I like these two little extracts from his Times obituary.
He did not consider himself brave: just an expert, purposeful navigator. He once observed that he took care at sea because if he fell overboard people in yacht clubs would say: “It’s the way he’d have wanted to go.” “Bloody well isn’t! I want clean sheets, a whisky and a priest.”
Religion, understated, lay at the core of his life. When his battered 2CV broke down and he was quoted £65 for a callout he related that “I sat by the road, said a prayer, and the thing started again”. When he had the ’flu, he cured himself by sleeping on the floor, monastic on bare boards. His characteristic expressions were an amused “Well, I’ll be damned!” at some weird modern development, an emphatic “No fear!” when asked whether he ever went to wartime reunions.
Keep him in your prayers. I am a little fearful, he wanted to be burried at sea!