Arthur Evans

9 June 2023

Dear David,

I'm belatedly sending you the tribute for my father, Arthur Evans, as we discussed.

Hope all is well. It seems no time at all since we met for the funeral.

Best wishes.

Clive Evans.

Arthur Norman Evans: Tribute

Arthur Evans, my Dad, was born and bred in Liverpool, and educated and worked here his whole life. Growing up in Mossley Hill was overshadowed by the War and the Blitz. As a result, he didn’t like fireworks. Nevertheless he told me that after one air raid, he and his brother, Gerald, found an unexploded incendiary bomb, on the island in the middle of the Calderstones Park boating lake. They proudly brought it home to face their somewhat incandescent mother.

Dad’s father worked as a clerical officer in the old Customs House and, so Dad says, he regarded public service as the height of one’s ambition. Therefore, when an opportunity arose, Dad, aged 16, was plucked from Liverpool Collegiate, his much-loved school, and taken on as a junior clerk with the Corporation of Liverpool: in the Municipal Buildings, where Dad would spend his entire working life.

On his 18^th birthday, he was called up for National Service with the Royal Air Force: the only period of time which he ever spent away from Liverpool. Dad, like his son and grandson, was somewhat bald. This was a shame because he used to have a fine head of blond hair, like his brother and father. Dad blamed ‘the RAF’ for this: having to wear tight fitting berets on hot days. During his square bashing, he was selected for the School of Education in Wellesbourne. He passed the course and was promoted to Sergeant still aged 18. In clearing his house last year, I came across two letters from his father, warmly congratulating him on his promotion but warning him not to let his newly attained rank go to his head. Dad was justly proud of his achievement and wisely took this advice carefully to heart.

He had hoped for an overseas posting but instead ended up in the less than exotic Padgate outside Warrington. But there were compensations: better pay and perks, including seeing his long-term girlfriend most weekends. He says that he enjoyed his time in the RAF adding ‘I am sure that the experience helped me in later life.’ I am sure that it did!

Dad, in common with his wartime generation, was full of optimism about the future. He used to recall that as an RAF lecturer, he was allowed to give the occasional extra-curricular talk: it would be about Man in Space, which the trainees found fascinating. It was the mid-1940’s and there were dreams about space travel, trips to the moon, rockets and so forth. Dad never lost this fascination with Space (although he freely admitted that reading Stephen Hawkings left him out of his depth!) and as a boy, I can remember being allowed to stay up late on a holiday, in some hotel lounge, to sit with him as we watched those awfully grainy TV transmissions of the early Apollo missions.

In due course Dad returned to the Corporation. The 1950’s Corpy was a vast organisation, the largest employer in the City. It provided services from literally cradle to grave and, so Dad firmly believed, it did a lot of good. And he was proud of the tradition of this City being at the forefront of social improvement. Dad worked across various functions, ending up in the new-fangled Personnel & Management Services Department (HR in modern parlance). He was eventually appointed Director of Personnel in 1973, a position he held until his retirement in 1990. Meanwhile, the Corporation became Liverpool City Council and political life changed too. There were many years of troubled industrial relations which of course directly involved my father. He often said that he could write a book about his experiences. As a family, we all thought the pressure would send him to an early grave. He always worked long hours and somehow kept going, being thankful that he could sleep soundly each night. He was employed by the Council, man and boy: from 16 to 60.

Meanwhile, the other constant was his family life. He and Betty met as teenagers at Calderstones Park while playing tennis, and married at All Hallows’, Allerton in 1954. And I appeared in due course. I for one greatly appreciated our stable home life. The biggest upheaval was moving house: once. Mum and Dad were as devoted to each other as it was possible to be and I could not have wished for better models of love, stability, and support. Mum however was something of a creaking gate and they expected that she would creak on whereas Dad would have a heart attack, like his father before him. But it was not to turn out like that. Just a year into Dad’s much-deserved retirement, Mum was diagnosed with cancer and within a year, she died. Dad was just 62. He was devastated .

It was wonderful that Dad found support from so many friends and in particular, from Jill Stocks, who had herself been widowed a few years earlier. Her late husband Alfred had been a colleague and both of them were friends of my parents. Dad and Jill’s friendship blossomed and in turn they married in 1994, here at St. James’ on a lovely sunny March day. They would be married for 22 years, until Jill’s sudden death also from cancer.

Dad and Jill shared many interests including the enjoyment of a now enlarged family. I had by this time married Deb and we had had Sarah and Simon; and Jill had Ellie and Anthony, along with their spouses, Dave and Linda, and grandsons Tom and Michael. Dad was very proud of his family, including the growing number of in-laws, and to the very end of his life took a great interest in what each was doing. He was unstintingly generous with presents, gifts and meals ‘out’ (provided he could have red wine, preferably Shiraz). Even into his 90’s, he was assiduous in remembering birthdays and anniversaries, which we much appreciated. His getting to see the family became impossible but we all came to see him. Sarah, our daughter, even managed to bring baby Ava, his newly-arrived great-granddaughter, to see him last May.

Dad and Jill were generous volunteers. In Dad’s case, this was principally with the Woolton Leonard Cheshire Home and Hornby Housing Association. And for many years Dad was much involved with the Collegiate Old Boys’ Association, and Woolton Probus, and he was a long-standing member of the Liverpool Athenaeum. Dad was a Liverpool season ticket holder, a faithful supporter in season and out, an enthusiasm he freely shared with anyone showing the slightest interest. Which – of course – is not difficult in Liverpool. He, and Jill, loved their garden and gardening, going on trips around the country with the Friends of Harthill & Calderstones Park, and he was a regular devotee of the Liverpool Phil – though we suspect he would sometimes doze off in those rather comfy seats.

Dad always worked hard at whatever he did. However dependent he became in his latter years, previously he was someone who freely spent himself for other people, whether in time, or labour, or money. He was a quiet man, humble, a good listener, and above all, interested in other people. And he was a man of honesty and integrity, as both colleagues and councillors knew from working with him.

Dad loved being with people. He had many circles of friends ranging across all his years of living in the City, some of whom are here today. And he made a ready home at St. James’ and found friends here too, appreciating the ministry of several church leaders, not least Peter Hughes. Perhaps now is a good moment to say a heartfelt thank-you to you all for joining us here today. Some, we know, have made considerable efforts to do so, others could not come but they have sent their loving thoughts and prayers.

Dad was carrying on pretty much as usual until some 16 months ago, living in his own home. But in November 2021 he had a fall, not for the first time it is true, but this time he was never to return home. To my amazement, he soon accepted that this would not be possible, little realising what would lie ahead for him. Since then he has been a patient on upwards of 20 different hospital wards, three hospitals, two rehab centres and two care homes. It’s been an exceedingly grim time for him and yet I have never once heard him complain. Indeed his last words to me were: ‘I’m all right. Don’t worry about me.’ Of course, we did.

Humanly speaking, what has sustained Dad so much throughout his final months has been the faithful contact made by so many people – whether by phone, by letters and by cards – and in many cases by visits. He has much appreciated all of you, thank you. I particularly want to thank Peter Hughes, his neighbours Mike and Sandra, and Shirley; Peter and Geraldine Bounds; and most of all, Anthony and Linda, who have also done the week-by-week errands for Dad.

Finally we cannot praise highly enough the nursing Dad has received from so many people. Often they themselves have spoken warmly about Dad, which speaks volumes. In particular I want to thank the staff on Ward 9, Broadgreen. And lastly, all the staff at Church View in Old Swan, Dad’s final home, where he has enjoyed the best quality of life for many a month. Thanks to Cheryl, Sam and all your wonderful colleagues.

I cannot possibly do justice to Arthur Evans with these few words. But on your behalf, in this service of thanksgiving, I want to thank God for the man who gave life to me, and to so many of us so much friendship, and whose life we celebrate today.

Clive Evans.