’s case, that is perhaps not quite the right word. His early upbringing and then the wartime career in the RAF had made him a tough, pragmatic, lawyer/reformer- one of the greatest. His objectives were fairness and justice; he pursued them with skill, using his knowledge of human beings to make the most of the internal politics of committees. Much has been written, rightly, about his legislative achievements; we should remember his command of the relationships within committees where most of the hard work was done.
He was contentious, spirited and courageous; I never saw him flinch or balk at an obstacle. He made enemies, of course he did, he cut through beaurocracy, entrenched interest, special pleading and people do not like being found out. But he made many, many more friends. He was a man of such varied talents and interest and the extent of his circle of friends reflected this. Until the very end his memory seldom failed him.
After his first wife’s death he mourned and seemed to shrink, Even so, I remember tours of art exhibitions in London where, twelve years his junior, I had difficulty keeping up. His comments on everything from Renaissance Italian art, to Rembrandt or Monet showed a depth of understanding which few could equal. When he met and married his second wife his vitality returned; the sadness and loneliness which had clouded so many years gradually lifted and he entered a creative period of writing and he an she travelled extensively in Europe, returning with glowing descriptions of the pictures in the galleries they visited.
He showed me the true meaning of friendship as something to be cherished. If you were successful at something, he welcomed the achievement without reservation where some lesser souls might have shown a little envy. When your world was coming apart, he tirelessly helped to put it back together, albeit in different form. He was still the pragmatist, never letting you think that ‘everything would be all right.’ Each of his friends will have a different picture of him, but we all knew, at once, on hearing of his death, just what it is that we have each of us lost, the tenderness and understanding which underlay and reformer.
How to convey, let alone explain, the excitement of knowing Leo Abse? I first met him when, in the late 1950’s, I applied for a job as an assistant solicitor in hi office. I was interviewed, not in his office, or at The Law Society, but in his study in the house in Cardiff where he lived with his wife Marjorie and their two small children. The house itself was extraordinary, decorated by his first wife in a manner which seemed to me exotic and romantic in its dark colours and bold patterns. Leo’s study, and the man himself, were all of a piece with the setting. We talked about a suite of Chagall prints and about a Picasso pot he had brought back from France. We may have spoken about my suitability for the job, I cannot remember; but when offered me the job, I accepted without stopping to think.
Other events soon took me back to Cambridge but the short time I was in Cardiff made a lifelong tie between us. We kept in touch erratically; for tea on the Members’ terrace at the House of Commons, or in committee rooms when one or other of us was arguing a cause. Leo came to Cambridge occasionally when renewing academic contacts or speaking at the Union Society.
Visits to his London house, again bearing his wife’s changing tastes were never less than absorbing, not least the wide range of interests of the people he gathered round him. His energy seemed limitless, to the point that he once complained that people at a party would wait in subdued tones for him to arrive and set the room ‘on a roar’
One of the many contradictions about Leo was that although you might think that underneath the sponsor, and co-sponsor (he was never possessive) of a prolific range of social legislation, there lay an idealist. In Leo’s case, that is perhaps not quite the right word. His early upbringing and then the wartime career in the RAF had made him a tough, pragmatic, lawyer/reformer- one of the greatest. His objectives were fairness and justice; he pursued them with skill, using his knowledge of human beings to make the most of the internal politics of committees. Much has been written, rightly, about his legislative achievements; we should remember his command of the relationships within committees where most of the hard work was done.
He was contentious, spirited and courageous; I never saw him flinch or balk at an obstacle. He made enemies, of course he did, he cut through beaurocracy, entrenched interest, special pleading and people do not like being found out. But he made many, many more friends. He was a man of such varied talents and interest and the extent of his circle of friends reflected this. Until the very end his memory seldom failed him.
After his first wife’s death he mourned and seemed to shrink, Even so, I remember tours of art exhibitions in London where, twelve years his junior, I had difficulty keeping up. His comments on everything from Renaissance Italian art, to Rembrandt or Monet showed a depth of understanding which few could equal. When he met and married his second wife his vitality returned; the sadness and loneliness which had clouded so many years gradually lifted and he entered a creative period of writing and he an she travelled extensively in Europe, returning with glowing descriptions of the pictures in the galleries they visited.
He showed me the true meaning of friendship as something to be cherished. If you were successful at something, he welcomed the achievement without reservation where some lesser souls might have shown a little envy. When your world was coming apart, he tirelessly helped to put it back together, albeit in different form. He was still the pragmatist, never letting you think that ‘everything would be all right.’ Each of his friends will have a different picture of him, but we all knew, at once, on hearing of his death, just what it is that we have each of us lost, the tenderness and understanding which underlay and reformer.
Labels: Obituary
posted by Peter Soar at 5:38 PM
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