The Chronicle 2022

was Margaret Inglis (the leading South African actress of the time), and boyhood friends remember his father, Sam Leith’s, sharp and very funny wit. His sister is the restaurateur, businesswoman and celebrity, Dame Prue Leith. Even at prep school (Clifton, Nottingham Road) James displayed a very bright mind and a confidence which marked him out for future success, probably in acting, but he could have chosen any career. In 1960 he started at Michaelhouse in Farfield, but not in D Block, then the normal entry point: he was one of about half a dozen very bright boys who were promoted straight into C Block (an experiment which was later abandoned). This meant that he matriculated in 1962, and then stayed on in the sixth form for 18 months to take A Levels. With the aim of improving his chances of getting into a British University, he then spent a year at a “crammer” in London before returning to South Africa for military service. Later in theatre programme notes he described himself as “positively the worst soldier in the world” which was typically modest but entirely untrue: he was commissioned in the South African infantry in June 1965. Having been accepted at St Andrew’s University to read English, James became a leading light in the university dramatic society, and was no stranger to the famous golf course. In his last year, he met the writer, Penny Junor, who was newly arrived; they were married in 1970. James had enrolled at LAMDA (London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art) after graduating, but broke off when in 1971 he was offered the lead role opposite Glynis Johns in a South African production of “Forty Carats”. After more than a decade on the stage, he had the first of several changes of career. Declaring acting to be ‘no job for a grown man!’ he enrolled in his sister’s cookery school, did a post-graduate course in business management, and became a restaurateur. By the early 1990s, with four children and a pressing book deadline for Penny, James put that business to one side and became a househusband, taking over the cooking, the laundry and the running of the family. In this he excelled, despite his frequent self-effacing protestations to the contrary, as is neatly borne out in his much-feted book “Ironing John”. (After his death an extract was read as far afield as the Falkland Islands...)

For the last two decades of his working life he turned his talents to jigsaws, helping to design and market iconic wooden puzzles for a friend. When the company (The Wentworth Wooden Jigsaw Company) finally took off, he stepped back with typical modesty, to make way for someone ‘who knew what they were doing!’ This freed him up to play golf and tennis, both of which he did several times a week with great enthusiasm. Sadly, he never wrote another book but “Ironing John” remains a testament to his wit and wisdom - and his surgically keen eye for the ridiculous. He neither wanted nor achieved fame and fortune but he was a gentle, kind and wholly successful human being, and a much-loved husband, father and grandfather and friend. His death leaves the world a very much poorer place. He died surrounded by his family, at home in Wiltshire, after suffering prostate cancer.

It tells you that Fred was utterly, wholeheartedly and in every other way totally committed to the ideal of not judging anyone or anything at all, especially not just at face value. He was the very personification of a forgiving God. It tells you about Fred’s enormous faith. Always present, right there on his sleeve, but never on a ladle to be forced down anyone’s throat! It tells you that Fred had the courage to do what he thought was right. The positioning of this alter is now a permanent monument to that fact in the early days of Fred’s tenure as chaplain at Michaelhouse, he was told that he could not and must not move the altar from where it was positioned much further back in the apse. My story of Fred is probably not all that different to yours. It’s one of humor, vigor, principle, wisdom, and humility. He gave all of those things, by the bucketful, to anyone who asked. Not because he was frivolous or shallow, but because he cared and was generous. You just knew that you didn’t have to clamor for Fred’s attention in a crowded room, he would get to you, and he would give you all the time in the world when he did. Fred just knew everyone, and not just their names. He could give them a biblical reference even… so and so.. son of so and so… son of son and so… Fred was up for anything. When he and Anne were out in the karoo Wilderness, I phoned him up and asked if he would be interested in a project which involved 18 hours of driving, early mornings, climbing through fences, traipsing through wet fields and no pay. Who’s going to be there Murr he wanted to know. Not because he would only make the commitment if big names were going to be in on it, but because he was already trawling his memory banks for a lark and an anecdote. No surprises, he knew everyone involved in the project, except one 13-year-old boy who within the first morning had been assigned his biblical lineage and his eyes out on stalks because of all the stories about his grandpa and great uncle that Fred had regaled him with.

RIP, James.

Written by Seamus Smyth & John Bates

MCBRIDE, PETER Born 1954, Died 2022 Michaelhouse, 1967-1970 PITOUT, FATHER FRED Born 1948, Died 2022 Michaelhouse, 1962-1965

In 1990 I was the recipient of the D Block Divinity Prize. Not because of any tremendous spiritual depth on my part. If anything, I probably ranked amongst the most spectacular lowlights of Fred’s evangelizing effort. The award probably tells you a whole lot more about the man who made it than about the spotty, defiant boy who received it. It tells you about Fred’s sense of humour – not just in his choice of a recipient but also in the fact that he was tickled pink by my choice of a book prize: Fugitive from the far side by Gary Larson.

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