Lord Rothschild represented The Prince of Wales and The Duchess of Cornwall. I represented you, readers who share my admiration for John Julius Norwich, on Wednesday.
The last time I had been to St James’s Piccadilly, in December 2011, John Julius was centre stage. He sang Conosce Gian’ Peel and La Fierra di Widdecombe. Perhaps they are better known as D’ye ken John Peel and Widdecombe Fair. He sang Paddy Leigh Fermor’s Italian translations of the folk songs and then gave the Address. JJN was absolutely an all-rounder. He was exceptional in being a great chatter, able to sing, play the piano, write, apparently effortlessly about almost anything, and far from being insufferable, he was about as laid-back and un-self-important as is possible. Quite remarkable when actually he had so much to swank about.
The Service to celebrate his life reflected the man. There was the Cantate Domino by Monteverdi, The achingly beautiful Il mio tesoro, from Don Giovanni, Schubert’s Du bist die Ruh, Bach’s Cello Suite No 1 in G major and Ithaca by Constantine Cavafy. His children spoke – all shedding a different light on their father. Artemis recalled growing up with him. In her childhood he became a TV personality and when colour TV came he had to adapt. She said he found a theatrical costumier who made him lurid suits. One of the most vivid was known in the family as “do not adjust your set”.
Her brother, Jason, sang Fats Waller’s I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter. Allegra Huston read The Ballad of Mrs Ravoon, with congregation participation. The service lasted precisely an hour so you’d think there wasn’t time for more. Well, there jolly well was. Simon Schama spoke about JJN the historian, Felicity Bryan (his literary agent) spoke about JJN the author and Julian Fellowes spoke of John Julius – The Inspiration.
It really was a celebration of his life and in an hour only a few aspects of his character and talents could be portrayed but it was a glittering performance. The last hymn is a particular favourite of mine and I gave it full Church of Ireland volume: Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy, Whose trust, ever child-like, no cares could destroy, Be there at our waking, and give us, we pray, Your bliss in our hearts, Lord, At the break of the day.
I agree with you about “Lord of all hopefulness”, a hymn that shares the same beautiful melody (“Slane”) as “Be thou my vision” which we sang at your goddaughter’s confirmation. Unfortunately the line “Riches I heed not..” had been incorrectly rendered on the service sheet as “Riches I need not” as you pointed out to the Bishop of Oxford afterwards, saying that it sent the Downe House girls entirely the wrong message. You also told him that you enjoyed his address no less than when you heard it at Wellington two months earlier.
That sounds wonderful, and well-suited to his multifaceted life, as you say. I recently finished the final book on France, and am sadly awaiting the final “Cracker.” I am in a way glad that I never quite got round to reading the whole Byzantium series, so there is that to look forward to. (And then one can start back again with the Sicily books, I suppose.) “He will be missed,” hardly sums up the loss to arts and letters, alone. Thank you for sharing the details of the service.
Perhaps Viscount Norwichs extrodinary character may be in some way explained by his remarkable lineage. He was, after all, descended from The Honourable Harry Cust, not himself a lord, but from whom many members of the hereditary peerage, particularly the sapphire-eyed, are said to be descended. It has been said that Cust didn’t loose much honour pursuing his romantic entanglements, as he hadn’t much to loose.