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.
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