Halloween

Without much exaggeration I can say that Halloween in the UK is pathetic compared to the last five years in the States. I have such wonderful memories of big groups of parents and children walking around Oak Hill, or Spring or Begg for a couple of hours, welcoming anyone who wanted to join and all the children in some fancy dress. Everyone made an effort, always, and especially Jill, who never resorted to buying a costume for the boys. She may have borrowed a lion outfit once, but other than that she generally cobbled together stuff and made the most wonderful outfits; my favourite is still The Cat in the Hat. Anyway, in honor of five great US Halloweens, here are some snaps from 2003 to 2007:

Christian's Birthday

We finally celebrated my birthday last Sunday, the 26th Oct; a month late. We were going to celebrate it on Saturday 27th September at Dad's house, but other events that day got in the way, and it hadn't felt right to celebrate it until now. My Arsenal away strip complemented Jill's - see Jill's birthday home strip, here - and we had some lovely flapjack cake. The hardest part of the day was opening the card my Dad sent me.

Geek Orthodox

We were discussing religion at dinner tonight, working our way though the different types of faith. George asked us what Geek Orthodox was all about.

Evening Reading

Natalie and John's Wedding

Last Friday night was Natalie and Johnathon's wedding. The reception was held at Tewinbury Barn, where Anna and Rupert had their reception. We did some dancing, which was fun, especially as our dancing styles now have a significant retro quality to them.

Morgan and Ella visit St. Albans

It was great to see Morgan and Ella last Saturday night. We went to, reputedly, the oldest pub in England, Ye Old Fighting Cocks, which has a Wikipedia entry here and its own site, here . Morgan drank real beer,

and sat at the bar like a real local:


The traditional fayre was devoured happily,

And a good time was had by all:





The walk home was nice too:

Christian's Speech

It’s not unusual for people to say to me, especially when I have been a little too direct or terse, “that was just like Mick” or “you’re just like your father”, and even though I make a show of contrition, in fact, just between you and me, I am a little proud of the accusation. And today, I am happy to admit it.

I had a think about other ways I’m like my Dad. Here are some:

I‘m about 6 foot, and I’m reasonably slim. I like cheese and I like chocolate. I have bushy eyebrows, though mine don’t show like his (you need to see Uncle Alick for the real deal). I used to play tennis: pretty well in fact. I like music. I am more introvert than extrovert. I get preoccupied with things. I married a woman whose name begins with “J” (he did it twice).

There are other ways in which I am not like my Dad.

My hair is naturally blonde, his was jet black. I like novel. He liked familiar. I know the names of The Rolling Stones and The Beatles. He didn’t (and was proud of the fact). I am right footed, right handed and right brained. He was left footed, left handed and very, very, very …….very left brained.

And there are also some ways in which I am still trying to be like my Dad.

He ploughed his own furrow. He was skeptical of vested interests, “secret” organisations, and the ‘system’ in general. He was scathing of pomposity and pretension. He went out of his way to do things his way. I admired that and I still do.

He drew a good straight line. It was very clear where you stood with him; I probably crossed it a little too often. He was firm and overwhelmingly fair. He tried to do the right thing. He was loyal,
trustworthy and reliable. He was good at his job: I know. I worked at Shell Centre in the summer holidays as a messenger, and when people realized I was Mick Barnett’s son I was given
instant respect. What he did, he did very well. He would rather not participate than perform at a level that was below his standards.

And he was quietly brave. His wartime and postwar experiences in Paris and London were formative. Dealing with the death of his first wife, Jose, my mum, when he was in his early 40s with two young children whilst holding down a serious job was one of his achievements I am most grateful for. Coping with the death of his second wife, Joan, after having been diagnosed a few years earlier with Parkinson’s, was harder for him, though he bore this too with
considerable dignity and a determined resolve.

And when he realized that he couldn’t sustain a level of performance to his standards any longer he quietly and bravely decided to bow out, his way.

So the next time someone reminds me I am just like my Dad, I shall sit back and with a wide grin on my face, say “yep, you might just be right”

Anna's Speech

I have my own special reason to be thankful to Dad. After he and Jose had Christian they were advised not to have any more children but decided that to complete their family they would adopt a baby girl. That was me! During my childhood I had this fairytale notion that there was huge room full of pink cots and Mum, Dad and Christian walked up and down for hours looking at the all the babies until they eventually chose me. I was always told that I was somehow special as I had been ‘chosen’. I’ve since found out of course, to my huge disappointment, that this wasn’t how it was done at all but it doesn’t change what I believe! However I was chosen, it really doesn’t matter.

What does matter though is that Christian and I were always treated exactly the same and I never felt anything other than a much loved daughter, sister, granddaughter and niece. When our mum died when Christian was 10 and I was 6, Dad worked so hard, with the help of our two grandmother’s, a very special auntie, and then Joan, to provide us with a stable, secure and loving family life.

He kept an adoption file of letters and photos from my birth Mother so that when I started asking questions, as he knew I would, it was all there for me to see. And just to show what a remarkable and selfless man he was, when, at the age of 28 and after having had my second baby and curiosity getting the better of me, I asked him how he would feel if I traced my birth mother, he welcomed the idea with open arms as he did my birth mother when they met a couple of months later.

Not many people get to choose their daughters, but my Mum and Dad did and I am eternally grateful to them both

Steve's Speech

Hi, I`m Steve Mossey and I was Mick’s bridge partner for about 14 years. He was a very good player and we had a lot of success at Hertford Bridge Club. We won several competitions at the club and also at other venues. Probably our biggest success was leading our team of 8 to victory in the Eccles Cup in Hemel Hempstead. We once came second in the Heath Cup, at Hertford Heath, out of about 35 teams of 4...and we won £60! Perhaps our biggest disappointment was coming second in the Club Champions pairs in WGC - we could have won but for throwing the wrong card right at the end of the hand. Although we occasionally pointed out each others mistakes we never had a row or took umbrage.
Apart from bridge we also played golf as a pair a couple of times at Knebworth GC against another bridge pair..we won! I was at Knebworth last Tuesday and spoke to the bar tender...she said that Mick was a lovely bloke and very popular.
Mick was a generous man - he offered me good deals on his old cars...I bought two from him and my wife still drives one. He was also very generous in sponsoring my charitable expeditions. He will be greatly missed.

Geoff's Speech

I did not seek to give this short address and when Anna telephoned me I was initially hesitant but quickly realised I was flattered to be asked to pay a tribute to Michael: I always called him Michael.

We first met about 15 years ago by chance at the Golf Club down the road at Knebworth. We teamed up that day and since then Michael, Roy Shepperd, John Allen my wife Jenny and I played variously together twice a week. So that gave ample time for Michael and me to get to know one another. I know that he would have preferred me to have taken the game more seriously and he would also have preferred a more competitive element. But I have seen how golf can somehow get under the skin and I would not budge. I’m sorry Michael. It was no big deal between us and there was no rancour whatever. Christian and Anna – you may be please to hear also that never ever did so much as a penny change hands as a result of our golf.

In the event none of us, except Jenny perhaps, ever improved much at the game.

I quickly learnt that Michael had a certain gravitas about him which I lack. But we formed a friendship: not close, but one of mutual respect and fondness I believe. I learned about Christian and Anna and met Joan his wife and saw first-hand the fearful jolt the loss of her gave him. Tragically he had had some experience of having to cope.

I learnt also of his interest in bridge at which he was able to exercise his competitive bent. Not without success. I would think bridge suited Michael or was it that Michael suited bridge ?

As the years passed and an arthritic hip, a cluster of heart by-passes and in Michael’s case Parkinson’s disease chose us, 18 holes became 9 and mechanised transport was adopted to carry our clubs and sometimes Michael as well. Then absences from the course were not uncommon. But we continued to meet regularly at the club for a natter over coffee. Michael enjoyed the company although he was not naturally a gregarious man.

Roy Shepperd and John Allen and their wives were especially kind to him and entertained him to supper on occasions. Michael keenly took us all out for a meal by way of thanks.

Eventually his health deteriorated more and he felt unable to play golf. He was reluctant to talk much about his condition but throughout our association I found Michael had a dignity, decency, straight-forwardness and innate sense of fair play in all things which singled him out as a loyal and good friend.

But these last two weeks or so I have learnt that it was not only those qualities with which Michael was blessed.

He was also a courageous and special man.