Murray Brookes
Murray Brookes, a larger than life figure both physically and mentally. He used to proudly announce that he was a non-conformist. As a child I didn’t know what this meant but from his tone understood it to be something good. In later years his non-conformism became something to cause at times great embarrassment, and at others great admiration in me – because he simply did what he thought was right in every situation, no matter the demands of the social mores and etiquette. From reading a book at a dinner party (not so acceptable) to being incredibly insightful about people – he would always be spot on about whether a person was a ‘goodun’ or not –it was maddening that he was always proven right in the long term about situations and decisions we made, or certainly that I made.
He was essentially deeply satisfied with his life and thought he had everything
He was a devoted husband to our mother Esther and delighted with his home life with her and the four of us, and she was the most important thing in his life. Material things meant nothing to him, he simply didn’t care. It was people and constantly widening his and our knowledge and experience, that mattered to him. He was essentially deeply satisfied with his life and thought he had everything, and couldn’t see that striving for more material gain was of any consequence or would add anything to his or our lives. I admire this immensely in a world where materialism has almost become a religion. He epitomised the saying in ethics of the Fathers, Who is rich? he who is happy with his lot. Or perhaps it was another ideology of his I seem to recall, that he was a fully signed up member of the Communist Party as a youth.
an ambidextrous polymath-he wrote dense impenetrable books about embryology, anatomy and Latin
He spent most of his working life in academia and was loved by his students to whom he gave an exemplary service, I think above and beyond what was demanded by his remit as a professor. He must have virtually written dozens of PhD dissertations for people, many of whom would appear at our home, be fed well by Mummy, and spend hours of Daddy’s time picking his gargantuan brain. He was an ambidextrous polymath – he wrote dense impenetrable books about embryology, anatomy and Latin. He went on and on about the Romans ad nauseum. He translated Tacitus from scratch because he wasn’t satisfied with the available translation. In addition, he did all his own beautiful illustrations for the embryology book – these are really works of art.
What I have said may make him appear humourless, but the opposite is true. He was absolutely hilarious at times, capable of howling with laughter at the most absurd and often inappropriate things, which I simply cannot share with you here! There were moments on his final day here on Earth when, had he been able, he would have joined in our inappropriate laughter, when Julian being unfamiliar with the kit, tried to force a piece of PPE on to his head, which Joe, in hysterics, advised him was intended for his foot. And when Joe, leaning over the bed in a very serious moment caused the side support to collapse noisily, and dangerously. Daddy would have appreciated these moments so much – and maybe he did, he just couldn’t communicate it to us at all, in his final hours.
He was fundamentally kind and compassionate, seeing the best in people and wanting the best for them. His intrinsic decency was plain to everyone, and all that was left, in the last years as all the layers added on by life’s stresses fell away with the dismantling of his powerful brain. In all his suffering in the last few years I never once heard him complain about his lot. He accepted it and bore it with a complete lack of self pity. His occasional resistance to change with the onset of his cruel dementia, such as when first attending Singing for the Brain sessions, was only caused by fear, swiftly replaced by pleasure and enjoyment, once he’d realised there was no threat. I think he remained naïve and childlike to the end, a fantastic quality making him capable of great wonder and delight at so much that the world and its people have to offer.
You leave behind what mattered most to you, a strong united family
His carers in Kun Mor I think loved him. He was respectfully and endearingly referred to as ‘the professor’ there and treated with the utmost dignity – we will be forever grateful to Kun Mor for making his last years as comfortable, safe and loving as humanly possible in the circumstances.
Goodbye Daddy, we have missed the old you for a long time, and will miss the new you we have known for the last years of your life. You leave behind what mattered most to you, a strong united family, with grandchildren and great grandchildren of whom you would have been very proud.
Professor Murray Brookes. Buried at Waltham Abbey Cemetery.
Addendum:
After his death, Joe and I cleared out Daddy’s room at Kun Mor, with a pitiful collection of all the belongings he had left (we had had to sell the family home after Mummy’s death), and found a treasure – a small metal box containing documents and letters that Daddy had saved all his life. It provides a fascinating insight into his life from before he married (aged 31) and includes letters he wrote and received. Most surprisingly for me there is a collection of poems handwritten by the young Murray, or Moish, as he was known to family and friends – poems of drama, expressing his innermost deep and dark thoughts, some in Latin – showing him to be an incredibly intense and serious, and creative and imaginative young man.