Robin Lloyd-Jones

When someone you love dies it’s always hard to put into words why you loved them, but with Robin Lloyd-Jones there is one word above all which sums him up: kindness. Robin was one of the world’s gentle souls, a man who encouraged the people around him and supported them whether times were bad or good. In a world which can often be bitchy and riven by feuds, Robin encouraged younger writers through his local writing group in Helensburgh and later, older writers through his organisation, the beautifully named Autumn Voices.

Everyone I’ve spoken to since he died has said the same thing, that he was kind to them.

Although he was gentle, he wasn’t a passive person but was an activist, speaking out and working tirelessly for the causes that engaged him. Her cared about things. His voice was gentle and mild in conversation but rich and sonorous when he spoke in public. A speaker of resonance, both in his delivery and the content.

I first met Robin through Scottish PEN, the writers’ organisation. I was a journalist seeking to find out how the world of fiction worked and it was a toss-up between PEN and the Society of Authors. The latter’s annual membership was more than double PEN’s, which was a big factor to someone constantly in debt, but more than that, PEN was a campaigning organisation dedicated to freedom of speech.

At that time Robin ran the Writers in Prison committee, which worked on behalf of writers oppressed and imprisoned for dissent against their governments. Straight away Robin drew me in with a trip to Istanbul to be an observer at the trial of Ragip Zarakolu, a Turkish writer forever being hauled into court for the books he published, which failed to demonstrate enough subservience to his government.

Seeing the stress Ragip was under from constant harassment by the authorities cemented my loyalty to WIP and I spent many years working with them. I was a nervous public speaker but Robin encouraged me to introduce Writers in Prison events, asked me to attend international conferences.

Despite his loyalty to PEN he was also deeply loyal to his friends and when I had a massive falling out with them he was incredibly supportive, listening patiently to my outpourings of distress and making no judgements.

He was an internationalist not just by inclination but by birth as well. He had been born in India and grew up there, till he was sent to boarding school in Devon at a young age. Many of his books were set in foreign places. Fallen Angels was a touching and compassionate book of short stories about the lives of street children in South America, displaying yet again his concern for the poor and persecuted.

Fallen Pieces of the Moon, a first person account of his kayaking adventures in Greenland, showed another of Robin’s passions – his love of nature. He was deeply spiritual in his response to the natural world and wrote a number of books about being in the wilderness, most recently That Sweet Especial Scene, a collection of his essays, which was published by Two Ravens Press in 2014. Most weekends he could be found walking in the hills or kayaking off the coast of Scotland. He told me that one time he’d been questioned by police – he lived in Helensburgh, which is very near the nuclear base at Faslane. At that point he was in his eighties, so hardly your normal profile for a terrorist.

If all this makes him sound a goody two shoes he wasn’t. He was flirtatious in the most innocent way with women, had an impish sense of fun and great gusto for life. We used to have Writers in Prison events in the home of one of our members, Maggie Anderson, who always provided cullen skink – Robin was always hugely appreciative.

When we formed Dove Tales he willingly joined us and served on the board, even continuing for a while when I think he would rather have retired, just so that we would have the prestige of his name.

I saw him at events later but the last time I had a long conversation with him was when he had a major accident while attending a retreat led by Sukhema, whose eulogy is below. There was a day of silence and Robin decided to do his meditation walking in the hills. Unfortunately he had a bad fall. He couldn’t get a signal on his phone and was out on the hills for eleven hours before he was finally rescued – he'd rolled over and over down the hill till he could phone for help. He was in his eighties then too and showed huge fortitude and courage.

I went to visit him in hospital in Stirling a couple of times during his recovery and once he was out, drove down to his home in Helensburgh - he and his wife Sallie lived right on the water’s edge. Robin’s office had been newly decorated and we sat there talking books and writing with the water lapping serenely outside. It was a lovely and peaceful afternoon and a memory I will always treasure. He was a special person to many writers and to me and it was a privilege to be his friend.

Jean Rafferty

Jean’s words about Robin capture the spirit and the character of the man so well that I don’t really have much more to add. Like Jean, I first met Robin through Scottish PEN, nearly thirty years ago. I was persuaded to join Scottish PEN’s committee around the time he succeeded Paul Scott as President, a post Robin held from 1997 to 2000, and before long I was editing the organisation’s newsletter and involved in a membership drive, campaigns for various imprisoned writers and several very successful secondhand book sales to raise funds. Robin was always calm, quietly-spoken, generous, kind and friendly, but there was a strong and steely determination and moral conviction in there too, and a great deal of wisdom. He was very modest about his own writing which, as Jean has described, was extremely varied and revealed his boundless intellectual and physical energy and his interest in just about everything. Although we had less contact in recent years, I was hugely impressed by what he achieved with Autumn Voices.

Robin never gave up and was, I think, an optimist in outlook in most directions, yet this did not blind him to the injustices and cruelties perpetuated in human societies. Quite the opposite. He always strove for a better world, and believed that writers had a vital role in trying to make it so. I remember him with fondness and respect, and with gratitude for having known him.

James Robertson

SUKHEMA

I’ve known Robin since 2014, when we collaborated on his book project Autumn
Voices, based on interviews with writers over 70. At that time, I had recently
turned 70 and Robin had turned 80. After the interview, Robin wanted to write
my biography. This led to a never-ending-story based on Ubuntu: I AM BECAUSE
WE ARE. Robin has, over the past ten years attended most of my groups,
workshops and retreats. And we’ve become close friends. Within a few years,
Autumn Voices became a charity with the motto “Growing Old Creatively” and
that’s exactly what Robin did.

At a men’s retreat, Robin confessed that he had never hugged a man
before. We were doing lots of hugging. Latterly Robin became a consummate
hugger, never missing an opportunity for a warm embrace. Robin Lloyd-Jones
was born on 5th October 1934 in London. Soon after, because his father’s
serving in the Army in India, Robin’s childhood was in India until the age of 11.
Robin was then sent to Blundell’s School, Tiverton, Devon, a public school for
boys, Robin describes himself as a public-school survivor. He claims that he was
living in an institution that had a great deal in common with a police state. From
Blundell’s he studied Social Anthropology at Cambridge University.

Robin and Sallie married in 1959 and have three children: Glyn, Kally,
and Leonie. And three grandchildren: Chloe, Cassandra and Andre. Here are
some of their recollections of Robin. Sallie says he always looks for the good in
someone’s work, not for the mistakes. A brilliant teacher. Amazing imagination,
a lateral thinker, Robin saw things differently from most people. Sallie was
Robin’s medium between the planet he lived on and the real world.

About parenting: Sallie told me that once, when she had to take their
son, Glyn, to an early appointment, she left Robin to get two year old Kally up
and dressed. When Sallie arrived home with Glyn, Robin was trying to pull a tiny
dress over Kally’s head – far too small because it was her doll’s dress. Sallie made
matching dresses for both dolls and their daughter.

Sallie thinks Robin never felt truly alive unless he was risking something:
his job, his life, or his marriage. He would paddle out in his canoe until he could
feel the pull of the ships' giant screws and then see if he could get himself away.
Sallie is risk averse, and gets enough excitement awaiting a grocery order! Sallie
did all the practical stuff, so if anyone came to the door to offer to mend the
roof, change their utility provider, Robin would call out, Sallie, it’s for you;
What’s her secret after 65 years of marriage? Determination, Communication
and Toleration! It took them nearly sixty years to finally get the hang of it! It was
worth the wait. These last years have been the happiest of their lives.

Glyn (son) told me that his dad only spoke when he had something to say. He
didn’t engage in casual chit-chat. He never insisted on getting his own way. He
was very diplomatic. Robin was very sporty; he’s played rugby, cricket and he
was good. Glyn told me that he was completely hopeless at sports, but his Dad
showed no disappointment.

Kally (daughter) told me that she and her dad have a similar view of the world
and that if they start something, they finish it. Robin moved from being an
adventurer, exploring the world in his kayak and up mountains to someone who
is exploring his inner landscape. He also had the rare ability to evolve and change
and adapt and this is a blueprint for living and ageing. She loved him, and knows
that he loved her – and that’s the most important thing.

Leonie (daughter) told me that her Dad was so easy to talk to. There was
something special about him, but she couldn’t put that into words. When they
were little on Sunday mornings Robin would make toasted rolls slathered in
butter for everyone’s breakfast with cereal, milk and tea; and they would all of
them get onto mum and dad’s bed. Recently Leonie said her Dad learned to
communicate his feelings more directly, ending phone calls with “I love you”.
And Leonie always replied “ I love you too dad.”

Chloe da Costa (Granddaughter) Told me her granddad was hilarious, super
patient, beyond interesting, kind natured and gentle. His monkey stories have
become even funnier and she never saw her granddad lose his patience. He
always made her feel safe. She saw her granddad grow from someone that cared
for her into someone that she considered a best friend.

Cassandra Lloyd-Jones (Granddaughter)grew up in Italy, so she didn’t see her
granddad very often - just every few years. In Italy, cricket is not a thing, but he
tried to teach Cassandra to play, without much success. From then on, she told
me her “passion” for cricket was always a running joke between them. She will
always remember him as a fun grandad.

Andre da Costa (Grandson) told me His granddad was incredibly patient which
benefited Andre greatly growing up. Super encouraging, he never raised his
voice to Andre. His granddad always had a story locked and loaded for all the
times they were out, and Andre loved that! Here’s a recent Robin Monkey
story:

One day Monkey was swinging through the trees on Whitechapel Road, when he
saw a middle-aged man with a felt hat on his head. Monkey reached down and
transferred it to his own head.

Oy, said the man, whose name was Gilbert. I'm waiting for my girl under this
tree and I want to look my best in my new hat. Just then Miranda arrived. Oh
Gilbert! she sighed, I'm so glad you've given up wearing those ridiculous hats of
yours!

Will you marry me, Gilbert said.
Yes, my darling cuddly-pie, my handsome baldy-bonce!Miranda replied.

Everyone here knows that Robin is an award-winning writer of novels, short
stories, non-fiction and radio drama. He was a teacher before being appointed
director of Scotland’s first Curriculum Development Centre, then Education
Adviser for Strathclyde Region. He took early retirement in 1989 to focus on his
writing. He was a part-time tutor in Creative Writing at Glasgow University, a
former president of The Scottish Association of Writers and Scottish PEN. For 17
years he chaired Scottish PEN’s Writers in Prison Committee which campaigns on
behalf of persecuted writers.

Dougie McKenzie - Curriculum Development Education Centre – told me that
Robin was in no way any kind of authority figure. He had the ability to give
people their heads – respect each person’s autonomy – to see how things went.
He was an excellent boss. Dougie also went to the mountains with Robin: Going
up Ben Mhor, they arrived in a storm, strong winds. They went ahead anyway.
The wind was so bad at the top that they were literally blown off their feet –
Dougie’s rucksack blew open and everything flew into the air. They had to crawl
on their stomachs, descend on their hands and knees.” Typical Robin!

Mary Irvine – a keen reader of Robin’s books – told me that:
When Robin reads his books aloud, he took you with him. Robin wrote what he
knew and he knew an awful lot. His writing appeals to all the senses.

Sheila Templeton – one of the 21 Autumn Voices – said that she always felt the better by spending time with Robin. She was amazed at the amount of work needed to interview everyone for Autumn Voices, then transcribing it all. She knew that if she needed anything, Robin was someone she could turn to for help.

Simon Berry – Scottish PEN and Autumn Voices – said:
Sometimes Robin was away hillwalking or meditating or doing both
simultaneously. He contained multitudes. What Robin embraced in a long life –
one word springs to mind – unassuming. Or “Thrawn”, another good word for
Robin. Once he reached an opinion, he tended to stick with it. He came across
as mild and patient, a good listener, but don’t confuse that with being
indecisive. Robin wrote begging letters to raise money for PEN. One of them
got a swift reply. That usually means just one thing: “Sorry but sorry”. But this
one said: “I would very much like to support this. Here is a cheque for fifty-
thousand pounds. Joanne Rowling”.

AC CLARKE

I would absolutely endorse everything Jean writes with such tenderness about Robin. He was such a kind and unassuming person despite his great gifts as a writer and his remarkable feats of endurance and courage and, as she says, a person of unfailing generosity to his fellow-writers.

I too spent several years on the then Writers in Prison Committee of Scottish PEN under his chairmanship.

The last time I saw him was at the launch of his latest, and as it would prove last, novel, ‘Gods of the Lost Crossroads’, a wonderfully energetic and magical adventure set in Georgian London and South America, with an ultimately serious message – in many ways an embodiment of Robin himself.