Dear Bill,
This is a letter to you wherever you are in the great unknown.
First, like any polite letter, there are the thankyous:
Thank you for opening my mind to the vastness and interest of the world, to politics, to ideas I’d never had. You played a big part in making me leave childhood behind and become a grown-up.
Thank you for teaching me bridge. I remember playing with your Dad on many occasions when he came down for a visit. You’d been so shocked that my mother, a champion bridge player, thought I was too silly to learn.
Thank you for always being supportive. I didn’t see so much of you in the latter days, but you would always come down if I was having technical problems with computers, and we’d explore a little of Cornwall then too. You were there too for the funerals of my Mum and Dad, both of whom you’d known for many years – and you made sure that Tony, the recluse, came with you – even if it meant you had to bring him kicking and screaming.
Thank you for being on the end of a phone, the pleasure that always appeared to give you and the many hours spent reminiscing.
And here are the plaudits:
For your mind – you were always the cleverest person I’ve ever known, and the most clear-headed. Even in one of my last visits recently, you could fill me in on details of something that happened fifty years ago and which had turned to fog in my own brain.
Your gift for languages which was truly remarkable. You could just pick up the rhythms of a language which was new to you just by spending a couple of weeks in a country. And of course it helped that you already knew Russian and were well-versed in Mandarin.
For your curiosity about anything and everything. For your acceptance of people of all types, for everyone has something to offer.
For your laugh and wonderful wicked sense of humour.
For the shared memories. What follows are a few of these from Exeter days, in our youth. There are of course many more, and many more recent than this – but these were the glory days!

 Here follows a ream of memories of those times when you, Steve, Tony and I were the magical foursome that we were all through our University days.
Tony was the first one I met, chatting me up one evening towards the end of the Autumn term in the Ram. Later, already an ‘item’, he introduced me to his two closest friends, you and Steve. These are some of the things we all did together:
The four of us used to walk on Dartmoor to some of the standing stone circles which are still scattered over the moor to watch the dawn coming up. You taught me so much about those extraordinary places, which still feel ancient and spiritual to me. Much later we walked all round similar sites in Cornwall: Chysauster, ‘magic healing’ stones such as the Men-an-tol, the Hurlers and many more circles and ‘dancing maidens’. Your knowledge of pre-history and your interest in it inspired me too. One strong memory was of travelling back from the South-East in my old banger with you in the passenger seat. It was a dark night and we were passing Stonehenge. This whole area has always made me feel connected with the past; it is as if something in my blood cries back to the ancient times and recognizes them. Even the sound of the car engine appeared to go quiet and it felt as if we were travelling through a thickened air, another dimension entirely. And suddenly the old ring on my finger, a family heirloom, exploded. Literally. The stone embedded in it flew out and I never found it again. Both of us were thoroughly spooked by this, though neither of us could offer any reasonable explanation.
Much of what we did together at that time was somewhere on the edge of reality, a kind of underflow that fascinated all four of us. We experimented with all sorts of things: seances, telepathy and much else. We even tried to be scientific about it! Tony and Bill would be in one house and Steve and I in another with a telephone to hand in each. Then Tony would show Bill a card or an object and he would concentrate on transmitting the image to me. When I’d got the image, Steve would ring and relay that back. I got it right in a very high proportion of times. Weird. I couldn’t ‘hear/see’ from Steve or Tony, only from you, Bill. Over many years, you would sometimes ring me, or I you, convinced that the other was in trouble. We spent a lot of time doing this kind of a thing, but I won’t go further into it than I already have.
Your mode of dress back in those days was pretty unique. You wore a large number of chiffon scarves around your neck, purple, red and orange for the most part, a waistcoat over a shirt and over the waistcoat a salmon-pink silky bed-jacket such as an old bed-ridden lady might wear! Your usual footwear were your beloved ‘plimmies’. Flared trousers of course. And naturally, it being the late sixties, long hair. You also kept your finger-nails very long, squared off but always clean. Once, later, when we were sharing a flat together I jokingly asked whether, if there was a choice between me and his nails, what would it be. The nails won!!
The best and most memorable times were when I’d finished at the Uni and was doing my Dip Ed at St Luke’s, which wasn’t yet a part of the University.  By this time, you and I were both quite legendary characters to those who were still [younger than us] at the Uni. Partly this was because of our dabbles in the supernatural which had me labelled as a witch and you as goodness knows what, a kind of all-wise guru figure.  Favourite boozer was an old cider pub, the last of its kind, which has now sadly long disappeared under the ring-road. There we used to go most evenings and play darts and chat to the landlady [you would remember her name but I’ve forgotten it]. The only drink was cider which was so powerful that not even the most hardened drinker could down it without a dash of lemonade.
I was into wigs in those days. There was one fetching urchin-cut concoction that you rather liked. One evening, you and I invented a character to go with the wig: she was Russian, called Tania. You taught me a few Russian phrases and words and I adopted a strong accent. Then we paraded down to the pub together. The landlady was completely sold; she was fascinated by this Russian student who had come over to see Bill.  It helped the deception that I had very long hair at that time and this wig was short haired. Of course my fine hair was easily stuffed under the wig and never seemed to stray. The following day I went back with you as myself and was regaled with how pretty this Russian girl was, how much better-dressed than I, and altogether how superior she was in every way!
Tania had plenty of outings but eventually that particular source of fun went a little too far; You informed some friends that Tania was studying music in Moscow; I managed to play for them a Mozart sonata and you were convinced I had accessed the spirit of a real Russian musician.
The ghostly theme continues. On a holiday in Skye, where we visited Steve in Manchester en route, though he didn’t come with us, we encountered a ghost in the cottage we were staying at, which a cousin of mine had organized – the cottage not the ghost! We all saw this woman in possibly housekeeper’s uniform – black dress, white apron and cap – not just at night but in the daytime too. She didn’t look happy. In fact she looked more and more mad as time went on, till I lay in bed one night, the hand of this furious person pressing down the bedclothes and coming closer so that both Tony and I leapt out of bed and turned the light on and I suddenly became certain that she was angry because we were not keeping the place tidy. In fact we only washed up when the sink was full, and left out belongings all over the place. Relaying this to the others we cleaned and tidied thoroughly and the whole atmosphere altered. Then we all saw her, often in the kitchen smiling and nodding. We lasted as planned for the week, tiptoeing around awkwardly, but all swore we would never stay there again!
It was in Skye that you decided to wander off into the Cuillin mountains in your plimmies. Come dusk there was no sign of you so we called the Mountain Rescue team. Just before the helicopter arrived, though a team in a car had come already, you emerged from the darkness, splayed feet – you always walked a little splay-footed, like a duck [sorry] - muddy plimsols and all, humming to yourself. You were caught in the spotlight the rescue team had set up and, blinking in the light, asked what all the fuss was about? You were perfectly all right!
There was so much of those three years that revolved around our fascination with all things psychic. We were convinced for a while that our dreams were being sent to us by an Exeter coven. All four of us were having identical terrifying dreams of death and destruction. Steve drove down from London and was the first behind three accidents on the way. All of this appeared like a warning, so we ‘cooled it’. I have left that whole part of my life long behind me, somewhat embarrassed by it and by the fact that so many people [outside our group] thought that I had a special psychic gift. Only now do I remember how big a part of our lives it played and how fascinating it all was!
Now I can’t help wondering though. For you have become a new traveller into the next realm, wherever and whatever that is, a year after Tony but before either Steve or I can join you on that journey, I wonder, as all of us do when we reach the last leg of the journey, whether in some form we’ll see each other again. I do hope so, dear friend.

Travel well.

With so much love,

Jeni