Yesterday’s post gives, I hope, a tantalising glimpse of a Renaissance man: Sir John Verney, Bt. His obituary, in The Times 5th February 1993, fills out the picture.
”Notoriously, the Second World War produced less good literature than the first, but John Verney’s military experiences in the second inspired him to write one of its few masterpieces, Going to the Wars. His greatest gift was probably for authorship, yet he wrote fewer books than he might have done during his life, mainly because he was also a talented and prolific artist in a variety of genres. In addition, he served for a time, very effectively in local government.
His father was a traditional English public servant, secretary to a viceroy of India (Chelmsford) and then to successive Speakers of the House of Commons for over 30 years. His mother was an Australian of strong character and substantial means.
After spending part of his childhood in India he was educated at Eton, where he had the advantage of being in George Lyttelton’s house (a cultural oasis among Oppidan houses) and later at Christ Church, Oxford, where he took a degree in modern history. Until the outbreak of war he worked as an assistant film director with such stars as Charles Laughton and Robert Donat while, in his spare time, going on manoeuvres as a Territorial officer.
In the war itself he went abroad with his Territorial regiment, the North Somerset Yeomanry, with which he fought in Palestine ad Syria. Then he transferred to the SAS and was dropped in Sardinia, where he helped to destroy a number of enemy aircraft on the ground before being taken prisoner. Moved to the Italian mainland, he escaped and hid for several months in the Abruzzi mountains under the protection and care of local inhabitants whom he revisited after the war. At length he reached the Eighth Army lines, and later served in France and Germany. By the end of the war he had the MC, two mentions in dispatches and the Legion of Honour.
Going to the Wars (1955; last reissued in paperback 1983) gives a supremely vivid, but also subtle, witty and self-deprecating account of his life in the army before the Sardinian exploit, of the exploit itself, and of his escape. In a sequel, A Dinner of Herbs (1966), he describes his return to Italy and the Italians who looked after him. The two books together form a remarkable diptych.
In 1939 Verney had married the love of his life, Jan Lucinda Musgrave, and for many years after the war they lived at Runwick House, on the western outskirts of Farnham, raising a large family. Verney spent much of his time painting, which he regarded as his principal vocation. He painted in oils but perhaps his best work is in watercolour. His landscapes and scenes from life were often exhibited, and they have found lasting favour. He also turned his hand, with considerable success, to pottery and (later) to painting furniture.
Apart from his war books, he published a book of travel pieces, Verney Abroad (1954), and a novel, Every Advantage (1961), in which he drew a little on his early memories of India. He also wrote delightful children’s stories, including Friday’s Tunnel (1959), February’s Road (1961) and ismo (1964) which were enhanced by his own illustrations. He provided eagerly awaited cover pictures for the children’s monthly Young Elizabethan (formerly Collins Magazine) which he also edited for a time in the late 1950s.
While at Farnham he was elected to the council as an Independent, and his work on it was most fruitful. He had already been the moving spirit behind the formation of the Farnham Society to defend local amenities, a task to which he devoted himself relentlessly as a councillor. He brought Farnham Castle back to life and saved the Farnham Maltings, which was then developed as an exemplary community centre.
In 1977 the Verneys moved to Clare in Suffolk. In the early 1980s he was chairman of the Gainsborough House Society, at a time when the curator and secretary of the house (at Sudbury) had resigned. For a year he more or less ran the place, while recruiting a new team.
For many years an annual and characteristic Verney product has been the Dodo Pad, a diary enlivened by his jokes and drawings and odd scraps of information. It has been much in demand as a Christmas present. Since last year his daughter Rose has taken charge of it, and if it becomes an institution, as it should do, it will be a good living memorial to him.
In 1983 he happened to see on television a picture which had been stolen from his mother’s flat years before, slashed out of its frame (which he had kept). It had been found by police raiding a house in Basildon for drugs. After restoration at the Hamilton Kerr Institute it was recognised as an authentic Vandyck of Sir Edmund Verney, Charles I’s standard bearer, killed at Edgehill. It is now on loan to the National Portrait Gallery.
In spirit Verney had much in common with his Cavalier ancestors. His shabby appearance and world-weary manner were an amusing disguise. Of one of the characters in Going to the Wars he writes: “Like many cynics he was perhaps a romantic at heart”. Verney’s own cynicism was on the surface , but his romanticism was deep, as were his humour and benevolence. He was a justly loved man, and the homes he and Jan created and shared over more than 50 years radiated warmth, enjoyment and fun.
His elder son, Julian, died at the age of eight in 1948, the worst trauma in his life. He is survived by his wife, his five daughters and his younger son, Sebastian, who succeeds to the baronetcy.”
