The late Peter Campbell, sometime professor of politics at the University of Reading, would have enjoyed the irony. He died just before the general election. His funeral was hastily arranged for Friday 6 May, mid-morning, in Reading.
For me these were a couple of days of little sleep and intensely hard work. So Peter will forgive my confession that when his executors asked me to give the eulogy at St Luke’s Church in Reading at 11.30, the timing did not seem ideal. But to speak for him was an honour.
I am so glad I did. As all the ill temper of an exceptionally negative election campaign came to its angry climax last Thursday, the setting aside of some hours to think about Peter’s life helped me recover my own bearings. It reminded me why, for all the scrapping, the pettiness, the careerism and the human vanity, politics matters. It reminded me of the doughty souls who keep faith with the conviction that by effort and persuasion a just cause can triumph in a democracy. It reminded me of the persistence of reason.
You will forgive my quoting some of what I said at St Luke’s. I was trying to assess what we can and cannot know about another person, and how far we can or cannot sum up the value of their work.
When a man dies (I said) who leaves no partner, no children and no close relatives — a man neither unconvivial nor unloved, but who was never part of a circle of intimates who knew each other’s minds, hearts and stories — then who is to speak for him?
Asked to (I said), one hesitates. Was there nobody who knew him better? Surely someone closer survives who could paint a picture of the whole man, assemble for us an album of what is known and felt about our now fallen friend?
Peter left no survivor, no album.
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