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If I was asked for just one word to sum up my more than 60-year friendship with Christopher it would be ‘fun.’
We met first in 1957 at school, at Lancing on the Sussex coast from where in 1962 we both went up to Cambridge to read History. Our undergraduate lives were followed by a shared post-grad year in Italy at John Hopkins University, where we revelled in the heat and … romance … of Bologna.
We then began our careers in the Foreign Office on the exact same day in September 1966. And Christopher, of course, was to become one of the outstanding diplomats of his generation.
In his first week at the FO he was placed in the West African Department where his initial task was to go out to Heathrow and bring the Deputy Foreign Minister of the West African country of Upper Volta by car into central London for his meetings. Having briefed himself meticulously on all the contentious political issues that the Deputy Foreign Minister of Upper Volta might raise, they settled down together in the back of the limo as Christopher braced himself for the first question.
‘Who won the FA Cup match at Tottenham last night?’
Of course, Christopher hadn’t a clue and the rest of the journey was spent in mutually disappointed silence.
Perhaps I should add that later in life, Christopher’s devotion to music was almost toppled by his passion for football: Saturday night’s Match of the Day was unmissable - no matter who was playing!
During the next few decades Christopher was stationed at the Embassies in Moscow, Madrid, Brussels, Bonn (where of course he and Catherine first met) and Washington, with stints in London along the way. Our careers happily coincided in the mid-1990s when Christopher was Press Secretary to Prime Minister John Major in Downing Street and I was Press Secretary at Buckingham Palace: two GOAL keepers, in difficult times at each end of the Mall.
But when the revolving door of foreign postings finally ceased to turn, we made sure we met as often possible. Our regular lunches at Bellamy’s, off Bond Street, over these last two decades were filled with chat about politics, our children, friends, holidays, laughter and confidences, each of us with a large glass of Rully and a succulently dressed crab. I think of Christopher now, leaning forward slightly in his chair, head tilted to one side, his blue-eyed attention on what I was saying, absolute. He had friendship’s magical ability to listen and then to advise. Listening and offering indispensable advice were two of Christopher’s invaluable gifts.
After leaving the Foreign Office, he chaired the Press Complaints Commission with distinction and also wrote three wonderful books. The first two centred on diplomacy and his own diplomatic life, demonstrating how effectively he inspired others to work with him and to ‘get things done.’
His third book, Only Child, was about his father, a wartime RAF fighter pilot shot down in 1944 over the Greek island of Ikaria just weeks before Christopher was born. Christopher’s profoundly moving account of the graveside scene in Greece was when, in a sense, he finally met his father for the first time: this was at the heart of the book that mattered to him most.
If friendship formed one fundamental element of Christopher’s life, his devotion to family was at its heart. His marriage to Catherine was the bedrock of these past 25 years, soul mates given the precious gift of finding each other later in life. The love they shared was, as I witnessed on countless occasions, undeniable: two people with similar outlooks and joint interests based on unwavering mutual support at times of difficulty as well as joy.
Christopher was an exceptional man. Underpinning that charismatic combination of a superb brain, indefatigable energy and clarity of thought was his irreverent, infectious sense of humour.
We miss him: our wise, witty and warm friend.
A Tribute from Charles Anson, Olds 1957–1961, on 15 November 2022