Stu Honeyball

I've known Stu since I went to Rendcomb in 1970. You will need to look elsewhere for
any insights into his first 13 years, and obviously those who were in the old Rectory with
him have known him longer. Steve Pendell was at Dunally primary school with him, so
no doubt has some stories.

"Stu" was his Rendcomb name: elsewhere he was Stuart. I asked him and he said he
didn't mind it as an abbreviation, and he preferred it to Jam-bollocks.

Academically he was clever at sciences, but poor at the humanist subjects. Whereas a lot
of pupils did electronics and would build radios etc, relatively few actually knew the
theory behind what they were doing: he and Nige did certainly, and probably Jon
Fletcher. If you wanted something fixed you'd ask Nige because Stu would just take it to
bits and lose interest before he put it back together again. On the other hand if you
wanted to know how something worked, Nige would just look distracted and say you
wouldn't understand, whereas Stu would take the trouble to explain things.
Unlike other members of our class he said that he didn't have bad memories of the Old
Rectory, and was positive about his time at Rendcomb. Whether that is because he just
didn't remember the bad times or he really did enjoy himself I don't know, but he
purported not to be disturbed by Knapp's malevolence, and unaffected by homesickness
which should have been unusual.

In his later years he became an upstanding member of the community, so perhaps some
people would be surprised to learn that he was once one of the worst rascals in the school.
He had a bit of an anarchistic streak, and saw the authority of the school as something
that was fun to undermine. A good example of this was the Honeyball/Otter excursion in
the third form, which led to their names being remembered in infamy for years after.
They got a packed lunch one Sunday, giving their intended destination as Chedworth, but
didn't turn up for teatime callover. They had acquired camping equipment from
somewhere, and got on the train to the north. After they had been away for a few days,
the police stopped them near Liverpool and took them in when they couldn't give a good
account of themselves. Stu's dad had to drive all the way up there to collect them. I think
they were balustraded for three weeks as a punishment. A while ago I asked Stu why they
did it – he said he couldn't remember, but probably just for the hell of it. I can't imagine
why Andrew Otter, who appeared to be a sensible boy, went with him. Led astray, no
doubt.

He had a number of moneymaking schemes: one was to start one of those letter chains – I
don't know what became of that. Another was forgery: he and Nige went up onto the roof
and removed some of the lead, which they fashioned into coins of the right size and
weight for 10 pence pieces. They walked down to the Bathurst in the afternoon and tried
using them in the cigarette machine: nothing came out. But the next day, Ron Fry was
complaining that the machine at the pub had been jammed. (Maximum penalty for
counterfeiting: ten years.)

Stu's famous scripture exam:

One was a question like 'How did Jesus answer the Pharisees? (please use no less than
150 words in your answer)'.

Stu's reply: ..." He answered them very well".

Another (in the same exam) was 'explain the scene at the crucifixion (please use no more
than 250 words in your answer).'

Stu's answer: a matchstick men illustration of three crosses etc.

Syd made him resit the exam.

In the fourth form, Steve Reason decided he didn't want his legendary BB gun anymore
(presumably because he was too mature for it), and so he sold it to Stu (who presumably
wasn't). One day a bird flew in through an open window and got trapped in our common
room: of course Stu being Stu, got out the gun and shot it, much to Steve's distress. Steve
learnt an important lesson about life that day: if you are going to be an arms dealer you
have to take some responsibility for the actions of your customers.

In 6B, having our own study bedrooms was great: at least it was better than the dorms.
We boys were on either lower or upper deck. They did not have power points, which was
a nuisance as we couldn't have record players etc. Some of the more electrically minded
(Stu and Nige) worked out a way of running them by connecting a live wire from the
light switch, and hiding it behind posters.

In 6A we were incarcerated in Park House, Parkhurst as some called it. There were means
of escape, including the fire exit. There was a key in a sealed glass-fronted case to be
broken in emergencies: Stu worked out that you could open it by sticking a pin through
the casing and releasing the catch, so he took the key out and had a copy made in Ciren.
He was caught outside at some point, and brought before Medill, who asked him how he
had got out. Rather than reveal the truth, Stu told him that he had photographed the key
through the glass and a copy had been made from the photo. Despite the obvious
implausibility, Medill swallowed it whole (well, "It's better to be gullible than
suspicious.") and so the locks were changed and the glass was painted to prevent this
from being done again. Obviously that didn't work, and eventually he was caught again,
and the staff figured it out and replaced the key case with something more difficult to get
into. Then one night there was a fire practice, and although the door had deliberately been
left unlocked, Stu smashed open the key-case with a chair leg, pretending that he thought
it was a real fire. DSJP was furious.

Stu used to play the organ in church as part of his music studies. I tried to persuade him
to relieve the monotony by breaking into Light My Fire or a bit of Emerson, Lake and
Palmer and he agreed in principle, but never actually did it. (Actually he had already been
in trouble for playing Onward Christian Soldiers at double speed in assembly.)

He was quite helpful if you ever wanted to work out the chords for a song: he could tell
by ear whether something was a B Minor diminished seventh or whatever, which I
couldn't: I got him to show me how to play Do the Stanley and Stairway to Heaven
among other things. Recently he told me that he hadn't done much musical since school,
but a couple of years ago he bought one of those electronic pianos and started to play it a
bit, though he wasn't taking it that seriously.

In those days Stu had a reputation for being tightfisted: I remember one incident in 1975
when he went to the Reading Festival with Bert Stroud, Steve Pendell and me: I took a
tent, and he drove us down there. When we arrived he asked us for a contribution for
petrol money: we all said we weren't giving him any, and he replied, how are you getting
home, then? And I replied, where are you sleeping tonight? He explained that the two
things were quite different, as it didn't cost anything to use a tent whereas the petrol for
the trip had been expensive. And we explained that he could fuck off and he wasn't
getting a penny, which he accepted with reasonably good grace.

At school we had been on friendly terms, though I wouldn't have described him as a close
friend. I had been just a bit wary of his eccentricities. After leaving, he, Simon and I
moved into Shawswell cottage up above Rendcomb and I got on with him well.

That was quite an interesting period, because it was the first time we'd been completely
free of adult supervision. We lived on dole money, slept until 1 o'clock in the afternoon
and heated the place with firewood that we raided from surrounding lands. The division
of labour was that I did the washing up, whereas Stu and Simon did the cooking. They
were both spectacularly awful at it (and they were equally critical of my washing up). We
ate a variety of things: I particularly remember we used to buy tins of mince, or meat
chunks which got made into pies, and on one occasion Stu chucked a handful of salt into
the mixture: it was vile. Me and Simon threw ours away but Stu ate the lot. In fact a good
proportion of food cooked by those two went in the bin. I also recall a steak and kidney
pudding he made which after four hours steaming was still raw. We occasionally got gifts
of food from parents, which were a treat in comparison. Once my mother came up and
left a home-made fruitcake, but I had to go away for the weekend and when I came back
those two had eaten it all. Our lives consisted mostly of sleeping, eating, drinking,
listening to records and reciting Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

At the end of that year I went off to Hatfield Poly, and Stu had got a place at Sheffield
University to do maths and music, but when he got there it was decided that he should
transfer to computing and electronic engineering. He told me later that he hadn't learned a
great deal on the course, except the stuff about structured programming was quite good.
After that he went to work for Clive Sinclair, who according to Stu was just as eccentric
as he was portrayed.

Then he set up his own business, Miracle Systems which made hardware add-ons for the
QL computer. He was successful enough to be able to retire by the age of 50, and with
astute investment he was able to live comfortably on income. He had bought a house in
Yate and installed his parents there: when they became infirm he moved in to look after
them.

After our undergraduate days most of our class drifted apart, and I didn't see Stu until we
had a reunion in 1992. We kept in touch for a while, but for some time after 1995 I didn't
have much to do with Rendcomb.

We met up in 2005 for our 30 year reunion, and since then we've kept in contact. He has
been supportive, and has helped me out in many ways, including with lifts, DIY, and tech
support. More importantly, he was good company and we always had a good laugh
together. He definitely improved my quality of life.

Also since I've been in Tetbury he has visited most weeks. He'd either come round for
coffee and he would bring pattiserie, or for lunch and one of my notoriously bad curries:
one of the things we learned in boarding school was to have low expectations of culinary
standards: at my place those expectations were always met in full.

In later years I got to know him fairly well, or at least I became familiar with his
behaviour patterns. I wouldn't say I knew the "inner Stu", if there is such a thing. I never
enquired about his thoughts or feelings, and nor did he of mine. To some extent that may
have been part of the consequences of boarding school*: we learned not to show feelings,
which would have been seen as a weakness. Discussion of them was something that we
did not do. Some may have been able to change that after they left Rendcomb, but I didn't
and I don't suppose he did either much.

*See https://www.ibblaw.co.uk/insights/blog/boarding-school-syndrome-symptoms-and-
long-term-psychological-effects

Physically he was fairly tough: he didn't seem to be bothered by pain, cold or exhaustion.
Emotionally he was shy, and perhaps even a touch autistic, though in later life he was a
lot more considerate than he had been.

At school Stu had been hyper-shy around girls, and I don't recall him ever getting off with
anyone. He told me once that he had not had any girlfriends previously, but he became
friendly with a woman called Karin via a cycling club that they both belonged to, and
they got married in 2006. I dare say he would have to reconsider his lack of emotional
engagement, but anyway the marriage was successful. They bought a tandem for their
cycle trips, and continued to lead full lives both together and in their individual pursuits.

He still was careful with money, and always got the best deals on his phone, computer
etc. He didn't like extravagance, and although he ate out frequently it would be at a pub
or other cheap place, and when they went on holidays they were usually youth
hostelling/cycling trips. But he was by no means ungenerous, and often brought round
foodstuffs and other things that I couldn't get locally and refused payment.

Stu took some trouble to look after his health: he went in for good diet, normally buying
organic foods, avoiding red meat, and didn't use salt or sugar in cooking. However, he
wasn't fussy, and ate what was put in front of him. (In fact he would also eat things that
weren't put in front of him when he was round here, and would start tucking into the fruit
bowl while waiting for pudding. He would also eat things that he'd dropped on the floor.)
He kept fit with cycling, and would cheerfully ride, for example all the way from Yate to
Rendcomb and back even when there was a more sensible alternative. Only in the last
five years did he begin to tire and use the bus or car instead.

His politics were a bit of a mystery. He was a monarchist, and further to the right than I
would like on some things, and decidedly dodgy on others: he supported Brexit on
economic grounds. (His sister is a Euro MP, so he's voted her out of a job.) One odd quirk
was that he never used strong language. (In extreme cases he would utter the word
"crikey". )

Two years ago, Stu discovered a growth a in his armpit which was found to contain
cancer cells: the oncologist couldn't find where they had originated, but the lump and
associated lymph nodes were removed and he had a course of radiotherapy. He appeared
to be free of the disease, but last summer he was diagnosed with cutaneous adnexal
carcinoma, an aggressive and rare type of cancer which by then had spread to the bones.
The prognosis was poor, and they said he might live another year.

He was stoical about it: he said that we all have to die some time, and it doesn't really
make that much difference when. He did express concern about being bedbound and
wired up to equipment etc. though. Otherwise It didn't seem to bother him, and he treated
the subject with humour. He was quite open about it with people he knew, but he told me
not to broadcast it because he didn't like to make a fuss and definitely didn't want people
ringing up and being sympathetic.

He stayed active until the end of January, and last time he was round for lunch he ate a
hearty meal, though didn't have seconds of the tarte tatin. But in February he took a turn
for the worse and began to deteriorate rapidly.

I went to visit him at St Peter’s Hospice in Keynsham in March.

He was weak as he couldn't breathe particularly well, or eat much, and doped up on
opioids (which he wouldn't share). He found the light uncomfortable, so he was keeping
his eyes closed except when he needed to see something. Mentally he was still alert, and
engaged in conversation, though not to his usual extent. He had been keeping up with the
news and current affairs and had opinions on them. He seemed to have kept his sense of
humour in spite of it all, but he was obviously uncomfortable and just wanted to die.

The hospice itself is good: it has a peaceful, comforting atmosphere and the staff are
great. I met some of them because I had to use the bathroom, and I pulled what I thought
was the cord for the lights and it turned out to be the emergency alarm. Rather
embarrassing, but they were very nice about it.

He died on Wednesday 28th of March with his wife present.