Ethical Will

What words of wisdom can I leave for my children, family and friends? I could just reproduce a list made by my son a few years ago of 'Gent Family Values'. I am writing this deliberately without rereading Leo's list first, but I shall add it once I have finished jotting down my own thoughts.

1. Everybody is different, we are all unique. It took me decades to understand and recognise that nobody is like me. They don't share the same dreams, enjoy the same treats, respect the same values as me. They don't believe in the same politics, they don't have the same belief systems, nor do they have the same ambitions. I was very puzzled by this. Why weren't people passionate about matters that concerned me so much? I still find it hard to accept to be quite honest, but at least I am aware of the discrepancy. Part of me is generous in accepting that variety is what makes humans interesting and special, part of me feels sorry for them, and that they are missing out.
2. Be proud of who you are, and your own uniqueness. Nowadays I tell the story of how, when I was about twelve or thirteen, I was terribly upset by the innumerable put downs I received that undermined my self-confidence and my self-esteem. It could have stayed like that for the rest of my life, but there was a moment when, sobbing by myself in my bedroom in the attic, I had a moment of revelation when I thought to myself that actually I was all right. It was a complete secret, and of course I could not share it or the illusion would have been destroyed, and it took me decades to share it, as the put downs always continued to come, from people who somehow felt threatened by my exuberance, my difference, my nonconforming.
3. Don't follow the herd — the herd can stampede over the edge of a cliff, and often does. It took courage for me not to smoke, to go to university, to not drink lots of alcohol, to enjoy classical music and opera rather than popular music, to reclaim my Jewish heritage, to ignore the popular concept of Christmas with its excesses, to live in homes that others wouldn't touch, to never have a package deal holiday, to buy a ruined cottage in France or a ridiculously tiny apartment in Trieste, to furnish my homes in my own taste. Be bold and confident in your self belief, and not boring. We learn from our mistakes anyway.
4. Another facet of being proud of who you are: be proud of where you come from, whether socially or culturally. Mam is proud to tell people that I am a painter and decorator's son, and that she is a tailor's daughter, who grew up living over the shop. I managed to make sure you were all given names that were different, that permanently reminded you of your heritage, and to your credit you've all taken pride in your names, reminders of ancestors. I probably confused everybody with my research which traced ancestry for us from every corner of Europe, North Africa and the Middle East, plus the East End of London and Manchester, but you've survived it well.
5. Success comes in different ways. My greatest successes haven't earned me a penny, for example, such as Exeter Synagogue and Cavernoma Alliance, or my book on the Bideford witches. I'm also proud of the way I influenced people's lives.
6. Work can be hugely satisfying as well as absolutely awful. Sometimes I had work that paid the mortgage, but I still gave it my heart and soul, as at the museum; at other times I had work that was challenging but I made a success of it, whether at Bideford Arts Centre or the Workers' Educational Association. If you have work that you love, that is a great blessing.
7. Physical work is good for the soul. I have always been proud that I could use my hands, whether as a gardener, plumber, curtain maker, electrician, decorator, roofer or anything else. I loved using my hands as well as my brain, and the balance kept me well balanced too.
8. Do honour and respect your parents, even if they weren't perfect, they did the best they could. I hope I modelled that to you.
9. I learnt late in life how important friends are, but luckily I didn't leave it too late. I always thought I could be self-sufficient, but once I opened up to friendship in my life I discovered something wonderful, and it was a revelation to find friends who loved me for who I am, and who valued and appreciated me. They have also been a tremendous support to me in difficult times.
10. If you really believe in something, never be ashamed of it or feel guilty about it. I have done some things that others might disapprove of, but I feel confident in these things, and that has made a real difference.
11. Be passionate, and don't let put downs stop you.
12. This one I am adding in the early hours, after lying in bed thinking about what I have written, and it follows on from my third point. As I approach my death I am appalled and saddened by the collapse of western liberal democracy, engineered by and a consequence of the greed of the billionaires and their millionaires, the gruesomely self-named neoliberals, who have bought their way to power and subverted the world that I have known since my birth, the post-war years when socialist policies in Britain created opportunities for people like myself and started to level the playing field of opportunity. That world has now been forgotten, and I see the herd approaching the edge of the abyss, the herd that voted for Brexit and for Trump, Trump whose ego is even bigger than Putin's. I fear for the future, for my children, my family, my friends and the world. Repeatedly the phrase comes to my mind 'the golden calf of scorn', from the poem that I chose a few days ago to be read at my funeral, a poem that I have sung in the past in both English and Hebrew at Passover seders that I have led. The poem ends with a message of hope for the future though. I hope you come through all these challenges, and I hope the values you possess will see you through.

Credo

Laugh at all my dreams, my dearest 

Laugh and I repeat anew 

That I still believe in man

As I still believe in you. 

By the passion of his spirit

Shall his ancient bonds be shed.

Let the soul be given freedom,

Let the body have its bread!

Laugh for I believe in friendship,

And in one I still believe,

One whose heart shall beat with my heart

And with mine rejoice and grieve.

Let the time be dark with hatred,

I believe in years beyond

Love at last shall bind the peoples

In an everlasting bond. 

On that day shall my own people

Rooted in its soil arise,

Shake the yoke from off its shoulders

And the darkness from its eyes. 

Life and love and strength and action

In their heart and blood shall beat,

And their hopes shall be both heaven

And the earth beneath their feet. 

Then a new song shall be lifted

To the young, the free, the brave,

And the wreath to crown the singer

Shall be gathered from my grave.

For my soul is not yet sold

To the golden calf of scorn

And I still believe in man

And the spirit in him born. 

Saul Tchernichovsky (1875-1943)

I shall no doubt add to this list if I can. Meanwhile, here is Leo's list, which is a joy to read after my own list:

There is something special about us five “Thorn Gents”. We are unique, flawed, brilliant. 
I was thinking about some of the things that set us apart and show us at our radiant best. Though we occasionally acknowledge some of these things, it is not necessary to express them in writing. Nonetheless, I thought I would share with you my thoughts on things that show us at our best. Though we definitely do not always display these things, each of us can and does at least sometimes.

• Appreciation of the value of simple things: food, exercise, music, reading, artistic expression, discussion, fire and candlelight.

• Vision to identify possibilities and enjoy the richness of potential in the present.

• Generosity to help and support others, whether well-known or not.

• Joy in physical movement: dancing, running, sport, swimming, cycling.

• Compassion and care for the poorly and infirm.

• Pride in our family history, both British and foreign, and recognition of how it has affected us.

• Emotional engagement with music.

• Ability to connect with anyone.

• Ethic of hard work when necessary with a perspective of what matters.

• Unique Jewish identity; appreciation of the culture, heritage and outlook.

• Commitment to work together and stand by those close to us despite difficulties and differences.

• Self-confidence, character and pride to impress on the world.

• Conviction in decisions and freedom from concern of the opinions of others.

• Openness and a willingness to show affection and give praise.

• Ability to generate and appreciate humour.

• A love of life.

• A sense that whatever happens, we'll be alright.

Reading Leo's List I feel a pride in that it seems the message already successfully got through to my children. 

Unfinished Business

When I went into hospital in June 2016 the prognosis wasn't good. My diagnosis of acute myelomonocytic leukaemia was frightening: a rare and aggressive blood cancer. Its classification is AML4, a necessary clarification as the types of leukaemia are many and varied. A month later I was told the good news that my bone marrow test showed that the particular genetic mutation (there are many) that had caused my leukaemia was NPM1. This was seen as cause for celebration, holding out hope for a complete cure. However, the bone marrow sample taken after my first cycle of chemotherapy (there were four cycles, each taking a month) showed that what is known as Minimal Residual Disease indicated a 2.5% presence of mutated cancerous cells in my bone marrow. This doesn't sound much, but it was very bad news, not least because it indicated that a stem cell transplant, which I was planning to receive from my brother, had a 'dismal' likelihood of success, with very few patients surviving to two years even. It was for this reason that I then declined the chance of a stem cell transplant, as it offered very little hope of a good quality of life after the initial challenging and lengthy experience of the transplant. However, at this stage there was a five year survival rate quoted of 30%, which offered some hope, but this soon shifted to a two year survival rate of 20%. But still there was hope.
A telephone call to me in Trieste ten days ago changed all that. I was asked to come back into hospital immediately for further bone marrow tests. The senior nurse who phoned me of course could not confirm my fears, but a week ago I returned to hospital to have the bone marrow sample taken and was told that the underlying indicators showed that my leukaemia was indeed returning and that I had probably three to six months left to live. I have been able to accept each stage in this journey with equanimity, but it has been startling how quickly my prognosis has declined, so that when I return to hospital tomorrow I almost expect my life expectancy to be halved yet again. It is for this reason that plans have had to be drastically reduced and changed. I shan't be going to Milan in January, nor to Florence in May. Writing I hoped to do cannot now be accomplished. I shall not see the 'Mme Isaac Pereire' Bourbon roses flower in June that will be planted today. I shall not meet my new grandchild that my daughter in law is carrying, or any other grandchildren, nor see them grow up and delight in them. I do not know what the future holds for my wife and children, or indeed for the world I live in. Over time I had several schemes that I planned to finish over the next few years in my retirement but which will now never happen.
One unfinished project goes back a long time, to when I was nine or ten years old, which is when I discovered my great grandfather's notebook on the Gent family history. Over the past almost sixty years I have accumulated a mass of material to add to what my great grandfather collected, especially the wives of my ancestors, and recently I have collected a vast amount of material about my mother's family, the Schiffs. I have done a lot of work nevertheless, much of which is available through my many websites and blogs, but of course this is ephemeral, and I need to download this material and rearrange it so I can print it all out in a master copy to go in the family chest. I doubt I shall manage to do all this, nor sort out the boxes of papers that I have. 
Culver House, my home for almost thirty two years, has to be another unfinished project. Of course the work was ongoing, and much was done, and in the nature of entropy much needs to be repeated. Some rooms I shall not see redecorated, though as I write this a decorator is working downstairs, and since I was taken ill in June there has been a constant team of people finishing jobs. The kitchen is done, the attic shower room and laundry room are completely refurbished, the roof is repaired with a new, deeper and wider lead-lined gully, the side and rear walls are repainted, as are all the many windows.
The garden is very much a case of the Forth Bridge style of maintenance and repair. Thirty years ago I worked hard and conquered the jungle, and I was very proud of my achievements: the Gertrude Jekyll-inspired huge double border with its hot colours, the cleared country walk down one eighth of a mile to the chickens and geese, planted with many rambler and climbing roses, including the rampant Rosa filipes 'Kiftsgate', and 'Wedding Day', and many shrubs, then there was the lower lawn which I levelled and bordered to the west with historic roses such as Rosa mundi, Rosa centifolia 'Cristata' 'Chapeau de Napoléon', Rosa rugosa 'Blanc Double de Coubert', and my beloved 'Mme Isaac Pereire' with its wonderful, rich scent; the upper lawn which started as pink 'Lady Gay' rambler roses from David Wagg over arches with silver-leafed plants below, and vegetables on one side with flowers for cutting on the other, and which eventually became the upper lawn, bounded to the north by nut trees and to the east and west with high square box-shaped hedges in the style of Knightshayes. Eight or nine years ago I gave up on maintaining the garden, the chickens had gone, and I was into running, swimming, cycling and weight training. The courtyard has now been cleared, but the plan was to surround it with trellis between brick columns. The trellis is till stacked there, but there are no brick columns. I also planned to rebuild the wall to the east side of the lower lawn, originally of cob, but which was demolished by the previous owner.
Twenty three years ago my Aunt Lyn's funeral was the last service to take place at Iddesleigh Methodist chapel before it was demolished and rebuilt. At that time on a visit to my grandparents' grave at the chapel I noticed two gothic windows from the chapel lying next to the graveyard, and purchased these, together with fancy arch supports from the roof and a gothic side door. About ten or fifteen years ago I purchased the entrance doors to Uffculme Baptist church to complement these windows, and the plan was that in my retirement to build a chapel-like structure on the site of the old linhay which had fallen down at the beginning of the country walk to the chickens. I saved all the Bridgwater roof tiles from that linhay, and also acquired many more roof tiles from the cart sheds that had been converted to garages next door to Culver House, and which were demolished to create what is now Culver Court.
I wasn't quite sure what this building was to be. Possibly I would build my own shul, which quite appealed, as I have my own sefer Torah and megillat Esther, but also it might have housed my proposed bookbinding workshop. In preparation for my retirement I built up a sizeable collection of equipment and tools, along with materials including beautiful marbled endpapers. These too are now all unfinished business.
Of course, in a sense everything is unfinished business. The moment a project is finished we think of what could have been better. I am delighted that one project I started fifty years ago suddenly had a remarkable dénouement over the past few years. This was the story of my mother's family that I referred to, and in particular the London Schiff relations who were invisible, but now I know and have written about them in much detail. and have met and had contact with many of these distant relations.
Exeter Synagogue is a project that of necessity must be unfinished business, for I hope it long outlives me, but when I entered the synagogue for the first time in 1983 it was just at the beginning of its renaissance, and over the years it became a source of tremendous pride. I gave a lot, whether officiating at services, taking weddings and funerals - scores of them over the past thirty years - and caring for the building and the cemetery, refounding the hevra kadisha, organising exhibitions, open days, school visits and communal events, and celebrations for the festivals. I succeeded in bringing the synagogue archives together, and adding to them in great quantity. For many years I produced a newsletter which became a valuable resource when Dr Helen Fry came to write the community's history. It was a labour of love but I was amply rewarded.
When I think about what I shall miss most as a result of dying, it is not knowing what happens to my wife, my children and my grandchildren, and indeed to the world they live in. All my life I have been able to look back, often in great detail, at the life of my ancestors, but I cannot look forward for even one brief second to what will become of them. We can never know what the future will hold, we can only hope for the best. I wish my wife's grandparents, murdered during the Second World War, could know that their children survived and that they were to have grandchildren, and great grandchildren. I cannot change the future, any more than I can alter the past, but I can hope that all will be well, despite the bad things that may happen.