Remembering Derek Johnson, 1929 – 2022

From cousin Mary, née Hardiman, May 26th 2022
 
Derek was much loved by my family, the Hardimans: my parents, David and Vera; my older brother John and his wife Ann; by me and my husband Dermot; my younger brother Alan and his wife Sue, and by the many children and grandchildren.  Derek’s mother, Ethel, was born into a large family in suburban London.  My father, David, was the youngest.  Although we were all spread out across South East England, there were many family get-togethers, particularly at Christmas and in the summer holidays, which kept us all in touch.  
 
The Hardimans lived in Ilford, Essex, home of the famous Ilford Films (we all had old- fashioned non-digital cameras then) and Plesseys, the successful electronics and telecommunications company.  Derek worked in both of these growing fields and so he, with his young wife Christine, moved to a house not far from ours.  I had been proud to be chosen as one of their bridesmaids and later, when Mark was born, I did some babysitting - he was quite a good baby!  Derek was always fun - cracking lots of jokes (including some quite naughty ones) then roaring with laughter.  Christine, who was so kind and so elegant, would smile quietly and maybe wink as if to say ‘that’s my Derek for you’.  Then, when it was time to leave he would say ‘Go lucky!’ as his parting shot – a phrase he used for the rest of his life.
 
When Derek and Christine moved to Kent, there were still family get-togethers (see photos) like the one where John and Ann’s young son Neil – about the same age as Mark – is joshing with ‘uncle Derek’ as the wind whips up the sand and my mother, quiet and tolerant like Christine, gets on with things.  As our lives moved apart the families kept in touch, even across the world in some cases, and I was aware of how ‘chipper’ Derek remained even in times of great adversity, including the advance of MS on his previously strong body.
 
The cheerful, regular phone-calls and later the emails, photos and jokes kept coming wherever we were.  More recently, when Derek and Christine (or Annie as he sometimes called her) moved to that lovely apartment-with-a-view on Brighton seafront, the Hardimans were always welcomed warmly.  My husband Dermot struck up and instant friendship with ‘Mr Go Lucky’ and his lovely wife, and we often visited on our way to or from our home in France.  We swapped stories and even sang La Marseillaise across that family table. During Christine’s cruel and fatal illness, Derek was steadfast and strong as ever, he and the family quietly organising a splendid and memorable tribute to her life.  Our next visit to Derek was planned for August, but it was not to be and now it is our turn to pay tribute.  
Go lucky, Derek.  We will miss you.
 
Mary xx