Bon vent grand monsieur 

A place overlooking the sea in Mumbai surrounded by Bollywoods finest film makers and Artists. He would love it...

March 2017....

9th November Muneer Khan sprinkled a little bit of Geoffrey in the garden
at the Royal Albert Hall.

He thought it was a good place for him to hang out, hopefully within
earshot of the music. He was going to do it inside, but then thought that a
brown guy sprinkling  dust from a canister might look a bit suspicious!

Thanks for the story and photo Meed, we know Dad will be very happy there.
xx
 

Farewell To The Gentle Giant.
Geoffrey the only person I have ever known to sit in the uppermost tier of the Royal Albert Hall at a prom, following in the semi darkness the score held in his hands of a Shostakovich symphony note by note.

Geoffrey who cooked such lavish meals that were usually cream to white coloured with never a splash of green! My favourite was your delicious pear soup.

 Geoffrey who drove me to Paris to see the Matisse exhibition and who managed to find a trainee chef’s restaurant for us to eat a sumptuous meal in for a few francs! And introduced me to the delights of Gewurtztraminer.

 Geoffrey my swimming partner, who always knew how to make a big splash!

 Geoffrey my Bridge partner and scorer, who truly was a grand slam.

 Your enthusiasm and knowledge were boundless like your laugh.

 You who were never bitter, who never complained about your so many ailments but bore them with dignity and humour.

 You who knew how to make a grand entrance into the Tate Modern on your bike with Rose at your side on hers, looking like a patriarch from Blade Runner.

 You who inspired such love in your family and friends.You who really knew the meaning of life. Oh how I will miss your warm presence my dear old friend. But I also know that your kindness, gentleness, knowledge and wisdom will live on in my heart and mind and in all of those who knew and loved you and that is the mark of a life truly well lived. Thank you Geoffrey for being in my life you have enriched it beyond measure.

I salute you!

 “For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast,

And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,

And I look through my tears on a soundless clapping host,

As the run stealers flicker to and fro,

To and fro –

Oh my Hornby and my Barlow, long ago!”

by Francis Thompson AT LORDS 1906

What would Geoffrey do?


In 1956, during the very first Youth Theatre production, Henry V, Michael Croft put young Geoffrey in charge of publicity and sent him off to the West End with a pile of posters and paste. What did Geoffrey do?

A- Asked Camden Council if he could put the posters up
B -Went into theatres and asked if they would help
C -Plastered them all over the Achilles statue in Hyde Park – reported back in an irate phone call from the Keeper of the Royal Parks



In 1968, Geoffrey prepared a balanced meal for friends of Anni’s in Cologne. What was the menu?

A - Chicken Kiev and vegetables followed by trifle
B - Prawn cocktail, salad and crème caramel
C - Cheese fondue, beef fondue and chocolate fondue



When Rose had a new jumper knitted for her by Katie, what did Geoffrey say?

A - “That would fit me”
B - “Rose, that is far too big, you could fit two families in there”
C - “Rose, you look lovely”



Whilst on holiday in 1992 Toby and Sophie had Geoffrey losing at scrabble. By the final evening he was taking several minutes on every single turn and had turned into an absolute dictionary Nazi. Toby played a tenuous 8 letter word: what did Geoffrey do?

A - Look ruefully at the scoresheet and say “Congratulations. Well played.”
B - Reach for the dictionary and say “I am definitely challenging that!”
C - Look at the tiles with utter disgust and say “Oh fuck off! I’m not letting a word like that stay on the board. Play something else!”



Vic was very proud of his new garage and had spent months arranging his tools on wall panels and optimising every inch of space. He showed Geoff around his new man-cave, hoping for a little praise. What did Geoff say?

A - “That arrangement of the tools over the bench reminds me of a Rothko painting I saw.”
B - “If I plied you with alcohol Vic perhaps you would be more willing to sort out my room for me.”
C - “This is the very sad product of a sick mind Vic.” 



It is 1982 and Geoffrey has made Sunday lunch for the parents of Lucy’s new boyfriend. The mother waxes lyrical about a new production of The Winter’s Tale she is going to see. What did Geoffrey say?

A - “That’s very interesting Doris, I have not seen that production but I do hope you enjoy it.”
B - “Ah, that Director can be a bit hit and miss, but I am sure that you will have a good time.”
C - “Best of fucking luck to you, I wouldn’t see it it you paid me.”



How did Geoffrey try to kill Katie?

A - By cooking her a dinner where the food was 80% out of date
B - By taking her down the steep hill on his mobility scooter refusing to let her get off C - By launching the anchor overboard whilst it was wrapped round her leg



At Stanford, Larry directs Fritz in Moliere’s Don Juan. There is a beautifully choreographed finale, where all the women dance around him, swirling in circles, with glowing candles, enveloping him, as if they were the flames of hell. Geoffrey flies in specially to see the production and Larry is excited to get his mentor’s thoughts. When it’s over, what does Geoffrey say?

A - ”What a terrifically moving and visually stunning finale to your work!”
B - “It makes me very happy to see a student of mine embrace his own aesthetic.”
C - “They should have taken those fucking candles and shoved them up his arse.”



It’s 1996 in Colorado, and Geoffrey is cooking a gourmet dinner for the designers and crew of the Mahogonny Songspiel. He says ‘I’m going to serve up some clafoutis. Tom asks ‘What’s clafoutis?” What does Geoffrey say?

A - “It’s a light custardy French dessert Tom.”
B - “Do you know French, Tom?”
C - “It’s a rare venereal disease, so get out of my way.”



In a PS to a letter to Miles Donald in 1987, Geoffrey makes a comment about Peter Hall’s production of Antony and Cleopatra at the National with Judi Dench and Anthony Hopkins. Does it say:

A - Wonderful production, what drama between them
B - I am not sure, do go and make your own mind up
C - Don’t bother going. Passionless production for Daily Telegraph readers



When Geoffrey’s nephews Sam and Tom were very young, which inappropriate film did he show them?
A - The Birds
B - Die Hard
C - Arachnophobia 

 
The answers are obviously all C with the exception of the last question which is A B and C. Please send any new stories in and we will add them to the collection. x

My first encounter with Geoffrey was at “Playtime” one evening back in 1990. I explained that I had completed my shooting my graduation film and was struggling with the powers that be over the extremely long single take scenes I had filmed. I was under pressure to reduce the lengths of said scenes but was (naturally) refusing. Geoffrey immediately filled my glass and pulled two VHS cassettes from a shelf. He showed me scenes from “The Magnificent Ambersons” and “Chimes At Midnight”. Both with extremely long single takes. We discussed them in detail and I went on my way feeling empowered as a filmmaker. I did indeed keep the scenes the way they were and the film did very nicely. Geoffrey simply seized the moment, spoke to me in a common language and help strengthen my resolve. Sometimes that's all you need (to do). I now teach myself and I always show that “Chimes At Midnight” scene to my students. I think we call that torch passing.

A few years later he and Lucy were visiting Berlin and he took us to see Frank Castorf's legendary “Clockwork Orange” with Herbert Fritsch at the Volksbuhne. A VERY physical show, involving a lot of audience provocation which included flinging milk, flour and pig blood about, some of it landing in the front rows. Towards the end, people were leaving in disgust and Herbert Fritsch (playing Alex) was stopping the show until they left, then resuming gain. Which made for a very long show. Geoffrey was roaring with laughter, despite not understanding a word. Soon people were angrily leaving in their droves while Fritsch watched on: he was the audience, we were the show. Geoffrey was still roaring with laughter. The greater the provocation the heartier his laughter, booming around the fabulous auditorium. Could anyone have enjoyed that show any more than he did? Priceless!

I won't pretend I knew him that well but he certainly left his mark on me. Thanks Geoffrey.

Farewell Geoff

a father, husband, grandfather and friend

experimental chef

who for his art and food

would never bend

Playtime houses fond memories

of cricket jersey's, mysteries, liberties

immediate family, extended families

South Road crazies

babies born and enveloped in love

taught how to crawl then

walk tall, fall, get up again

and do a bunch of other cool stuff

Geoff, my memories of you

are smothered in guidance

you were a titan

of how to be true

You spoke with honesty

humility and grace

I'm gonna miss your laughter

your presence, your big bearded face

You brought untold gifts

into so many different lives

Chorleywood and beyond

fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives

To remember you

as we do now

always smiling and

always proud

speaking aloud

all gathered here together today

have happily vowed

to keep our memories of you alive

because as long as you're remembered, Geoff,

you never died

It's hard to sum up just what a man is

we all have different ideas about what constitutes success

but always and forever, Geoff,

you were fearless, peerless

without you we'd all be just a little bit less

I'm sad I didn't see Geoff in his final days

but I know he was surrounded

by so much love and devotion

that he must've gone out in the best of ways

as he took his final bow

and exited from the centre of the stage

And here we are now

celebrating a great man

reminiscing with a gang

of his family and friends

I know he'll be delighted with that

fade to black

ends. 

Odense Theatre 1964: Opening night with "Julius Caesar”. In front of Jens Christian and me a big man sitting between the theatre manager Kai Wilton and his wife. Suddenly the big man stands up shaking the sleeping man in front of him (a famous, feared reviewer) spitting “Look at stage”! At the same time the manager and the wife are pulling at the big man, trying to make him sit down – it was one of those moments you never forget!t

The big man was Geoffrey, and that’s how I met him and the beginning of a lifetime friendship with him and Rose.
The years to come we met all over Europe, me being “accompanying wife” to Jens Christian: Germany, Sweden, Portugal, Chorleywood and many times in Copenhagen, where he always stayed with us, when he worked at the theatres, the theatre school or with actors classes.
Very often when he arrived he entered the house, put his suitcases on the floor, took off his coat and shouted “Cards”! So wherever we were, we played Spite and Malice, Hearts or Bridge and other games for hours. It was fun, especially when Geoff won – he was a terrible winner – and laughed his famous laugh!
Or we put on the new Beatles album and danced to “Here comes the sun” – Geoff moving light footed around with the arms over his head. An amazing sight!
But what I remember most are all the wonderful meals he cooked. Very often Coq au Vin and Crepes Suzette. He cooked for hours listening to music, shouting at the kitchen maid (me) and using all pots and pans available! The dinner was gorgeous – the kitchen a disaster!
After 81 we didn’t meet for many years, but we kept in contact through our annual Christmas letters, and ten years later my son Lasse and his girlfriend stayed in Chorleywood for some months and I managed to come over for a visit.
In spite of the many years separation we continued our never ending conversation, and it has been going on ever since. The last years we have been together more often, me visiting Chorleywood, where the doors and the hearts always are wide open! We even met a couple of years ago in Tim’s and Helene’s wonderful house in Lacanau.
When we parted in Heathrow in May after a wonderful week in spite of Geoff being very weak, I think we both knew it was a Goodbye Kiss for ever – a heartbreaking moment!
While I am writing this you are celebrating the memorial party for Geoffrey – wish I could have joined you, but I’m with you in spirit, listening to Tom Waits “Somewhere”.

Love Kirsten

Dear Rose, Lucy and Sophie,

I’m so sorry not to be able to be with you today to help give Geoffrey the send-off he deserves, so I have written a few thoughts and reflections of my time with Geoffrey.  It was only recently that I learnt that Geoffrey was ill, when Lucy contacted me to arrange a last get together with him. I am very sorry to say that Geoffrey wasn’t able to make the appointment – and so deprived of the opportunity to say goodbye to him, I’d like to take this as an opportunity to say my ‘adieu’ to one of the few great men I have had the pleasure of knowing.

            ‘Great man’ might seem like an odd epithet, if greatness requires public esteem and fame – when, of course, Geoffrey was neither publically esteemed nor famous (nor, to my knowledge, did he ever seek fame or publicity) – but nevertheless, I think, he qualifies as great all the same since he was by any estimate larger than life, passionate about theatre, cinema and music, brimmed full with enthusiasm and possessed the kind of conviction that is born of a deep intelligence. No doubt this made him somewhat formidable too!  In fact, the first time I met Geoffrey was as a student at the National Film and Television School, where I was ‘studying’ as a directing student (I put the word ‘study’ in inverted commas because the last thing the NFTS did back then was teach anything.)  Myself and the other directors on the course, naturally, rebelled – demanding that the school provide someone who knew how to tell an actor from a mannequin or, indeed, a lampstand (of which there are many on a film set).  Lucy had suggested Geoffrey, and obliging the school, he stepped in to take on the role.  When we walked into the room to meet him for the first time, we wondered if we’d made a mistake, for sitting in the corner, with a beady and mischievous glint in his eyes, was indeed a ‘big’ man, whose presence produced immediate shudders of apprehension among us. We budding directors feared we were about to be put to the test! But, in fact, it wasn’t long before all apprehension in the room was dispelled by Geoffrey’s unforgettable laughter (if I could imitate it in words I would, but it defies verbal description, except to say that it seemed to swell and expand in a series of oncoming waves, mixed together with a vague undercurrent of scoffing, which made it both infectious and disconcerting at the same time)…

Along with Geoffrey came a troupe of actors – from LAMDA - each bravely prepared for the workshop, and no doubt girding their loins in anticipation of being placed in the clumsy hands of a bunch of fairly timid and certainly unexperienced neophytes.  Luckily Geoffrey was a great workshop leader, and within a fortnight he had knocked us into shape. By the end of that astonishing two weeks, every misconception I had about actors had been dispelled, and in the process it had opened my eyes for the first time to the possibilities of working with actors. It was during this workshop that, under Geoffrey’s encouragement, I broke through a kind of threshold since – truth be told – actors at the time terrified me.  I remember one event in particular: He had given me a scene – from Tennessee Williams’s extraordinarily fraught Gothic play ‘Suddenly, Last Summer’ – and an actress to work with. To say it was a challenging scene would be an under-statement, but Geoffrey had the confidence in us to give it a go, and so we began working on it.  Now, I am not used to bringing people to tears or reducing them to a state close to resembling clinical hysteria, and so you can imagine how alarmed I was having pushed the actress to the limits of reason (demanded by the part).  We immediately filmed the scene, but I was by now consumed with guilt and horror at what I’d asked of her – so much so that I missed the basic fact that the performance she gave was a performance, although it was emotionally raw to say the least.  After the take, I turned to Geoffrey with a worried look as if to say ‘what the hell do I do now, with this poor woman!?’, when Geoffrey – as if reading my thoughts – said: “get her to do it again.”  And I did, but now what at first glance was almost unbearable to watch suddenly became profoundly focussed and impeccably played.  It was a lesson I have never forgotten since it both impressed upon me the extraordinary courage of actors, but also that directing is not about therapy and that the actor has no desire to be psychoanalysed: What it revealed to me in a stark lesson was the actor’s journey, in which something that appears deeply personal is crafted and shaped and replayed – and that it is the director’s job to help the actor cross this difficult threshold.

After I had left film school, Geoffrey hired me to work with him at LAMDA on their ‘television’ project. We did this for two or three years.  I would operate the camera and do lighting (I hadn’t been trained in either) and he would direct the students (he hadn’t been trained in film directing) – and so neither of us knew what we were doing, but somehow it worked brilliantly and we had a great time.  Incidentally, one of those actors was David Oyelowo – and so Geoffrey was the first to direct him on film (well VHS)! I like to think that we helped David launch what has become a Stella career in film – but truth be told, I think he was already quite exceptional long before we even got started on him, and he hardly needed directing. Overall, our collaboration at the time saw a peculiar switching of roles and interests, that, in a sense, really did change my life profoundly: Geoffrey - a man of the theatre loved cinema – and enjoyed the opportunity to indulge that love through whatever means were made available to him, however paltry; while I – who had no real sense of the theatre, and certainly thought of myself as wholly ‘a man of the cinema’ – grew to love the theatre through Geoffrey’s influence (I still think his version of Marat Sade was one of the most astonishing things I’ve ever seen staged!). Perhaps – indeed, I’m fairly sure he would scoff at such a suggestion – still, all in all, working with Geoffrey stood me in good stead, and – all these years later – I find myself teaching in a theatre conservatoire, frequently thinking back to those early days with him at LAMDA.

The last time I saw Geoffrey, was at a Sunday lunch, several years ago.  He had made a cheese fondant.  It was so alcoholic that I think we all got inebriated on the cheese alone.  I can’t remember what we spoke about, but I can remember his laughter – it still rings in my ears to this day.  After that, life – as happens – intervened… kids, work, and any number of other obstacles prevented us from seeing one another again.  It is a great shame we never quite got to our reunion; and a shame I will not be able to join you on Saturday. I know he will be greatly missed by all – and that he certainly will never be forgotten. And that is all the proof one needs of a life well-lived.

With love and my deepest sympathy,

Tony x

Dear Rose, dear Lucy and Sophie, dear everyone, no one who knew Geoffrey will ever forget him.  I’m so sorry you have lost him.  I’ll remember his mind which was never at  a loss.  I can see him now as he was when I first saw him  Anthony will confirm or correct me but I think he came to see us at  the WDP where we had that arts page…a large young man in a duffle coat, and he had quite a life in front of him, his horizons seemed larger than ours.  He was rather inspiring, because e knew so much more than I did about what was happening in Paris, Berlin, New York… Later, when Ollie and Lucy were small I remember him as a wonderful family man.  So many memories.  And how like him, to take his leave with style.  

One evening in the spring of 1973, between numerous glasses of red wine, Geoffrey invited us to visit him, his family and his illustrious friends in Chorleywood. We were living and working in Cologne at the time and befriended Geoffrey, who was a guest director at the Schauspielhaus.

We duly arrived in Chorleywood in August and stayed for some six weeks. Before leaving at the end of our visit Geoffrey suggested we should move to Chorleywood. "You can stay with Rose" were his words, as he was about to take on the Northcott Theatre in Exeter. We were contemplating such an idea already as Anni was pregnant with Chris and we wanted him to be born in England. By November we moved to "Playtime 1" and stayed with Rose and Geoff until buying a cottage in Solesbridge Lane. Chris was born early 1974 and the rest is history.

Dearest friend Geoffrey. You were instrumental in the way our lives enfolded, without your, somewhat spontaneous, idea and unlimited generosity, who knows where we would be today. It was you to whom we are forever grateful for these wonderful years, the friendship between us, between our children and all the other friends who you shared with us. You will always be with us. RIP dear friend.

Much has been said about Geoffrey's explosive bouts of laughter.  But nothing about what he laughed at.  About a month or so ago I told him an anecdote about Alfred Hitchcock whom we both admired beyond reason.  

Hitch was shooting 'Lifeboat' in the studio tank.  The star was the grande dame Tallulah Bankhead who was given to performing without underwear.  Sitting in the boat, legs akimbo, day after day finally provoked complaints, believe it or not, from male members of the crew.  This was reported to Hitchcock.  The Master was perplexed.  He said 'I didn't know what to do.  Should I call for the costume department, or make up...or hairdressing?'

There was a full minute of raucous laughter from Geoffrey.  That was the last time I heard that laugh.  Although I'm sure it wasn't his last.  There has to be laughter in paradise.

I’m not a psychologist but I am curious as to how close to each other crying and laughing are. We have done much of both in the last six weeks; toilet humour having been surpassed by the gallows version.

In the weeks leading up to his stage left departure we talked lots about what he wanted after - or rather - what he didn’t want.  The three things that came out loud and clear were a) he didn’t want anyone who didn’t know him to speak about him (easy), b) it should be non-religious (obvs) and c) we weren’t to spend any money on it (quite tricky if you don’t want to end up in prison I think).  His idea was that we donate him to medical science and they’d send us back what they didn’t want as ash a few weeks later - it ticked all the boxes - no speaking, no religion and free of charge.  After a little gentle discussion and persuasion, but I believe largely for our benefit, not his, he agreed that the 9 of us (me, my sister and her family and mum) could at least come with him to the crematorium and that he would be happy to be sent off in a cardboard decorated coffin.  

Having perused the funeral equivalent of comparethemarket.com, I kid you not, my Mum said she had a good feellng about a company called Harrison’s in Enfield – I think she’d come across them after googling ‘no frill funerals’.  Her instinct, as usual, was brilliant and we discovered the awesome Angela.  From the first conversation she got it.  She didn’t try to upsell us brass handles (although we did spend an extra £40 on rope ones, sorry Dad) and by the time we were at the end of the wish list she didn’t even ask about the limo: 'Estate car okay?’. Perfect – although it did come liveried – I was wondering whether he’d be delivered to the crematorium by an Iceland van or Parcelforce (which was how his coffin arrived at the house).

The coffin was beautiful and we sent him off with some family photos and a couple of good books for the journey – Elizabeth David’s French Provincial Cooking in case he forgets how to make a bouillabaisse and Being Mortal by Atul Gawande – and his MCC jumper in case he ends up somewhere chilly.

And so it was… well, nearly.  We managed to sneak 17 gatecrashers in to the crematorium with us – just a few of his very, very nearest and dearest.  He’d have approved - he was always fond of a bit of irreverence.  And so we read the beautiful tributes written on his coffin, sat in a circle around him and sobbed, laughed and told anecdotes.  Tim, his ‘bestie’ and my Godfather (did someone mention God!?) wrote and, somehow, managed to read this - a perfect and very moving tribute.

GEOFFREY

For months, even years, I have been dreading this moment: saying goodbye to the best of friends. But now I can quite comfortably, if tearfully, embrace the moment, and celebrate the wonderful end to a truly good life.

What a way to go, with your beloved wife's hand in yours and your daughters and great friends in equally loving attendance.

His very last words were ‘I love you too’.

I described his last weeks as like watching a jumbo jet come to the stand at the end of a long-haul flight:.the slow switching-off of lights, and sounds, and finally the engines.

But what a jumbo jet he was.

You can’t say the word Geoffrey without adding, or thInking, BIG... The man himself, the laugh, the intellect, the opinions, the voice, the appetites… They were ‘O'wellian’ (0RSON, not GEORGE).

And if he loved you, he wanted you to share them.

One of his much-loved daughters  described him (amongst other more unequivocally loving things} as being ‘culturally snobbish’.

Well he was that… Because he loved culture passionately, and did feel that it was the chosen purview of the enlightened. That is easily describable as snobbish... Or just as:

Geoffrey.

His opinions were strongly felt and strongly argued... You questioned them at your peril. But you always knew that they were underpinned by a love, a passion, for all the high arts: music, literature, theatre and cinema.

As voracious as he was opinionated, discussing a book or a play (and especially Jacques Tati) was no coffee morning chit chat.

It was to enter the lists. And not everyone escaped unscathed.

My darling daughter recently wrote a sentence  which resonated strongly with me, and doubtless will with many of you: ‘Anyone who can have had my dad as a best friend for fifty years must have been a terribly brave and wonderful person’.

Thanks darling!

But Geoffrey was both those things.

And he was hugely loved for them.

in Rose he found his better half: she made him whole. And she loved him with a devotion sometimes greater than his deserts, as women do. His daughters are him reincarnate but with greater elasticity, and softer, sweeter laughter.

For every single person in this room he was a presence, a monument and a great joy.

You all know what he was for me... But he was also a giant for us as a couple. He loved us both and luckily for us when we all first got together and his basic postulate was ‘love me, love my friend’, the four of us managed it.

Against many odds and despite my stealing Rose's last bit of cheese.

I am not going to be able to go on much longer, you will be relieved to know.

I have come to accept his death: now we all have to try to live with his absence.

Afterwards we decamped to White Ben (the house of neighbours Ian and Jenni and the scene of many a past party).  It felt a bit like Boxing Day, only instead of my father and the wine elite sitting at the end of the table hogging the good red it was full of grandchildren and pizza. Then we watched Mr Hulot’s Holiday, went for a walk and played games. All in all, he’d have loved the day.

And so we move on. It seems hard to know how at the moment, but we’ll start with cheese straws and a cuppa on November 5th.

We hope to see lots of you there.

Monday 17th October at 2.40am my beautiful, thoughtful, shy and culturally pompous father died. He was surrounded by family and friends, he went peacefully, with dignity and his final words were 'I love you too'.

You could not have written it more beautifully. Five weeks ago he announced he would be leaving soon and invited everyone to say goodbye, sadly he declined quicker than he thought but he directed it perfectly which means you have to smile. Over that time being anywhere else but in the same house with him was impossible, then the same room, as his world shrunk to who mattered most. To me it is a testament to his friendships spanning decades when they wanted to be woken in the middle of the night to be there at his last breath.

We had a cuppa around his bed and laughed with tears. Not realising he needed underwear when we dressed him, we grabbed the nearest pair of pants, which were cycling shorts, anyone who knows him will know how funny that is. He went knowing he was deeply loved and the hole he will leave seems unmeasurable, but that love will get us through.