Stuart Blair The death of Stuart is shockingly sad for all of those of us who were fortunate enough to have known him. It is always difficult to lose somebody who you value and the closer they are to you the worse is that loss so at this time I am sure that all our thoughts are with Stuart’s family. However, I really do believe that we have to remember the good times and that the only way forward is to focus on the positive and with Stuart there is so much good that comes to mind.

I first met Stuart in 1973 when I was about to graduate and he was due to enrol at Lampeter. We were both 23 at the time as Stuart had been out at work, including the police cadets, and I had gone up to Lampeter after VSO. Stuart always looked very serious, as though there was some matter of great import which he was aware of but which in my feeble-minded way I was entirely ignorant. But when he smiled his face lit up and you had to laugh. In those, and subsequent days, there seemed so much to laugh about and I am blessed with a wonderful store of those memories.

There was the time of ‘The Cheaters’ Flypast.’ This was a spectacle that was billed as the highlight of the academic year. Stuart spear-headed a formation of runners as they sped downs the High Street in perfect formation. The display was enlivened by the odd cry of “Cheat, Cheat, Cheaters!” and accompanied by the inimitable hand gesture. When this elite body of athletes came to The Plough Inn, Piers Smith leaned out of an upstairs window and lowered the words of The Cheaters’ song to further delight a spell-bound audience.

I particularly remember Stuart as the RMO at the 16th Dinner of the 16 Club. Peter Allison had some crazy idea about a ‘Time capsule.’ The idea was that the capsule would contain a number of precious items that would remain hidden for the odd Millennium until discovered by some incredulous being of the future. At the dinner we were invited to put precious items into the container which would disclose some of the history of the Club. I remember a goblet going in, a menu card, and then a Club Tie until some wag (I think it was Bill Blincoe!) put in his underpants. I can still see Stuart’s face just dissolved into helpless laughter. Later that night/early morning we were summoned by Peter to partake in the ritual of the placing of the ‘Time Capsule’ For some reason this require us to hike for miles up over in the direction of the Hill Fort. Eventually when worn out from walking, suffering lack of alcohol withdrawal symptoms and soaked through from the dew (worse in Blincoe’s case as he was going ‘Commando’) we came to the right place as deemed by our RMO and Peter. Peter then read out, in a voice rich with emotion, a terrible oath binding us to eternal secrecy as to the whereabouts of the ‘Time Capsule.’ All of which was a little unnecessary as none of us had the slightest idea as to where we were. It was at this point that we realised that we had forgotten to bring a spade. Stuart then searched about the area until he found a stick and then proceeded to scratch some sort of scrape into the ground while the rest of us stood round and watched him. Do I think that it is there now? Well, perhaps, but it is more likely that some passing farm labourer has stumbled over it and wondered what on earth Bill Blincoe’s underpants (His mum always sowed in a name tag) were doing in the middle of a field.

Later on in Oxford, Stuart was a good and kind friend and helped store kit for us while we were in a state of semi-permanent transit. At the time we were both terribly broke and so Stuart came up with the idea of us working at the Lucy Box factory. There were two jobs going; one was boring and the other excessively boring. I was put on the former as I had factory experience but Stuart calmly accepted the latter. I think that he knew that my financial needs were even greater than his and that I had to stick the job even longer.

We also knew Stuart and Louise in Shropshire and spent many happy days together. I still have a wonderful clip of cine film of us all in their garden. Edward, my eldest son and a future Chairman of The 16 Club, is aged about four at the time and is dressed up in their Sealed Knot kit. Stuart is sitting there with a rolled up cigarette in one hand and laughing at the antics of the little boy in his great helmet and wielding a mighty sword.

After Stuart and Louise left Shropshire we hardly saw them again and I regret now that we lost touch. However, I pleased and privileged to have known a good man and a kind friend and to have shared so many happy occasions with him.



Richard Jopling