Thirty odd years ago it was my duty and my privilege to act as escort to Sir Godfrey Baring, K.B.E., then Chairman of the Royal National Life-boat Institution, on his frequent visits to the North West District and, at a later period, to Ireland. In his company life was never dull; his geniality and his ready wit could liven the most tedious journey and lift the gloom from the stodgiest meeting in the dreariest of town halls.

For 30 years he delivered his one speech almost word for word and it was received with the same delight on its tenth repetition as when first delivered. His audiences came to know his peroration as well as he did himself; as he resumed his seat it came out like machine-gun fire— 'And not once nor twice in our rough island story The path of duty has been the way to glory'.

My reaction to this well-tried conclusion had become so automatic that it once led to my being on the receiving end of one of his rare reprimands.

'Look here, young fella', he said resentfully, 'if you reach for my hat before I havefinished speaking you'll remind the Lord Mayor that he has heard it before.' A mile inland from Morecambe is a traffic roundabout from which five roads radiate. So busy were we gossiping that I made a complete circuit of the roundabout and, 10 minutes later, we were again driving along the sea front at Morecambe. Trusting that my chief had not noticed this faulty navigation I drove the car back to the roundabout and this time took the right exit for Lancaster. Sir Godfrey allowed anhour to elapse before he commented drily: 'A very nice roundabout that; such wonderful flowers; well worth a second look'.

I called for him one evening at a Manchester hotel. He was booked to address the annual meeting at Lymm, and for the branch and for me the engagement was of some importance.

He came as far as the street and eyed the dense fog with marked disfavour and refused to budge.

I was furious but he was adamant.

'You go and make my apologies if you are fool enough', he said, 'but if you have any sense you will ring 'cm up and stay here and have dinner with me.' Three hours later I found myself bogged down in a Stretford slum having progressed only two miles. The car had to be abandoned and a policeman found shelter for me in a bug-ridden doss-house. When I joined him at the hotel the next morning I wasunshaven, filthy with Manchester soot, and in need of delousing. Sir Godfrey was tickled to death.

He had half-a-dozen favourite stories, one or other of which he would use to lace his well worn oration. One referred to the station at Newcastle, County Down. As a publicity gimmick he went to sea in the life-boat taking with him 'a Roman Catholic priest, a Moderator of the Presbyterian Church, and an eminent Anglican divine'. 'It says something for the stability of our boats', he observed, 'that all returned safely to shore.' Another dealt with another Irish village. Allhell had been let loose there during the day with the life-boat crew divided in its political loyalties. When the ructions were at their worst the maroons were fired and the boat called out. The crew disengaged from the battle and promptly assembled, put to sea and, after a brilliant service, returned triumphantly with a boatload of survivors; the crew then, said Sir Godfrey, without batting an eyelid, came ashore and 'resumed the battle with unabated zest'.

He was once late for a DOS conference in London. A message came to say that he hadbeen involved in a traffic accident, that his car was a write-off, that he himself was shaken but was continuing his journey by taxi. When he came into the room we made the appropriate sympathetic enquiries. He was bruised, he said, and he regretted the ruin of the Institution'scar, but he was glad to report that the lorry involved in the accident was completely undamaged.

A very lovable left-over from the 19th century; we shall not see his like again..