Tributes

Natasha and Kirsty
Grandad was larger than life, which makes it even harder to accept that he is gone. Ever since we were little we adored him. We waited with bated breath to hear the next inappropriate joke he would tell us, which we would then gleefully tell our friends! Who could forget Mr and Mrs Snockers and their daughter Norma?! As well as being funny, Grandad was also kind. He always knew how to make people smile. He called us his little flowers and that’s what we will always be. 
 
Ana
When I first met David, I was drawn to his friendliness and ability to talk about so many different subjects. He was quite social and open to talking with a variety of different people from all walks of life. Those are qualities that he shared with my own father and brother, Tony, which is  why I grew to love him over the years. I will miss his quirky sense of humor, and his love of facts and trivia which all of his immediate family share. I will remember the good times we all had together, and the times it was just him and me talking about just stuff.  The "fruit of my loins" was how you often described your sons, and it made us snicker. Your son, Peter is my favorite person on this planet. Thanks to you and Joan for raising such a wonderful son. 

Eileen
 David often said to me that it was my fault that he married my sister because their early courting was babysitting me. My earliest memories are of his playful teasing. I grew up to appreciate this was a reflection of his affection and protection towards me ,just like the older brother he became . He always made me feel safe and supported me and my life choices..
I admired his intelligence and passion for social and political equality. This greatly influenced my own way of navigating the world.

He was and always will be my favourite David.

Jean
I enjoyed putting the world to rights with David. Once we'd sorted out the plight of the Further Education system we'd move on to whichever political injustice was annoying us most at the time! He was a brilliant ranting partner and I can only aspire to achieve his level of competence in the coming years. Whenever I feel a rant coming on I will think of David.

George and Barbara
Barbara and I have known Joan and David for so long that I really can’t remember when we first met.  Enough to say it was a seriously long time ago.
Being friends for such a long time means lots of good memories so here is just a selection.  All set in France where we spent lots of holidays in assorted gîtes.
Two fishing memories for starters.  David, as you all certainly know, was a keen fisherman and whenever we went to France he would always take his rods – and an enormous box of live maggots.  God knows how he would have explained that to customs if he’d ever been challenged.  But he seemed to work on the assumption that French fish preferred English cuisine.  I think he must have been wrong though, because I never saw him actually catch a single fish.  But it was not for want of effort.
One French hotel we stayed in en route south advertised itself as having a ‘fishy pond’ where paying guests could ‘show their abilities.’ On a hot summer afternoon while Joan, Barbara and I lounged about, David broke open the maggot carrier and eventually cast his line into what was more than a fishy pond – it was a fairly substantial lake.  We weren’t the only watchers though.  There was a big comedy dog all fluff, perky ears and curly wagging tail – we later found it was called a Berger de Picardie – who was looking on entranced.  Then he clearly decided that David was doing it all wrong and needed help.  So whenever David cast his line the dog perked up his silly ears, wagged his perky tail and jumped into the water to fetch the float back.  He swam back with it in his mouth triumphantly, dropped it at David’s feet, sat down and looked up saying, ‘Nearly lost it there mon ami.  That could have sunk. Better be a bit more careful’.  This happened about half a dozen times as David grew crosser and crosser. Then he snapped.  Blow this for a game of soldiers.  He decided to call it a day at that spot and walk round the lake in the afternoon heat and try his luck on the other side – a safe distance from the dog.  The dog watched him go with great sadness, droopy ears and wagless tail. 
But then he clearly had an idea.  He waited till David was half way round and concentrating on other things, then he took the shortcut.  He leaped into the lake, doggy paddled across and sat and waited in the sunshine for his new friend while he dried out.  When David eventually arrived, hot and flustered, he found the dog, all fluff, perky ears and curly wagging tail waiting for him.  He was too far away for us to catch the actual outburst of language but it must have been considerable! But at that point David decided he’d shown his abilities for long enough, gave up and trudged back with the dog prancing joyously beside him.
That evening during dinner there was a fantastic crash from the kitchen accompanied by a volley of fierce French.  David nodded sagely.  ‘Bloody dog’s helping out,’ he said.
On another occasion he bought a licence from a lakeside cafe to fish in Brittany and hired a rowing boat.  We told him this was not a good idea because the sky was inky.  We were going nowhere and simply refused to leave dry land.  But David had carted his maggots across the Channel and he was going to use them.  The result was that he was in the middle of the lake when the heavens opened, the storm broke, the wind howled and the rain lashed down.  We three were in the cafe along with all the French fishermen who had been on the lake but had seen the weather coming and taken sensible cover.  David cut a heroic solitary figure in the tempest. The French shook their heads – the mad English! ‘No,’ we said, sipping our cognacs, ‘just the mad David.’
A lot of our fond memories seem to involve water. We all stayed in a gîte in the Vendée and decided to hire a boat on the Venise Vert – a heavily wooded ststem of canals, largely grown over by waterweed.  The English abroad, three men in a boat, - well, two men and two women, and definitely no dog – we’ll show these French who truly rule the waves.  We all kitted ourselves up in our British best, the ladies in summer frocks, me in elegant flannels and snappy sports coat, and David in a striped blazer and a straw boater.  He was, of course, from Luton, home of straw boaters in England, and his had the word Luton proudly displayed on the band.  We tried to tell him that Luton in French could almost translate as, ‘Do you want a fight!’ but he was undeterred.
As it turned out, the only fight that almost happened was between the oarsmen, me and David.  We both were Midlands boys but we both claimed how good we were at rowing.  Maybe so – but not so hot at sedentary punting, because that was how we had to propel the boat.  We each had a pole, sat one on each side, and took it in turns to shove it in the water, get a grip on the bottom and push.  We were truly hopeless. The boat veered from side to side along the canal, plunging into grottoes here and inlets there as we lurched along, bickering and blaming each other.  The women were no help.  They simply fell about laughing.  Barbara literally fell about.  The bench she was sitting on tipped up and dumped her inelegantly, sundress akimbo and legs vertical, into the stern.  It took a fair bit of manoeuvring to actually get her right way up.
If the memories don’t involve water then they certainly involve wine.  Once we found ourselves, don’t know how, in an enormous wine-selling barn.  The place had gigantic barrels all round with tubes and pipes pumping the stuff into containers as required.  David whispered to me reverentially, ‘I think I’m in heaven.  There’s wine coming out of the walls!’
And I’m proud to say that we were all present at the first ever wine Festival du Var where David and I both kissed Cleopatra, both tried to do the honourable thing and buy some of the local pink plonk.  We couldn’t.  Because the French simply laughed at us said what do you want to buy it for?  It’s free.  Just drink it.  So we did. And we both finished up giggling like three year olds, slumped in a doorway and having to be driven home by Joan.
There are loads more memories – the nastiness over the wild strawberries and crap French cheese in a Michelin starred hotel near Xanton Chassenon, wedding guests bellowing ‘My Way’ in French at four in the morning and David’s happy smiles at breakfast, pas de probléme and an angry French chef with a butcher’s knife on the Route Napoleon, petanque and barbecues in Brittany and more and more. Too many.  But one last.
David and Joan bought a cottage in Brittany and Barbara and I were frequent visitors.  So was a local old cider-drinker who would turn up at unlikely times obviously after a drink.  David and Joan often obliged but their patience wore thin. And at last matters came to a head. David gave the man a drink then grasping him by the shoulders, spun him round and produced a perfect piece of Franglais which I shall always treasure. ‘Alors, allez oop and au ‘voir my old copain,’ he said while firmly applying the bum’s rush.
‘Au ’voir my old copain.’  That’s exactly how I feel now. ‘Au ‘voir my old copain’   May the wine for ever come out of the walls and thank you for some wonderful times together.

John and Naida
Nearly 50 years is a long time to be friends and we have so many memories, unfortunately I start crying every time I try to write something!
There was the 40th birthday party in Wombourne with an enormous box containing Phyllosan and a whole Brie that you had carefully nurtured. Eventually you were convinced to start Irish dancing. The heady days of Wombourne Labour Party [says John]
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When we moved apart we still managed to get together until these last few years and I'm so glad we had that zoom meeting.

How many games of drunken Bridge did we play where I was rubbish and Dave never got any better, I remember playing one New Years Eve with baby Josh in a sling, he woke up and wouldn't go back to sleep. Still what goes around....

What wonderful times in France,  belly dancing round at Isabell and Rogers'   in front of an ex-footballer, drinking large quantities of Beaujolais. And who can forget watching the jugglers in Chevagny - 'they do it with 5 balls in CAMBRIDGE'.

John still has the card of a bird flying free that Dave sent when he retired and I'm sure all the drunken philosophy was invaleable.

We wish we could be with you but we're not much help. How apposite that Dave should have cheated Covid, died on friday 13th and got rid of Cummings as the last thing he did!

Running out of hankies, please keep in touch. F there's anything we can do please let us know. Thinking of you and the boys,
Love Naida and John. xx

Rose
In memory of a special friend David, who became like a surrogate parent to me, and a grandparent to my children.

A friendship that grew through your children over 40 years.

When you moved to Cambridge to be nearer your grandchildren some 30 years ago, it enabled me to move near Cambridge for work, as I felt I had family there, and liked the sound of Midsummer Common and the idea of walking across Jesus Green.

We spent many hours discussing the world and putting it to rights, however it always reverted back, but we continued.

We spent such good times sharing Christmas/Easter meals and many summer garden-parties.

My children Helena and Laurence both truly appreciated the many hours they spent with you over the years as they grew and became young adults, making them laugh and sometimes blush.

Thank you for acknowledging my academic achievements. Your “well-done “and “the hard work it took” meant a lot to me. Thank you for making me feel ok with who I was.

Thank you for being yourself even though at times a little truculent.
Ps I know you would disagree with the truculent.

Dr Rose, Helena, Laurence and Tony.

Jim Conway
Dear Dave,
So very sorry to see you’ve gone.
You were always so kind, full of fun with an unfailing even handed honesty.
We had many great times together and the one we particularly remembered was when we were teaching at one of Her Majesty’s penal institutions trying to get the inmates into education to hopefully enable them to escape the clutches of the unequal society they were victims of.
We both used to teach once a week on a Wednesday night which coincided with our student’s  weeks supply of tobacco running out and so we used to take them some to tide them over. On one memorable night we had brought herbal tobacco seemingly less lethal  then nicotine tobacco but with an exotic smell and some ‘space dust’- popping sherbet  sweets which  once the sherbet hit the moisture in one’s mouth exploded with a distinct popping sound. This combination of herbal tobacco and exploding sherbet produced hilarious good fun for all except the prison officers who panicked and summoned the newly appointed Assistant Governor who became totally dismayed in the by now totally disarrayed ensemble and resorted to singing a hymn as he feared for his career disappearing abruptly.
Dave in his best diplomatic and easy going mode reassured everyone and skilfully put each and everyone’s mind at rest.
We will all miss you Dave you were a real good un.