What
follows is the eulogy I gave on Monday, December 23rd. at the funeral of my
Uncle Peter at The Wesley Chapel on City Road in London, England. Peter Baugh
was my father's youngest sibling. He was born on 2 May 1935 in London, and died
there on 9 December 2013.
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| Peter earned his B.A. in theology at age 70 |
Hello, everyone. I'm Clive
Baugh. Peter Baugh was my uncle. I have come all the way from Canada to be
present today. It's a long way to come. But I had to be here, to honour Peter -
primarily on my own account, but also as a representative of Fred Baugh's
family. Fred was Peter's oldest brother. My siblings are glad that I am here on
their behalf. We loved Uncle Peter and we revere his memory.
Like the proverbial elephant
which never forgets, a young child, too, never forgets. He never forgets the
way he was treated - whether good or bad - by the adults surrounding him as he
grew up. And I never forgot the special friendship I had with my Uncle Peter in
the early 1960s - even though our lives, unfortunately, soon diverged, and I
only saw him intermittently in the ensuing years. I always remember how well he
treated me. I looked up to him. And when my second child was born - a son - I
gave that boy Peter as his middle name.
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| Uncle Peter and I in December 1965 |
Peter Baugh was my favourite
uncle. He was my father's youngest brother. I would see him sometimes when some
of us would visit Nanny on Elmore Street in Islington - where he lived too. And
he came down to stay with our family sometimes - usually it was Christmas - at
our bungalow in Hythe, near Southampton.
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| Uncle Peter (at the back) with our family in Hythe in the mid-60s |
Uncle Peter befriended me.
He treated me with respect - he knew how to talk with children - how to deal
with them seriously as people. In London and Southampton, he took me to
interesting places - mostly historical sites, and museums. He loved history -
social history and culture, and he shared that interest with me. We did things
together when I was nine, ten and eleven. In London, for example, we went to
several of the museums in south Kensington. But the place I recall the most
that he took me to is the Charles Dickens' Museum on Doughty Street. I went
back there again this past Saturday - in his honour.
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| Me, Penny and Uncle Peter at Beaulieu Motor Museum in the New Forest in 1963 |
I admired Peter. He was funny,
with a very dry sense of humour - a common trait of the Baugh family. He had a
wonderful laugh. He would explode sometimes - as if to say, "Oh dear! How
outrageous is that!" He used to share secrets with me about his friend
Rose. I didn't know for quite some time that Rose wasn't a real person. I
remember being a passenger with him when he was driving his car, a black Ford
Prefect that he acquired in 1965. He called that vehicle Betsy. "Come on
Betsy," he would urge, as he maneouvred her through the busy streets. I
was a bit nervous watching him drive. I got the sense that he wasn't exactly the
technical type - not a very confident driver. Or maybe he was putting on an
act? Something would happen on the road and he would utter, for my benefit, a
little cry. He told me that he didn't like to get Betsy washed very often
because she was held together by little more than clumps of dirt and bits of
string.
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| Peter's Ford Prefect in 1965 |
Peter was a man of few
words. He didn't share his feelings readily. A letter from Uncle Peter was
usually a short paragraph of two or three sentences. His cards - always
beautiful and interesting cards - would be signed simply "from
Peter". And the signature on the card and the address on the envelope
would be in the distinctive, elegant, italic script that he used. The last card
I got from him - last Christmas, I think - I noticed that the penmanship was
not of the usual calibre. His illness was now affecting his writing. How sad!
And I didn't really twig on the fact that he had a serious condition. Thought
maybe he was just getting a bit frail. I wished that I had known. Typically, he
didn't share anything about it.
My parents and siblings
always used to say that I was just like my Uncle Peter. I was the academic,
intellectual type - the only one in our family to go to grammar school and university.
When I was about 11, Peter began his teacher college training in Buckinghamshire.
I remember he had to do a major project during his time there; not
surprisingly, he chose an historical topic - the London sewer system.
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| Peter's picture of me in April 1965 on Southampton's medieval walls |
Peter was a teacher. My own
decision to become a teacher was made when I was 12. Influenced first, perhaps,
by the wonderful Miss Mogg, who I had for years 5 and 6 at Hythe Primary School - preparing me for the
11+ exam. But, more importantly, of course, was the influence of Uncle Peter. I
never actually saw him at work in a classroom, but he must have been an
excellent teacher - a natural. I tend to believe that some of the best traits I
bring to my own teaching style - humour, kindness, and respect for the children
as individuals - I picked up from him on those fascinating excursions we took
together in the early 1960s.
In his long career as an
educator, Peter must have had a tremendous impact on many of the young people who came under his
charge. As a fellow teacher, I say this:
if you want to be a teacher, make sure that you like children: help
them, guide them, share what you know, share what you believe, and make them
laugh. Be honest and caring and kind. That was Peter Baugh for me in the early
1960s. I have never forgotten what he gave to me, what he did for me. May he
rest in peace.
