Ever since I became the OLO webmaster, I have been badgering him to provide some details for this page. He always promised something when he got round to it but alas never did !
If anyone who knew him better than I would like to submit some copy, I'd be very grateful. Meanwhile, here are some things I've got :-
In 2017 he was interviewed by a panel of Priory School pupils and gave rather more details of himself than most of us would have known. John Davey's Interview
Or more recently he had a memorial service at which the following tributes were made.
There has been a saying in our family for as long as I can remember. My earliest memories of hearing it being uttered were from my grandparents. But I soon heard my mum and Auntie Mary say it and I too later started saying it too…
“That’s John Davey luck that is” Why did we say it? Well it seemed that Dad had the most extraordinary luck. For simple things like finding a parking space close to the entrance of an otherwise packed carpark or an outsider crossing the finish line first at the races. To more significant life events like meeting my mum or job opportunities.
Today, we remember my dad—an extraordinary person whose legacy of love, kindness, and laughter will forever resonate in all of our hearts. Dad, born in Lewes to Lesley and Cath in 1938 always reflected on his happy childhood. Despite the country being at war as you would expect Dad would see the positives and always described the fun times of playing with his cousin. There were many funny stories to be told of him being dressed in costumes for the dance school his mum ran and times when Dad even had a safety pin through his skin to keep his costume in place. When his sister arrived and she was old enough to be looked after by her brother he managed to see the positives in having his sister tag along by using her as a goal post for his football games. Apparently forgetting to bring her home on one occasion! Dad was first and foremost a family man. He had an unwavering commitment to those he loved, particularly to my mum, Carol. Their bond was a beautiful testament to partnership and support—a friendship built on trust, joy, and endless love. Together, they created a nurturing and vibrant home where laughter thrived and where love knew no bounds. Dad’s devotion was evident in all he did, whether it was sharing quiet moments with mum or me or revelling in the joyful chaos of our family and friends’ gatherings. As a parent, he was an incredible role model to me. He taught me the value of hard work, integrity, and compassion. Dad had a unique ability to connect with people, regardless of age or background. He dedicated his life to education, not just as a teacher at Lewes County Grammar school, Rodean, and later as Headteacher at St Brandon’s but also as a lifelong learner himself. His passion for sharing knowledge inspired all of us, and he found joy in making lessons come alive and by making learning as fun as possible. He had a way of communicating that made everyone feel valued, understood, and appreciated. Both young and old were drawn to his warmth and wisdom, leaving with a smile just from having been in his presence. Travelling was another of Dad's great passions. I recall fondly the excitement I felt during the evenings spent with my dad spreading great big maps across the living room floor, a ritual that ignited my own passion for travel. In those simpler days before the internet, it was all about pen and paper, and we would dive into the excitement of planning our next adventure, calculating driving times and dreaming of the sights we would see. I remember the thrill as the maps were laid out. As a family we spent the happiest of times driving across the states and lots of times saying “that is John Davey luck!”
His adventurous spirit took us places near and far, each trip enriching our lives and making happy memories. Though he had many adventures, he always said that the greatest journeys were the ones spent with family. He taught me to cherish the experiences and connections made along the way—whether it was on a grand overseas holiday or a simple drive to the countryside. The stories he collected and told, were filled with fun and humour, and will continue to be told and retold as memories in our family for years to come. One of Dad’s most endearing qualities was his sense of humour. His laughter was infectious, and he had a gift for finding joy in any situation. No matter the circumstance, he could turn a tough day into one filled with laughter. Whether it was sharing a joke or a light-hearted story, he always knew how to uplift those around him. His playful spirit taught us to not take life too seriously and to find joy in the little things.
Dad was such a fantastic “giver”. He gave his time, his advice, charity, help in anyway he could to help others and now as a parent and headteacher myself I marvel at the fact even more how he always was always so calm, so measured and so kind.
At the core of Dad's life was his deep faith. He believed in the goodness of people and always held on to the hope that we could make the world a better place. His faith guided him through life’s challenges and empowered him to share love and kindness freely. It was a foundation that grounded him and rippled through all his interactions, reminding us all of the importance of being compassionate and empathetic. Today, as we reflect and celebrate his life the roles he held: the devoted husband to my mum, the loving brother to Mary, an inspiring dad to me, father in law to Jason and the wonderful grandad to Emily and Alex. The friend to so many of you and teacher to hundreds of pupils. His impact on mine and all of our lives us is immeasurable, and the love he shared will always be my guiding light. We will honour his memory by continuing his spirit of love, laughter, and kindness -a testament to the man he was and the lives he touched. Thank you, Dad, for everything. We love you, and we will miss you dearly.
And we will carry that John Davey luck on in our hearts, because, I now think the luck was all ours to quote Winne the Pooh "How lucky I am to have had something that makes saying goodbye so hard…"
A little over six years ago I had the pleasure and privilege of giving the speech at John and Carol’s golden wedding celebration in Lewes. Speaking here today under such very different circumstances, apart from being infinitely more difficult, can scarcely be called a pleasure, but it is still very much a privilege, indeed a real honour to be asked to pay tribute to such a very special person as John Davey. We were friends for more than 65 years, having first met through Crusaders. Crusaders was a national movement of Bible classes meeting weekly in their local area, but which also organised an extensive programme of summer camps, bringing together boys – and it was just boys back then – from all over the country for a holiday of enormous fun, accompanied by Bible teaching geared absolutely to our age group. It was at one such, at Polzeath in Cornwall, that John from Sussex and I from north London first met in 1958 and met up there again in successive years. By 1960 we were firm friends, and the Sixties became a glorious decade of adventures together and with others: lots of parties; more Crusader camps, this time as leaders helping to organise the fun and teach the boys about Jesus; extensive travelling, with two highlights being when five of us drove across Europe in John’s car down through what was then Yugoslavia to Athens, camping all the way; or the most memorable of all, 6,500 miles by car from the East coast of the USA to Seattle in the North-West, down the West coast to Los Angeles, then back through the southern states, again mostly camping. It’s indicative of the lasting affection and loyalty which John inspired that every one of the people who joined him on those trips is here today. And I’ve not even mentioned the amazing 4-week holiday we and others enjoyed in Hollywood, and again I see that the friend who made it possible is here today, nearly 60 years later. You’ll detect a theme here. But then we both got married and had children and life became more sedate, though now as families we remained very close and got together as often as we could.
Meanwhile John took off on a career with a surprising conclusion: a born teacher, and having devoted over three decades to schoolteaching, he was suddenly appointed to a post at Trinity College of Music in London. To those of us who knew him as probably the most unmusical among our group of friends it seemed like trying to put a fish on a bicycle, but John was not there for his musical but for his organisational abilities, and he soon became CEO of the whole outfit, driving it on to new directions and new success. Oh, and somewhere along the line he also served a spell as a local magistrate, not to mention a little business he had selling turkeys at Christmas. The word versatility springs to mind.
But I’m not here to extol his career path but to remember John the man. Maggie and I have three daughters who all loved him, and on hearing of his death one said, “I associate him with laughter – and making silly jokes”. I think that pretty much sums it up. John was fun, fun to be with, he was good company, even as we saw him in the hospice three days before he died he was making us laugh, the old humour still very evident. And he in turn didn’t mind being laughed at, whether over his love of horse racing, with an assured winner every time, or his patronising of William Hill with an absolute £5 cap on any wager. I remember how Rachel, when young, was shocked sometimes at how seemingly rude John and I could be to each other, but it was the affectionate banter of friends who understood each other perfectly and had a deep bond between them. He left you feeling better, it was a privilege to be in such a friendship, and my whole family has benefitted hugely from knowing him.
But of course there was also a very serious side to John, and this is what I want to highlight as I finish. He was a man of deep Christian faith, an unshakable belief in the love of God through Jesus Christ. He didn’t wear it on his sleeve, but it was very real, expressing itself not least just in the way he led his life. May I share with you an email I received from him in 2021. I can’t remember the context, but John didn’t often write this openly, it was stuff we just kind of assumed, but here he put it into words. Beginning by acknowledging our debt to Crusaders and “how blessed we were to have met inspiring Christian men in our early teens and responded to the challenge their teaching offered us”, he continued with these words: “We didn’t spend every minute of the day talking about it, but we knew Who we had believed in and He repaid our trust in every situation. I might not always have obeyed - but I have always trusted, … and I would love to think - as memory declines and muscles weaken - that my faith will continue to grow and that my trust will remain total”. I can confirm that that is exactly what happened. In his final difficult months – and here I must just pay tribute to the unstinting love, devotion and support he received from Carol, whom he described as his tower of strength – in his final months we had several email exchanges about suffering and faith, and in one he expressed how difficult it could sometimes be to retain a strong faith when you were in constant pain. But about half an hour later I received another email from him, which just contained the words of a chorus we used to sing in our old Crusader days (some of you here may well remember it): “For I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I’ve committed unto him against that day”. It’s a direct quote from Paul’s 2nd letter to Timothy in the language of the old Authorised Version of the Bible. A free modern paraphrase might read something like, “I know the God in whom I’ve put my trust, and I’m utterly convinced that he’ll keep safe the life and everything I’ve committed to him until my work on earth is done”.
That work is now done, and we don’t need to grieve for John, for he is now in the hands of the one in whom he always trusted. But we grieve for ourselves, and rightly so, for there’s no denying the gap he has left behind and that the world is a poorer, and certainly much duller, place without him. Dear John, you have been a friend to so many here, but more: you have run the Christian race well. We shall miss you. But until, by God’s grace and through the kind of trust in Jesus you displayed, until we join you on that further shore, may you now rest in peace and rise in glory.