Ken - his self-bust, Panama hat, cigar and malt

KEN GARDEN
Funeral and An Appreciation

LIVE BLUES BAND AT ENTRY

We are here to celebrate the life, and mourn the passing, of KENNETH ALEXANDER LUDOVICK GARDEN, known first as Kenny and by most of us later as Ken. I'm Gus Macdonald, an old friend, and Liz and the family have honoured me with the task of remembering the uniqueness and the qualities of a man who was loved by all who knew him. We remember that love, and this is a theme that will run through our commemoration.

We entered to the sound of jazz which Ken expressly wanted to have and we will end with a different musical flourish compiled by Nancy and Moyra. But there are no funerary rites, no obsequies, no hymns or psalms today, and again that is in accordance with Ken's wishes as he had no religious beliefs. There will be one small piece of audience participation.

Ken's story was a long one, and we can't do it justice in a short ceremony - he packed more life into his 64 years than anyone else we know - but here goes. He was born in 1944. His sister Joyce and he were brought up in the family home in Craiglockhart, and he went to school in Edinburgh as did most of his longterm friends. In their early years, especially, Kenny and Joyce were close friends and shared many escapades together. Memories of happy family holidays at North Berwick were particularly precious. When they attended the same teenage dances they nearly always insisted on jiving together, having spent considerable time practicing at home instead of doing their homework! Ken's schooldays were not noted for their academic success but he did perform well on the sports field. Perhaps the memory of taking all 10 wickets in a school cricket match was one of his best.

The premature death of his mother when he was 14 had affected Ken deeply, and he became more robust, resilient and determined to live his own independent life at that very early age. When he left the family home and set up on his own he may have been young in years but he was already committed to leading his own life in his own individual way. He never flinched in this, even at times when times were hard, and he welcomed the experiences that this independence and exposure to life brought him. It was also the ground on which his generous and welcoming nature began to thrive: where Ken lived, all were welcome; when Ken went home, he never needed to be alone. All of us shared in his life, as he shared in our own. Ken was the most companionable of men, and his exuberance, his spirit of adventure, led to a joy that was contagious. Ken WAS a part of all that he had met, and I'm sure that, most of all, Ken would have wanted us to celebrate the separate fond memories that each of us has of 'this lovely man' as Laurie Flynn describes him.

He lived in a series of bedsits and flats. Ken and I recalled these days, with Ken adding, 'As I was young and easy under the apple boughs, About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green' from the poem Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas. We were then, indeed, as happy as the day was long.

We - all of us - remember the presence that Ken had. You knew when he came into a room; you were conscious of him being there; and you noticed when he left. You looked for him in any company, since if Ken was around, it was going to be another good day. He had very long hair then, and he liked to let his hair down quite a lot.

Norman MacCaig once said that Hugh MacDiarmid's motto should have been 'Excess is not enough'. I had a similar motto: 'Nothing exceeds like excess.' James and Moyra remember that Ken's version needed an audience. I'm no Bruce Forsyth, but when I lift my hands out, say loudly: 'Except Moderation'. Got it? 'Except Moderation'. OK?
'Everything in moderation!' (Hands up) 'Except Moderation!!' Ken would have loved that!

In the autumn of '62, we all thought it would be a jolly good idea to go down to London. The list of new experiences jointly and separately is extensive, but there is one that Ken regularly mentioned. Both Mel Hope and Ken had what he described as a 'Near Death Experience', during which he became conscious of a friendly light taking him gently away from his physical self. Ken was at pains to stress that this was not caused through the use of extraneous substances, and I think it probably had more to do with cold and hunger - the winter of '62/63 was a cruel one, and we were not always in work - but it did have an impression on him. He was convinced that when death came to him, it would be in that form, and he hoped that he would return to the peace and comfort that he had found in that experience. Mel, Ken and I were all fond of Dylan Thomas, and Ken wondered whether he would rage against the dying of the light or be welcomed into it when the time came. Here's an extract, read by his son-in-law Scott Richards.

Do not go gentle

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.


Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

(Dylan Marlais Thomas, 1951)


Thank you, Scott. Back to Edinburgh, and eventually a piece of luck. Ken rented a basement flat in Regent Terrace, and that seminal moment started off a time of real joy for him, when he had a permanent place of his own in which he could develop his artistic talents, share with a series of friends, and live life to the full. He christened it 'The Chummery', and all chums were invited to feel at home there. The place became iconic in the history of Edinburgh's most visited homes, though you may not find any references to it in the official literature. The parties were legendary, and there were many who grew up in that flat, who became perhaps not quite as individual as Ken but at least stronger in themselves. Ken looked after many people, shared their lives, contributed to their development, helped many to make a man - or a woman - of themselves.

I nearly burned the place down once, but he still forgave me - in fact, he hardly mentioned it other than in a few appropriately bright and burning remarks. Ken's humour and sense of irony were superb. One morning during the Christmas holidays when I had had to go to the Isle of Lewis, Heather and Ken were sharing a fairly dismal time of it. Ken said suddenly, 'I think I'll put my head in the oven.' Heather was startled and replied, 'But, Ken, it's an electric oven!' Ken's response: 'You don't expect me to kill myself, do you?' A two-part piece of pure fun, to lift the moment. It's still my touchstone of irony; when times are bad and a little hope is called for - well, there's always Ken's electric oven.

I texted Sandra Hope, Mel's widow, to let her know that Ken had died, and she sent me back a note that read: 'Must tell you - was musing about Ken and had such a vivid mental picture of him years ago, in good nick and in high good humour, throwing his head back and letting out one of his characteristic snorts of laughter - such gusto! I used to think he looked like a Viking!' Gusto, exuberance, joy, laughter - We always remember Ken vividly, in clear colour, no half-tones, sharply edged and brilliant.

Milne's Bar, Hanover Street, rapidly became Ken's regular. It's now marketed as a Poets' Pub, but in those days everyone was a poet of sorts and conversation was king. Ken enjoyed the company of the older group, Norman McCaig and all his friends, Jock and Evelyn Wallace, George and June MacDougall, the Crichton family, and the full range of men and women who used 'The Kremlin'. Later on, he drew a tryptich of cartoons of all his friends, and they used to hang above the benches. These were idyllic days, with long happy evenings and even longer happy nights at the Chummery. George MacDougall would like to say a poem he has written about those days with Ken. George...

FRIDAYS

The door would open and there you were,
The big man with the big smile,
Standing sure in that old jacket, padded against the cold,
The peaked cap on your handsome head.
Ken....


And there the familiar bag, slung over your shoulder.
What was in the bag? I didn't ask....
A bundle of cartoons, perhaps, a bunch of betting slips?
Sandwiches you forgot to eat, a can or two?
I didn't ask.


The hat was doffed, the jacket unwound,
The bag stuffed under the table.
You smiled, that all embracing smile.
'TGIF - Thank God it's Friday!' you said,
And we drank to that'..


There will be more Fridays,
But never again that magic smile.



(George MacDougall, October 2008)

Thanks George.

Ken developed and exercised his skills in a good few different areas at Regent Terrace. He was developing a career as a cartoonist and graphic artist, and his work was regularly reproduced in The Scotsman, in particular a series of cartoons on lawyers, judges and legal matters. When his father later passed away, and Ken and Joyce were going through his papers, they found a box in which he had put all of Ken's work that had been published in the Scotsman, carefully cut out and saved. Ken said that he was really touched by this, and surprised that his father had collected all of the work he'd done. Some of these cartoons and drawings are exceptional, all were humorous, and together they show his unique style developing. He took his artistic gifts seriously, and was a craftsman in exercising different styles. He designed and painted a wooden board to hang outside the flat, and it read KEN GARDEN, GRAPHIC ARTIST. I only twice saw Ken really angry - I mean REALLY angry - and once was the morning after a party, when we drew his attention to the fact that someone had defaced the board by taking off the word GRAPHIC and replacing it with quite another word entirely. (Think of a common collocation for ARTIST). He wasn't bothered about any slight on his character; it was the breach of hospitality and the defacement of the thing that clearly got to him.

The other skill that was developed over long periods was that of brewing beer. In those days the favourite carry-out was in screwtop bottles, and these could serve three functions: contents first, deposit on the bottle second, and home brewing third. Ken changed the order, and we were rarely short of a potion - or two. This brewing skill needed considerable quality assurance (QA in business language) and I cannot tell you just how much 'QA' went into the assessment of Ken's products. The Campaign for Real Ale was off to a roaring start, and Ken took great pleasure in providing developing expertise in the necessary fieldwork and product tasting - often with me as a welcome companion. Brewing was part of family life; Nancy and Moyra recall the terrible smells of his many full mash experiments to perfect his Broughton Street Domestic Ale, which ultimately became Leith Heavy. Alas, many of you will join me in lamenting that Leith Brewery was five years ahead of popular demand. Eventually the brewery had to close.

Ken told me, 'The day that I decided that Liz was the girl for me, was the best decision I ever made in my life.' He may have been the last to notice, by the way, it had long been clear to the rest of us that Ken and Liz together formed one matching unit. They had met and laughed together often enough, but it wasn't till they formed a close bond, Liz made the decision to move to Edinburgh, and Ken and she decided that their lives were to be together. Slowly Ken was weaned off the Chummery and into a family unit, at first in the flat in Portobello and finally in their Broughton Street home.

Nancy and Moyra remember that pub culture played a big part in Ken's life, and that they didn't stop that. They were introduced to the Chummery and Ken's chums, they travelled with Liz and Ken on family picnics, and they remember idyllic afternoons with Paddy and Neil Power in Dirleton. They had sleeping bags in the back of the van, and they were small enough to be portable in these days. Andrew and Betty's daughter Lisa also proved a good distraction when they were at the Drumbeg Hotel. Long, happy, days.

Ken found that his new role as partner and parent were actually pretty enjoyable, and that not only was he excellent with his girls but that the love that they gave him meant that his new life had different meanings and direction. Mind you, it didn't stop him being daft from time to time, and lots of crazy dancing became a commonplace. Nancy and Moyra remember the two of them cringing at the 'jazz-dancing' thing that Ken and Liz did at parties. They remember shrieking directions while he was trying to drive them home after a night at the hotel in Drumbeg, with Ken swerving to the left and right - to avoid frogs and toads on the road. They remember him pretending to be a bear when they were very young, hanging onto his beard and pulling it, making the big bear roar until they squealed with delicious delight.

Ken wanted a relationship with Nancy and Moyra in which they were his friends as well as his girls, and they want us to remember that as they grew up Ken became their closest and most dependable friend when they needed him. They tapped into that deep pool of love and friendship that all of us recognised in Ken and drew from in different ways. When each of them decided that she had found a lifetime partner, that love spilled over to Scott Richards and James McLaughlin. He often said how glad he was that his two girls had found such splendid husbands - and friends. When Owen and Jacob came along, Ken had two new 'buddies' - a new word for friend - and they, too, knew that they had a friend and dependable ally in Ken.


Laurie Flynn has asked to speak briefly in memory of Ken.

Laurie


(Edit: Laurie talked here of a "protean" Ken but, more pertinently, of how he was political with a small p. He lived his life the way he wished Scotland lived its own. He was how he wanted his country to be seen; no worse and, just as importantly, no better than anyone else.
Those words stuck in my head. He never banged on about his political standpoint despite being the living embodiment of a socialist, independent Scotland..... One that was fond of the odd glass of Moet & Chandon, mind;o))


Thank you, Laurie. Liz introduced Ken to Drumbeg. Another country, and a special place which Ken and Liz loved. It started with them camping in Jock Graham's field and they decided to come back again and again, in holiday homes, a well-remembered caravan, and finally in the house they built. Their lives became entwined with those who were there, too many to mention by name, you all know what you meant to them both.

'So many summers and I have lived them too
So many stars and I have counted so few' Norman MacCaig

Ken was particularly happy that Liz and he could enjoy the house and, especially for Liz, the garden that they finally built in Drumbeg over five glorious years. He may have tried to count more than just a few stars over these summers, as James remembers finding him fast asleep but still standing propped up against the car one evening. Ken explained: 'I thought I would stand out there and look up at the stars for a bit. Must have nodded off.'

Mairi Mackay would like to say a few words in his memory.

Mairi Mackay

(Edit: Mairi talked about the all the village's fondess for Ken but what I remember most was her mention of their "uneducated palates" getting a taste for the barrels of homemade ale he brought up from Auld Reekie.)



Thank you, Mairi. In the years since those glorious Drumbeg days, Ken has supported Liz through her own challenge, and striven to spend time with the Liz he knew and loved, devoting many hours to her, to ensure there was continued happiness in her life.

And so, we begin to come to the end of Ken's story. He was diagnosed with an incurable disease, and initially told only his family and close friends. I went up to visit him regularly, and it became clear that the disease was taking its toll rapidly. We reminisced about his life and where it had touched mine and others. He was absolutely serene, saying, 'I've had a wonderful life!' and 'There's nothing else I really need or want to do. Maybe a visit to London if I've time, and to the Tate Modern to see what they've got. I've done everything I ever wanted to do.' Perhaps the Shed at the Tate got him thinking, and he set up a project to build a shed at Drumbeg. He was convinced that: 'Every man should have a shed'. The galloping nature of his condition left him no time for the Tate, or the shed, but I think he would have shrugged quite philosophically at that.

The decision was made to take him to St Columba's Hospice, and for only too few weeks he stayed happy and serene, reminding everyone of his own peace of mind, still giving strength to those around him, still saying, 'I'm not afraid of dying' with confidence that the experience he had had so many years ago would be repeated.

Ken had a lifetime interest in horseracing, and made some memorable bets. Dougie Dixon said it would be remiss of me not to mention that one of Ken's last conscious decisions was to pick a horse, shaking his head as James read out each of the horses' names and nodding only when it came, appropriately, to Noble Citizen. That unique, superb intelligence deserved to end his run on a winner with a seven-to-one shot at Kempton Park.

But at 6:45 in the evening of Tuesday, 7th of October, his indomitable spirit passed peacefully and quietly away. He retained his dignity to the end, as the sands of his life gang dry. Our final poem is in praise of such a man, read by his son-in-law James McLaughlin

James McLaughlin

A couple of days before Ken passed away, Scott and I chatted in his room about what would be a fitting poem for Ken. I mentioned that one from a man who was his friend and who divided his time, like Ken, between his native Edinburgh and Assynt, would be good. This one in particular seemed to be written for this man at this very moment.
Ken in the starring role with Scott and I in minor roles as the dull minds lit up by his presence.

PRAISE OF A MAN

He went through a company like a lamplighter -
see the dull minds, one after another,
begin to glow, to shed
a beneficent light.

He went through a company like
a knifegrinder - see the dull minds
scattering sparks of themselves,
becoming razory, becoming useful.

He went through a company
as himself. But now he's one
of the multitudinous company of the dead
where are no individuals.

The beneficent lights dim
but don't vanish. The razory edges
dull, but still cut. He's gone: but you can see
his tracks still, in the snow of the world.

(NORMAN MacCAIG, 1977)


Thank you, James. Now, as we commit his remains in this place, we remember the fullness of Ken's life, and the companionship and love that he gave to each and all of us. We are all grateful for having known him. We thank Liz for the unstinting, unhesitating love and care that they shared during their time together. We remember the love that Joyce, Nancy, Moyra and their families shared with Ken, and that Owen and Jacob shared with their Papa. We salute the memory of a wonderful friend. Above all, we will miss you, Ken, and we will always remember you.

After the first death, there is no other.

Our task is now finished. We will now spend just a moment or two in our own quiet memories, and for Ken the rest is silence.

ONE MINUTE BLUES
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The family would like to invite you all to a wake at the Cask and Barrel, at the corner of Broughton Street and East London Street. The food is being provided by the management of the Cask, and Ken himself has paid in advance for the drinks at this, his final treat. Directions are available outside if you need them.

1. Collection boxes are available on the way out if you feel inclined to make a donation to St Columba's Hospice in memory of Ken
2. If you are joining the family at the Cask & Barrel, they'll be pleased to talk to you there, otherwise they'll see you as you leave

The family will now leave. Please wait until they have all gone before the rest of us leave. Ken wanted to finish on a flourish, and the girls have provided a compilation of some of the music that they used to dance to crazily with Ken.


GUS MACDONALD 2008



KEN GARDEN, 18/09/1944 - 07/10/2008 - RIP