The Chronicle 2022

was a private, sensitive man who had let on that he had been much bullied by life, that he had loathed boarding school where his physical disability had been much mocked, that he had extraordinary knowledge about many things. We knew none of this. The evident respect and affection in which he was held was very moving indeed. That he had loathed his time at Michaelhouse was news to us though we knew that his disability had always figured largely in his life, forming much of his personality. His disability precluded much of the obligatory sporting activities at school but he was an enthusiastic member of the Michaelhouse Venture Club which arranged weekend expeditions to the Drakensberg and other places in the Natal Midlands and was run and often led by his Housemaster, whom he liked very much, Hugo Leggatt. Longer more complex expeditions were mounted during school holidays and Doc very much enjoyed these too. He grew to love the Midlands and the Midlands Meander was one of his favourite routes when his breathing difficulties forced him to rely on his car. When we started clearing his home we discovered that his new BMW bought exactly two years ago had clocked up 93,000 kilometres during the pandemic – many of these on solo trips visiting and revisiting the wilder, higher places in KwaZulu-Natal. He loved travel. Cruising worked well for him because of his health issues. He visited, usually alone, many places in Europe, often along rivers, and seemed happy with his own company although I joined him enthusiastically on a successful cruise round the Caribbean, through the Panama Canal – which excited and impressed us both very much – up the west coast of Mexico, Baja and San Diego. We very much enjoyed each other’s company and loved the whole experience; it was good to be so close. It was a similar plan we hatched together now, though this time to New Zealand, to visit family, which was aborted the day before he died. Doc caught polio from his Godfather at his Christening six weeks after his birth. He had a pronounced limp and a weakened left side, had always had

balance issues and could fall easily. This lead to many scrapes. Mum was a physiotherapist and worked on Doc during his childhood so that at least he never had to wear callipers. But the scars from this disease had a lasting effect. The staff at Tina’s all came up to speak with us and all his friends too. Here at least was a genuine wake filled with affection which by sheer luck and a message from New Zealand we stumbled across and found a side to our brother we hardly knew, and could celebrate. We decided that there would be no further service and that we’d scatter his ashes when they were “ready for collection” at a site to be chosen. In the meantime it has been a week of packing up a life, rationalising belongings, visiting lawyers, making claims to insurance companies. Uncovering little projects Doc was working on, discovering other characters in the great drama that is Life. We have laughed too and reminisced well. There have been many tears for this was a life cut short and Doc was very much loved by us all. When our family moved to Natal from Cape Town in 1957 and Doc was only four months old, my father found a beautiful house in Kloof on the edge of the escarpment with views to the south east towards Durban. Our parents made a garden out of the large tropical grounds and outside the wall planted six London Plane trees, saplings, carefully transferred from the nursery to the garden in the little Fiat Topolino they owned, with its canvas roof down. These beautiful trees have flourished and grown tall in the sixty five years since then and it was along this shaded line that we sprinkled Doc’s ashes. He loved our home there where he felt happiest and safest – at 53 Peace Road, Kloof. This is a new era. The Queen has died, a madman is running Russia and in England we have a nutty Prime Minister with idiotic policies presiding over a broken down Britain. The seas are rising and everywhere there is anger and protest, cruelty and greed.

glad on two counts, that he did not die on our cruise and that he does not need to see any more of the mess that the world is in. Dearest Brother Doc , Rest In Peace. With love from your boeties Peed & Miggy and Sister Sal.

Written by his brother, Peter

CRAVEN, SIR JOHN Born 1940, Died 2022 Michaelhouse, 1954-1957

Excerpt from The Daily Telegraph Friday 17 June 2022. Financier who was instrumental in many of the mergers during the City ‘Big Bang’ of the 1980s. Sir John Craven, who has died aged 81, was one of the City’s most influential dealmakers, having brokered many of the marriages of banks and stock exchange firms that formed the Big Bang revolution of the mid-1980s. After a stellar early career in the Euro bond markets with Warburgs and Credit Suisse White Weld, Craven formed his own advisory firm, Phoenix Securities, in 1981 to specialise in bespoke advisory work and capitalraisings. Trusted by his City peers, discreet and independent, he was perfectly placed to intermediate in the take-your-partners scramble that following the announcement in 1983 of rule changes - known as Big Bang and effective from October 1986 - that would allow British and foreign banks to buy up stockbroking and jobbing firms with the ambition of creating securities trading houses akin to the giants of Wall Street. “We always tried to get the partners to focus on longer-term issues such as the strengths and weaknesses of the banks they would join;’ Craven recalled, “but I’m bound to say it was not always possible to convince them to think of anything other than top dollar:’ With Craven having had such a central role in this self-reinvention of the City, his reputation stood high and in 1987 he was approached to become chief executive of Morgan Grenfell, the merchant bank that had stained its name

And my brother David has died. I am

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