A brief celebration from his friend Alan Dearling
Early morning, by email, Phil contacted me about a music review we were working together on. He then went out for his customary morning run on a Wednesday a few weeks ago. Returned home, had a heart attack, was placed in an induced coma. His life-support was turned off the following weekend. He was an organ donor. Vikki, Phil’s wife told me: “The wonderful thing that has come out of it, is that Phil has been able to donate his kidneys and liver to help save the lives of three others. Various medical teams were on hand around the country to receive the organs and the patients were in theatre waiting.” I later heard that his eyes were also donated to new recipients.
I met Phil first as one of the original co-organisers of The Grizzly, an inspirational and marginally bonkers all-terrain race which has become one of the most over-subscribed long-distance running events in the UK. From the late 1980s he quickly became a close friend. We holidayed together, went to gigs and festivals (and did our share of after-exercise pints), and ran and walked many hundreds, indeed, thousands of miles together. But he also acted as my copy-editor and inspirational supporter and colleague. He worked with me on social policy books, my two novels and books about festivals, new Travellers, environmental projects and cultural diversity in Africa, Turkey and Australia. And for over ten years Phil assisted me with my music and arts articles and reviews for ‘Gonzo’ magazine (www.gonzoweekly.com) and more recently for ‘International Times’ (www.internationaltimes.it). For me and these magazines he was one hell of an ‘unsung hero’. I’m missing dreadfully his cheerful companionship, encouragement and creative criticism, interspersed with deviations into reggae and blues music, books, films and other interests such as his visits to the subversive ‘Dismaland’ (partly curated by Banksy and the KLF) and the on-land oil rig/play park. These are his pics.
Like myself, Phil had a number of ‘lives’. He had been a journalist, a community education teacher and adult educator, photography tutor, gained a doctorate, and latterly was an innovator in training for prison educators based from Plymouth University. For many, he was lifelong sports-person, helping in organising, running, swimming and cycling events. He was motivated to strive to be the best he could be, and trained hard in swimming and cycling to achieve his ambitions to participate in a number of Iron Man challenges around the world. He particularly enjoyed our shared adventures as part of the Legbenders, a team set up to take part in the HOTBOT challenge along the UK’s South-West Coast Path, the start was in Sidmouth and the finish at East Portlemouth on the Kingsbridge Estuary (about 74miles).
Runners took turns to run/jog/walk pre-set ‘sections’ of the HOTBOT route and had to follow a route map. It included ferries across the Exe, and the other team members had to travel in their own vehicle to meet up with the next leg-weary runner.
The relay team and organisers were from Cambridge University and were very much the ‘favourites’. We’d have bet on them. But, and it was a big BUT, we were very experienced in running the South-West Coast Path.
It was a monumental challenge and Garry was almost completely zonked by the end. I think he’d run about 50 miles or more on some really arduous ‘leg-benders’!
The LEGBENDERS were victorious. Cream teas and beers and more were much enjoyed by all.
Alan, Garry, Phil and Dave – the original Legbenders!
But most of all he was a proper ‘mate’.
Phil’s was woodland burial. It was real celebration of Phil’s myriad, multi-faceted ‘lives’. Father, husband, grandparent, a prodigious long-distance runner. Essentially he was kind, generous and positive.
Down in Seaton, Devon, over 200 attended at the grave for woodland burial and after at a community centre for the eulogy. I was one of the pall-bearers of different heights. Small at front, me at back. Bit scary across an uneven field. But a privilege.
A well thought-out and executed event. It even included two a cappella singers, recorded music in the woodland and original poems.
Luv ‘n respect to Phil, Vikki, his family and many friends.
Dave, Alan and Phil in Happy Leg-bending times
I first met Phil and Vikki when they were teachers on Andros Island in the Bahamas. I think it was 1978. My wife Pam and I had come from our home in Florida along with two friends who had met them several years earlier backpacking thru the Caribbean, I think in Haiti. They were gracious hosts and we all had a grand time swapping stories and diving on the reef there. There was an entire group of Brits who were also teaching, and they all politely endured our rude American behavior! We invited ourselves back two years later, and again had so much fun. In 1992 we had moved to California and decided to take a trip to England and Scotland. We had kept in touch with them, Phil and Vikki were in Devon by then, and I called him (“rang him” I think is the proper King’s English), and said we would love to come to Devon and see them. Thought we’d stay at an Inn, but Phil insisted we stay with them. Nearly lost my mind driving on the WRONG side of those narrow roads leading to Devon, but we made it. Anxiously awaiting our arrival were their two young boys Simon and Leon. Phil said they had been asking all day when would the friends from America arrive, and at times were practically screaming in excited anticipation. They showed us all around Devon, Phil translating for us in each Pub. We had never seen such beautiful countryside. My father sailed to England on the Queen Elizabeth for WW2, and he talked about how the Spitfires would come out to welcome them, doing victory rolls over the ship. He was stationed with the B-17’s North of London, and told me how lovely the country was and how well he was treated by the British people.
Finally it was time to head to Scotland, and we all went together for our farewell at the railway station in Exeter. On the way we sang the few British songs I knew, my favorite being “God Save the Queen”. I had always thought that the words of one verse were “grant her victorious”, and Vikki nearly boxed my ears and informed me that it was “send her victorious”, and we had a short discussion on who was correct, but I decided to defer to her judgement. I know Brits don’t hug as much as Americans but I trapped Simon and Leon in a bear hug at the railway station. After hugs with Phil and Vikki we all said goodbye and Pam and I boarded our train for Edinburgh. We traded Christmas cards every year, Vikki wrote theirs, filled with the latest family updates.
And then one day that card came from Vikki with the terrible news.
I only saw Phil a few times in my life, but I can honestly say he was the finest person I’ve ever met. May God rest his soul and bring peace to his family.
Comment by mark huff on 21 February, 2025 at 8:32 am