I was in London the other day and stumbled across Spitalfields.

I found myself in Fournier Street and remembered it was where a collector of my work lived, I had last seen him in the mid nineties. He was clearly a man of means and experience but my lasting memory was of his generosity and enthusiasm for art and travel. I only met him three or four times, he visited my studio to buy some work.

I did a quick pavement google to find out if he was still around but sadly found his obituary. He died in 2003.

It’s well worth a read. One wonders if these days such characters in our generation could possibly exist.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/obituaries/eric-elstob-37442.html

‘Congratulations on your prices’

That bit made me laugh 🙂

Aw, he died young!

What a lovely letter – thanks for sharing.

I’m sure there are still characters like this around but they tend to live in obscurity because at the moment popular culture is not interested in what used to be called the middle and upper classes…. with the exception of Downton Abbey, obviously, but that’s complete fantasy and doesn’t convey anybody with charisma or eccentricity.

Great post.

My uncle died a few years back. He was a very modest and quiet man. I had known he spent a long time in the RAF, but had no idea of his incredible achievements within the Force until his funeral, one of which was him being awarded the Queens Commendation for Services in the Air.

I still get pangs of guilt that I didn’t have great discussions with him about it all, but I suppose he never brought it up so was perhaps content not speaking about it.

As you say, do people such as this exist in modern day times? Perhaps we won’t know until they too have an obituary.

I saw “Fournier Street” and immediately thought of my godfather. Then I saw the letter paper, and realised it was him.

If you can find a copy, his book “Travels in a Europe Restored” is well worth a read – he headed off into the ex-Communist countries as the Iron Curtain came down in the early 90’s, and his character really comes through on the page.

He had a habit of taking in “waifs and strays” or friends of friends who needed somewhere to live in London, and I lived in Fournier Street with him for some months – the house is fantastic inside, and should still have the painting on the staircase ceiling of him leaning over a balcony looking down on you. I suspect the sauna in the cellar is long-gone, though!

Quality letter and story!

I believe residents of Fournier St include ‘artists’ Gilbert and George among others.
I could show you which house.

To be fair to their much publicised eccentricities they do stick to them and I have enjoyed an authentic turk kofte on a couple of occasions when they have arrived as per their habit ( same restaurant every week night)

Stealthcat, what are the chances of that? The perfect Godfather.

I just ordered a copy of the book on Amazon.

You should have tried my godfather’s parties!

I think it was the New Year one which was “Locals Only” – on the grounds that no way would you be safe to drive home, and no taxi would even think about taking you…

Gilbert & George and Tracey Emin were all known to turn up to his parties, and you never knew who else might be there, or from what backgrounds.

After he died, his companion/housekeeper held a “house-cooling” party the night before she moved out, and gave each of us one of his sake glasses as a memento, which I thought was the perfect way to close the chapter.

(And there was a case of wine in his cellar with my name on it, and instructions that I wasn’t to drink it for the next 10 years or so!)

Good story and what a great character .

He maintained and developed eclectic passions: blackberry crumble, skiing, trekking, Ealing comedies, schnapps, cats and kayaking. A fine-looking man, with a hunting-dog face, he was brave and uncomplaining.

cbmotorsport, lots of people rarely talk about what they done.

I know my grandad never spoke about what he done in the war, despite having various medals. He was apparently very vocal about other people who served in WW2 and showed/spoke about their medals at every opportunity as if they were some kind of trophy.

I also knew someone reasonably well, and although I knew he’d been a captain in the merchant navy, he never really spoke about what he’d done after. At his funeral, it turned out he had been in the RNLI and had been awarded a George’s Cross. Even his daughters never knew about the George’s Cross, and I never did find out why he was awarded it, but the RNLI scattered his ashes at sea in respect for his service.

I could tailor that description to myself: “Melton Mowbray pork pies, skiing, walking, beer, cats and cycling. An odd-looking man with a hang-dog face, he was stoical and uncomplaining.”