FAMILY TRIBUTE:
Delivered, at Stinsford, by Jim's son, Tony, and daughters Tessa and Clare.
We all have our own memories of James Charles Gibson. He was a teacher, writer and eminent scholar as well as husband, father, and grandfather. Mention the word Thomas Hardy to him and you almost certainly became a friend. To us he was a father, yet my earliest memories are intertwined with those of Victorian literature, as we sought out another first edition to complete his collection of Hardy’s published works or a photo opportunity for an audio visual programme.
Our father was an immensely intelligent man who had a life full of accomplishment that we can only hope to emulate. Born shortly after the First World War, the middle child with two sisters, it took just 17 years for his first published work with a piece in a national journal expressing his thoughts on an aspect of German literature. Graduating from the Second World War as a Captain he chose in 1949 a life in education and academia as Head of the English Department at Dulwich College, where he met our mother. Under his guidance many students learnt a love of the English language and its literature. An outstanding schoolmaster, Dulwich College saw a dramatic rise in O and A level passes and the first students taking and winning English scholarships to Oxford and Cambridge. A historian of the college described him as “a missionary head of English”.
Our memories started in Canterbury, where he took a position in 1962 as Principal Lecturer at Christ Church College – a new teacher training facility. It was also at this time that he began as the Special Adviser on English in Schools to the publisher Macmillan. Perhaps a coincidence that one of their most valuable assets was the copyright to the various works of Thomas Hardy.
Our memories are of his immense energy in the pursuit both of better teachers and of good English books. Working at a teacher training college meant we saw a lot of my father, though more often than not, we were aware of his presence from the study where he prepared for his lectures, marked papers, compiled anthologies and produced his next work for publication. We recall the evenings when he would be joined by his great friend Raymond Wilson putting anthologies together to bring the wonders of poetry to schoolchildren. Of the occasions when they were short of poems and Dad would sit and compose new ones. I read them now to my children, and sometimes think, I should publish the Complete Works of James Gibson. I am not certain they are in the style of Thomas Hardy but I am sure a Variorum edition would be well received.
Dad published more than 50 titles under his Editorship and many more as General Editor. His knowledge of literature saw him publish works on Yeats, Pepys and Shakespeare but it was Thomas Hardy for whom he saved his love. Through his connection with Macmillan he saw the manuscripts of every book quoting Thomas Hardy for two decades and this encouraged his belief in Hardy as a writer who was truly great.
If I may quote from the dedication to Dad in the book A Spacious Vision it reads “Jim has made generations of readers more acutely aware of the sheer craftsmanship that goes into Hardy’s novels, stories and poems”. The Editors go on to say “Thanks to Jim’s own work we have no excuse for being unaware of the patience, and imaginative scrupulousness with which Hardy sought out the right word, the right phrase, the right order of his poetry”. This love for the poetry, coupled with Dad’s tremendous ability to put emotion into his poetry recitals, has led many of us here today, to read Hardy’s poetry in a fresh light. His readings on the beach at Weymouth were legendary and in the earlier years were regularly followed by a quick swim in the sea. I still recall a woman at a lecture he gave in the 1970s, crying, as my father read Hardy’s poetry aloud and the impression this left on me of the immense enthusiasm and the mastery of the language held by my father.
When I visited Dad four weeks ago he retained the mischievous glint in his eye that he had had since his youth and his tremendous sense of humour. He talked of his busy social life, the constant visiting of friends, and by friends. His life was one his children sometimes had difficulty keeping up with. He was so happy with his life in Dorchester and he told us regularly how lucky he was to have Helen and how well she looked after him. He adored the Wessex countryside and used to say the weather was always better down here.
He was a loving and generous father. He enjoyed family occasions and just loved conversation. He was an excellent raconteur and we all enjoyed listening to his stories from his early life, particularly those from his war years. Growing up he always seemed supremely confident and capable. Every summer we would pack up in a VW van and head off to France, Spain or Italy for 4 weeks - one of the bonuses of being a teacher. We travelled through Europe when most of our friends had not been abroad. It was a time before motorways and cheap food outlets but he made it all seem so simple and a big adventure.
One night we drove all the way to a new camp site in the south of Italy but on arrival our father, ever the perfectionist, was unhappy with the site and decided to turn round and drive all the way back up to his favourite site near Venice. I remember as a child worrying that he might fall asleep at the wheel, but that if I kept talking to him it would keep him awake but I needn’t have worried. In fact taking a family of six abroad was a piece of cake to a man who had learnt to drive in 3-ton trucks and haggled with Egyptians during the war….. and my father had a great capacity for staying up late, whether driving or entertaining! He loved all the family gatherings and was always at the centre enjoying the lively debates, stories from the past and amicable arguments. He was particularly fond of our happy times at Martin Mill, a camp site our parents helped to manage during the summer months, and family parties in Bognor Regis.
He loved the good things in life and thoroughly enjoyed fine food and wine. The airing cupboard was filled with the sound of gurgling beer which he brewed in the early 70s giving way to apple wine in the later 70s - enjoyed at many a teachers meeting. He loved Asti Spumante in Italy, brandy in Spain and only last year was enthusing about the bottles of Vouvray he and Helen had brought back from the Loire.
He was a truly cultured man teaching us about art and architecture, classical music and politics. He loved nature and took great delight in the gardens that both our mother and Helen created. He grew chrysanthemums in Folkestone, hydrangeas in Canterbury and tried to cultivate carnations in Cerne Abbas. He liked to be open and honest and I am grateful that I grew up in a family where these things were encouraged.
Thomas Hardy brought to my father a second family. He was passionate about the direction of the Hardy Society spending great energy reformatting and editing the Journal, leading walks, lecturing and encouraging others. He was so proud of the recent Conferences held by the Society and it is wonderful to read a report that says, “the finest moment of the last conference came when he concluded, and the large audience rose to give him an extended standing ovation”.
He helped the local farmer name his cows after characters from the novels. He advised film producers how to most accurately depict their productions. He wrote questions on Hardy for Mastermind. He spread the Hardy good news in countless lectures in the UK and beyond. He brought to people the poetry, the novels and the man himself. I was delighted to see, on a booksellers web site a copy of Dad’s Complete Poems up for sale with a description that said 100% Satisfaction Guaranteed. He would have loved that.
I like to think of father now, somewhere with Mr Hardy, talking through his works and asking the questions he was never able to put directly. Our father the teacher, who has taught so many to love Hardy, instead becoming the pupil, learning under Thomas’s guidance. Though as children we may not have appreciated Hardy as he did, he was our Dad. He was always there, taking us on countless holidays to Dorchester and Boscastle, stopping at every second hand bookshop, treating us to ice creams and cream teas, chauffeuring us to school, moaning about politicians and enforcing bed-time. More recently it was the Sunday evening catch-up and the phone-call whenever we got stuck on the children’s homework.
We love him and we will miss him. --- Clare, Tony and Tessa.