I’ve been looking at some old photographs and thought this was interesting.

This is Bryan Jackaman Ellis (16 November 1900-3Q1979), aged 4 in 1904. Bryan was a friend of my parents, having met them Youth Hostelling during WWII. I remember him from my childhood in 1950s as a funny old boy, very Edwardian and ascetic who I thought looked like Mr Punch. He was a confirmed bachelor, with a stammer, who always wore a kilt (I think I only once ever saw him in trousers). He always said he wanted to live to be 101 as then he would have lived in three centuries! He expected small boys to speak only when they were spoken to and I’m only surprised I wasn’t required to address him as “Sir”, as I believe he had to his father.

When I knew him he worked as a surveyor’s mate for the Ordnance Survey at various places in the west country, he always lived in lodgings. He was passionately interested in architecture and steam trains – he would go anywhere in UK to look at a church or ride a rural train line. He spent most weekends off somewhere Youth Hostelling until well after his retirement. Consequently he had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Brit sh Isles; there were few places he hadn’t visited at some time or another.

He often visited us at Christmas, staying just a couple of days between other visits to friends, visits to churches etc. I also remember that every week he mailed my parents the latest copies of Punch and Country Life after he had read (and annotated!) them.

Every year he held a birthday lunch, in a different town, on the Sunday in November nearest his birthday. All his friends were invited, usually a dozen or so went along, and between them they stood him lunch; every 5th (or was it 10th?) year he returned the favour. I went to several of these lunches as a youngster; I remember lunching at the newly opened Mermaid Theatre in London (early 60s?), in Cambridge and in Brighton. I think I may still have somewhere my photographs of Brighton seafront from that day in the mid-60s! I also remember the whole group of us sitting in this posh restaurant in Cambridge, rubbing our fingers round the rims of our wine-glasses to make them “sing”.

I would have been about 10 or 11 when we went to the Mermaid. I asked if I could have the trout starter (trout was a fabulous beast then and I’d never had it). My father explained that I’d probably get a couple of small pieces of trout on some toast; was this what I wanted; I insisted, determined to try this rarity. When it arrived, much to my father’s disgust, I got a whole trout! I’ve loved trout ever since.