The following obituary was written by Andrew Edwards (CR 85-20) 

Martin, who died on August 30 2024, led a life characterised by selfless and unconditional service both to God and those in his care. His countless acts of kindness never seemed to be the result of conscious decisions, rather the natural and instinctive acts of a fundamentally unselfish and loving soul devoted to serving others. I have never known someone so universally loved and respected as Daddy B.

Although most of his professional life was spent in the southern part of the country, Martin was, of course, a proud north-easterner. His own school days were spent at Pocklington, in the Yorkshire Wolds; then the reading of Theology at King’s College, London, and training for the priesthood at St Augustine’s, Canterbury, before his first curacy took him back to a parish on the edge of Newcastle.

School chaplaincies started at Marlborough College, and continued for well over 30 years, with a stint in between as the Domestic Chaplain to the Bishop of Exeter. Three further fine schools followed: Taunton School, Haileybury College and eleven memorable years at Tonbridge School. After retirement from Tonbridge, Martin became vicar at Chiddingstone before moving down to Milverton in the West Country.

There is, of course, something of a variety between the experience of a great industrial city, the life within a public school, and indeed the lives of those in rural parishes. Martin’s genius was to be able to talk with great clarity and directness, and often with humour, to all people. At Tonbridge the boys were in Chapel four times a week, five if you were a boarder, and Martin considered that a key part of his role was to provide the time and opportunity for quiet reflection, not always to provoke deep, spiritual insight, for he knew of course that not all boys listen to every word all of the time, but to provide some moments of safety and refuge: of protection from the insistent chattering demands of the busy institution, whether it be that imminent block test, that timed essay, that ‘conversation’ with the Housemaster, those relentless seven period days, the noise, the questions; simply to help them through the stress of growing up in a hectic workplace with a thousand other souls. Himself the exemplar, Martin showed all of us the values of Christian compassion and humility, through the Scriptures, through personal anecdote, via characters and stories from history, and through the works of a wide range of writers.

One that I know he felt particularly influenced by, who featured in many addresses, was the Trappist monk and civil-rights activist Thomas Merton. Martin was himself drawn to contemplation and retreat, but his chosen path was a life of contemplative action. There was nothing of the Anchorite recluse about him: Martin loved people; every boy who walked into chapel received a warm and welcoming smile; his football and rugby teams (particularly the forwards) were enthusiastically driven on and refereed by Martin in his characteristic old-school Northern rugby shorts. I am reliably informed that the only thing that made Martin properly cross at School was the boys’ wasting of food!

Throughout all of this, constantly by his side since marriage in 1982, was Ruth. Ruth has had her own highly successful career as a teaching assistant but she also provided unconditional support for Martin, personally and professionally. Always beside him, whether literally or metaphorically, Mummy B was unceasingly loyal, loving and supportive. Indeed, despite Martin’s epic struggles with technical stuff including remote controls, and his inability to stay awake during evenings, I always felt Ruth joined the rest of us in being slightly in awe of his balancing act: the member of a family, the school chaplain, the teacher, the walker, the vicar, the amateur actor, the art connoisseur, the cook, the tutor, the rugby coach and, of course, the (slightly soft) dog-owner of springer spaniels. To quote Ned, Rowan and Ham Beaumont: ‘We have never known a master as universally loved and respected as ours.’

In Ruth and Martin’s house, Hilltop, in Milverton, there is a tall, narrow bookcase. Nestling there is a volume of poems by Edward Thomas, a favourite of Martin’s, killed in 1917 in France. His greatest poem, As the Team’s Head Brass, can be understood as a lament for the destructive effects of war, but it also acknowledges the resilience of love and friendship, and the possibility of finding meaning in a world in which death seems to have become almost spitefully random. Leaning on the handles of his plough, the ploughman speculates about the death of his friend, killed in France, and how the world has changed as a result. Yet he continues, pausing halfway, ‘If we could see all all might seem good.’

A sense of hope was something that Martin addressed in a parish newsletter: ‘The Christian hope, of which St Paul wrote, is firmly rooted in his belief in the providence of God. Beneath and within all that might happen to us in this life, we can discern God’s loving presence.’

Martin could remember by heart much of Paul’s letter to the Romans, and one of his favourite verses was Romans, chapter 12, verse 12: ‘Let your hope keep you joyful. Be patient in all your troubles and pray at all times.’ He was true to these precepts to the end.

(CR 00-11)

Note from Tonbridge Society: "It is with great regret that the last 15 lines of Martin’s obituary were inadvertently left out of the obituary in the OT Magazine. This was an error that was not picked up in the proof-reading process, and we apologise."