Lloyd Upton: Au Revoir, Mon Ami

Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family of Lloyd, I am proud to have been asked to share with you some of my memories of a cherished friend and colleague. I first met Lloyd at a teachers' refresher course, when he was teaching in Nelson, and I was impressed by the clarity of his perception of the statements of others. As a mutual friend has said, Lloyd could always see the ambiguities before other people had understood the literal meaning.

(Standing at right: Lloyd Upton)

My love for French, born as it was by the great work of a wonderful teacher, was rekindled in my friendship with Lloyd. That teacher's name was Ivan Garden, who taught me French from age 12 to age 16, using the audio-visual approach so dear to Lloyd's heart also. On our first day with Monsieur le jardin, he entered the classroom, saying ,"Bonjour mes élèves." When we didn't understand, he went out, and re-entered with "Bonjour mes élèves ", then wrote it in French on the blackboard. Then he said it again, followed by "Bonjour M. Le Professeur."

He then proceeded to speak to us in French for the next five years. He gave us French names. I was Monsieur la gelee. Trevor Bridges was Monsieur Le Pont Mr Garden was years ahead of his time. Imagine my delight when I came across him again when my own children attended Burnside High School, who had employed him as a relieving teacher when he was about 80 years old.

A lovely memory described by Lloyd involved his older son Marc when he was very young, less than 5. Lloyd was chasing him to get him ready for bed, and Marc cried out as he fled out the front door of 15 Bryndwr Rd, "Au revoir, Papa!" But he immediately spied his little neighbour by the fence, and shouted out," G'day. How are you?"

The children of Cecile and Lloyd were, and no doubt still are, beautifully bilingual, and what a treasure that is. They will never forget their loving parents, nor will they undervalue either of their two languages.

(From left:  Melva Doran, Norah Jelley, Cecile Upton)

Another abiding memory of Cecile's family relates to our brief stay in Brive-la-Gaillarde in France. I called Cecile's family in a nearby town, only to discover that a senior member, probably Cecile's father, was at the point of death, or maybe had just died. I believe I spoke to Cecile's brother, who, when I suggested I speak in French, said. "No, you speak in bad French and I will speak in bad English." So you see I am still doing it.

But you have heard enough from me. I know that you all share my sorrow at his passing, and my real pride in knowing and remembering him. Merci, mon ami.