It is 23 years since Freddie, as he was affectionately called in our profession, retired with his devoted wife Steve to Norfolk; firstly to North Walsham and then to Aylsham. His brother had been Vicar of North Walsham and they were no strangers to this beautiful county. "Ideally," he would say, "you should live in retirement within walking distance of the church and the pub. Then you can discuss the sermon over a pint on the way home." After Steve died five years ago he and his nephew Edward shared the house in Morton Close. It was an admirable arrangement and those who knew and loved him are extremely grateful to Edward for making it possible for him to stay on in independence. Much of what follows is gleaned from evenings of fascinating reminiscence when Patricia and I went to see him in the last few years and Edward, has kindly filled in the blanks.
I've been privileged to be one of his many friends for over 40 years and often observed the effect this modest, dignified, quiet spoken, utterly sincere man with a strong sense of humour had on those who met him. Affection and respect always seemed to follow. Let us begin when Freddie's father, an engineer, died when he was six, and his mother, unable to sustain three children, was forced to put him in a London orphanage for three years. He used to say with a chuckle that the rigour of those years prepared him for the Japanese prison camp. The rest of his schooling was at Southgate in North London and his first job was with Fyffes Bananas, which had a football team. This tall teenager was their goalkeeper and helped them to win the Business Cup. But when his mother, to whom he was devoted, re-married in 1927 it was time to leave home. He was 17 and a doctor friend who was about to visit his family in Vancouver offered to take him there to start life anew.
He sold linoleum in a department store and then got a job in a bank. "I was a rotten banker" he used to say, but he stuck it out for some years. He was well over six feet, very good looking and with that mixture of dignity and charm that never left him. One day his immediate superior told him that his accounts were in such confusion that he would have remain at work into the evening to sort them out. "I'm afraid I can't do that, sir, I've promised to take Miss So & So out to dinner." Miss So & So was the daughter of one of the bank's senior executives. "Oh," said his immediate boss, "In that case, Bradshaw, you'd better go and get ready and I'll try and sort out this mess myself."
Later he was transferred to Prince Rupert, where there was a young stenographer in the branch called Margaretta Craig Duncan nicknamed Steve. Many years later she would cross Canada to marry him in London, but first the impecunious banker had to seek his fortune. He returned to London to try his luck in the theatre, his first love. His fine presence and clear voice won him parts in repertory theatre and several seasons at the Open Air Theatre in Regent's Park, but the West End never beckoned and when war broke out he enlisted in the Bedfordshire Yeomanry where he soon rose to commissioned rank. They were attached to the Norfolk Regiment and Freddie once told me that the coldest job on earth was manning an observation post on the top of Cromer church tower. They were posted to the Far East and in 1942 he was taken prisoner when Singapore fell to the Japanese. He became camp entertainment officer and with other professional actors and volunteers presented plays by Shakespeare, Shaw and lighter fare like "Arsenic & Old Lace". Heaven knows where they got the scripts, but they did and played to packed houses. As Freddie explained, "There was nothing else doing in the evenings and 'Androcles & the Lion' was better than nothing." Freddie had a batman with whom he played card games to while away the hours. By the end he owed Freddie a huge sum of money.
When the troop ship docked at Liverpool in 1945 the batman scurried down the gangplank to where troops were being paid at a long table. He went among his fellow soldiers collecting money. When he returned Freddie asked him what he was doing. "Collecting my winnings, sir. They had bets with me that you wouldn't get to Liverpool alive." "Well," said Fred, "now you can pay off some of what you owe me for the card games." No such luck. His batman, though totally blind, still lives in Gosport and his son sent Freddie a Christmas card last year. Freddie would never say it but there is no doubt in my mind that his Christian faith, his courage, cheerfulness and will to survive the dreadful conditions and beatings in the camp inspired the will to live in others and the banishment of despair. When he was released he weighed seven and a half stone - half his normal weight.
It took him six months to recover and then a film producer called Maurice Ostrer put him under contract for three years. The parts were unexciting but the money was enough to get married on. Freddie and Steve's mothers had corresponded all through his incarceration and eventually mother and daughter set off for London. Tragically Steve's mother died on the train journey across Canada, but Steve eventually came on her own. A happier marriage could hardly be imagined though sadly it was not blessed with children.
Disenchanted with the film world when the casting director of the POW escape film 'The Wooden Horse' told him he was not prisoner of war material, Freddie got a job at Lloyds of London in the theatre department, but after two years, surprisingly, he went to Cardiff as a car salesman. One of his customers was a touring actress who, on hearing he was an actor, persuaded him to try his luck in theatre management. "I'll put in a word for you," she said.
Before long he was front of house manager at the Lyric Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue. He loved the job, particularly the show 'Irma la Douce', but a few years later he was appointed lay adviser to Southwark Cathedral. After a year he resigned. "They wouldn't take my advice, dear boy. I told them they could only balance the books and make future plans if they deconsecrated bombed out churches in the diocese and sold the land for development. They told me their conscience wouldn't allow it. I can sympathise with your dilemma, I told them, but don't cry poverty to me when you're sitting on a gold mine! Incidentally, old boy, I thought all the artistic temperaments were in our profession. There are quite a few in the clergy, I can tell you."
Then, in the 1960s he became director and producer of a company called Leomark, financed by a merchant banker, to record The New English Bible. It was the perfect job for a devout Christian like Freddie. He persuaded the cream of the English stage to take part in the recordings for minuscule fees. They included Sybil Thorndike, Flora Robson, Judi Dench, Robert Harris, Andrew Cruickshank, and Paul Rogers. The list is too long to give in full. Paul Rogers vividly remembers the experience. "Freddie was a delightful man who knew exactly how to get the best out of actors and it was a pleasure to work with him." Many in this congregation who remember Freddie's reading of the scriptures will know how close to his heart this work must have been.
The venture was not a commercial success but a magnificent recording that fell victim to modern developments in technology. When it was completed in 1967 he was delighted to accept the job of secretary of the Stage Golfing Society. He had been their honorary treasurer for 10 years. The Society is based at Richmond Golf Club in Surrey where today, as it has been since Friday, the flag is flying at half-mast. He retired in 1976 yet he is still remembered there with great affection and respect after nearly a quarter of a century. This is not the time or place to elaborate on the job of a theatrical golfing society secretary, but it must include organising ability, an air of quiet authority, charm and firmness in equal quantities, an understanding of human frailties, the gift of loyal friendship and a love of the game of golf. All those qualities he had in abundance.
Freddie & Steve loved Norfolk, a love that was reciprocated. It was a sort of homecoming and they were active church members as long as they were fit enough. Freddie often mentioned to me the meetings of Probus as being stimulating and enjoyable. After Steve's death his slowly deteriorating health, due in part to war time privations, made life something of a struggle, but what a welcome there always was at his house, and what light he made of his ailments...
Just one memory from his stage golfing years. The actor Roy Purcell described him as an extravagant golfer. His drive from the 1st tee at Richmond sometimes found the third (parallel) fairway, but occasionally a recovery shot, worthy of Seve Ballesteros, would finish miraculously close to the 1st hole. "It's the power of prayer, dear boy," he would say. God rest his soul.