Martin H-E
29-11 2024 13:04
wrote:
Dave. I’ve been thinking all week about what to say here, and the result it this rather ham-fisted attempt. You changed my life, but you already knew that. I – quite literally – wouldn’t be where I am today without your help, guidance, and encouragement. I know many feel similarly. You taught me nuance (this is no place for that) and intellectual caution. You gifted me so many opportunities that were so generous, and typically selfless. There’s just too much owed, and too few words.
On a personal level, I’ll miss my mate so much. You were like an (often disapproving) uncle to me. It is no overstatement to say that outside of my family, you were the most consequential person in my life. The four years we spent sharing the GDPO office will never leave me. The gossip, the curry lunches (half rice/half chips), rugby, cars, watches, our countless ‘in’ jokes, our shared sense of humour, our endless penchant for anecdotes, your ironclad insistence on taking the lift not the stairs, our shared annoyance of power and bureaucracy, your perennial refusal to wear a tie, the ‘only way is ethics’, your flip-flops in inappropriate weather, the bin mountain, toothbrush in your pen holder, no coffee after 3pm… It goes on. I always enjoyed catching up with you about Fynn or Poppy’s activities at the weekend (of whom you were so proud), hearing your tales of travel and surfing, and just generally being in your presence. When you were first diagnosed, I told you that I loved you. I meant it.
Typical of you, you managed to find humour in the situation “If this goes south” you said “you can do my eulogy”, to which I replied ‘we both know I’d be late’, and you immediately came back with “we both know we’d both be late”. How you could be so funny when things were so serious is beyond me, and just typical of your indomitable character. Your last message was ‘let’s try and catch up soon’, and I will forever regret that we never did quite manage to share a bar again.
On a professional level, you took a chance on me. I learned global drug policy from the master, and observing you also taught me greater humility, how to supervise, how to teach, and how to guide. You were a paragon of self-discipline, an expert at diplomacy, the master of nuance, and a shining example of what dedication really looks like. No drug policy reading list is complete unless it is at least 50% Dave B-T.
56 is far, far too young and just absolutely so totally unfair. Nevertheless, you achieved more in that lifetime and left a wake of influence that very few people could even get close to, even in two lifetimes. You were – and are – a legend. You brought the kids to the office once and I asked Poppy if she knew what you did for a living. She was unsure. I said “he changes the world for the better”. I was probably understating it. Never has a man achieved so much, yet remained so humble and down to earth.
I’ll forever miss you Dave, and just feel so incredibly sad for Cath, Poppy, and Fynn. The hole you leave in so many lives, on so many different planes, and on every continent, is absolutely enormous. God Speed Dave, thank you.
Martin H-E
29-11 2024 13:04
wrote:
Dave. I’ve been thinking all week about what to say here, and the result it this rather ham-fisted attempt. You changed my life, but you already knew that. I – quite literally – wouldn’t be where I am today without your help, guidance, and encouragement. I know many feel similarly. You taught me nuance (this is no place for that) and intellectual caution. You gifted me so many opportunities that were so generous, and typically selfless. There’s just too much owed, and too few words.
On a personal level, I’ll miss my mate so much. You were like an (often disapproving) uncle to me. It is no overstatement to say that outside of my family, you were the most consequential person in my life. The four years we spent sharing the GDPO office will never leave me. The gossip, the curry lunches (half rice/half chips), rugby, cars, watches, our countless ‘in’ jokes, our shared sense of humour, our endless penchant for anecdotes, your ironclad insistence on taking the lift not the stairs, our shared annoyance of power and bureaucracy, your perennial refusal to wear a tie, the ‘only way is ethics’, your flip-flops in inappropriate weather, the bin mountain, toothbrush in your pen holder, no coffee after 3pm… It goes on. I always enjoyed catching up with you about Fynn or Poppy’s activities at the weekend (of whom you were so proud), hearing your tales of travel and surfing, and just generally being in your presence. When you were first diagnosed, I told you that I loved you. I meant it.
Typical of you, you managed to find humour in the situation “If this goes south” you said “you can do my eulogy”, to which I replied ‘we both know I’d be late’, and you immediately came back with “we both know we’d both be late”. How you could be so funny when things were so serious is beyond me, and just typical of your indomitable character. Your last message was ‘let’s try and catch up soon’, and I will forever regret that we never did quite manage to share a bar again.
On a professional level, you took a chance on me. I learned global drug policy from the master, and observing you also taught me greater humility, how to supervise, how to teach, and how to guide. You were a paragon of self-discipline, an expert at diplomacy, the master of nuance, and a shining example of what dedication really looks like. No drug policy reading list is complete unless it is at least 50% Dave B-T.
56 is far, far too young and just absolutely so totally unfair. Nevertheless, you achieved more in that lifetime and left a wake of influence that very few people could even get close to, even in two lifetimes. You were – and are – a legend. You brought the kids to the office once and I asked Poppy if she knew what you did for a living. She was unsure. I said “he changes the world for the better”. I was probably understating it. Never has a man achieved so much, yet remained so humble and down to earth.
I’ll forever miss you Dave, and just feel so incredibly sad for Cath, Poppy, and Fynn. The hole you leave in so many lives, on so many different planes, and on every continent, is absolutely enormous. God Speed Dave, thank you.
