Roderick Hole: 1938–2024

Roderick Hole was born on 24th April 1938. He was the third of four children of Faulkner and Ursula Hole, alongside his sisters Rosalind, Anthea, and Bryony.

Dad recalled the ‘rigorous regime’ run by the family’s French governess, who they called ‘Mad’, short for Mademoiselle. Rosalind recalls her younger brother’s sense of humour, not least in bringing an electric radiator with him when he gently encouraged Bryony out of bed on the cold winter mornings. Boarding school began at age nine – a prep school, followed by Rugby.

There then, as he began his adult life, came two years of National Service. These were spent, for the most part, serving in a tank regiment on the Rhine. Dad did a lot of driving in that time. Never, however, of a tank. Rather, he was the driver for the commanding officer. (In case you are wondering, it was an Opel Record – ‘not an interesting car’, dad recalled.) But he made up for that disappointment by buying his own first car of many for use in his free time – a rare convertible Opel.

In 1958 dad went up to Cambridge, to Trinity Hall. After the free-er life of the army, the return to what was, ironically, the rather more regimented life of an educational institution was not easy. But he adapted, first studying French and German for a year before changing to Law. He rowed, and played hockey. And we also have from this period the fruit of one of dad’s great hobbies of his younger years – photography. We have enjoyed looking through many photos dad took both of family and of Trinity Hall contemporaries, photos which he developed in his own darkroom.

After graduation, dad began work as an articled clerk at a firm of accountants, qualifying as a Chartered Accountant in 1964. But I don’t think that work was ever foundational to his sense of identity. Perhaps it was, instead, a sense of adventure, and his lifelong love of learning languages, that led to his decision in 1969 to move to West Germany. He would spend the next five years of his life here. Task number one – buy a car. So dad bought a top of the range BMW 1970 model 2002 Tii, which he recalled was always a good conversation starter with clients. In Germany, he was also able to indulge another of his longstanding passions – not just driving cars, but watching other people drive cars. Fast. The Nurburgring, Hockenheim and other racing circuits were regular destinations. His outings are preserved for posterity in a box full of audio tapes he recorded during this period. They contain the noise of cars at full throttle, with his own accompanying commentary.

In 1974, however, dad decided that it was time to return to the UK. He settled in Clapham, and worked for the American firm Security Pacific. His main memory of this period seemed to be that his cars were, first, a Lancia Beta, followed by an Alfa Romeo Alfetta, and then a Ford Escort.

But these, it would turn out, were to be the last of the cars designed for the man about town. For in 1981 dad met Patricia [née Jaques]. Romance blossomed. The year after they were married. Soon after they moved to Rouse Gardens in Dulwich. Dad went self-employed, engaging for the rest of his career in the audit of various churches and other small charities – along with at one time, rather incongruously, a German heavy metal record label.

But the biggest change of this period was the arrival of his three children: myself [Sam], Sarah and Caroline. To illustrate that transformation: as perhaps a four or five year old, I remember my dad’s wistful face as that rusted red Alfa Romeo of his was towed away. Practical family cars – Peugeots, and Toyotas – were to be his future.

I feel confident, though, that dad felt the change was worth it. For dad loved children. Our older cousins recall being wonderfully entertained by uncle Roderick when he was a younger man, and all three of us children can similarly attest to his creativity, humour and care. We remember weekend walks as a family, and in particular the trips to Headley Heath, where in a small hollow he would time us to see who could run down and then up the slopes as quickly as possible. When we got guinea pigs, dad – ever practical – built them a run to be out on the lawn. And after our initial enthusiasm died down, dad was out in the cold, night after night, collecting them back into their hutch.

Throughout our lives, we children witnessed our parents’ committed devotion to each other over their forty-two years of marriage. In recent years, they always had a new project underway or trip planned. The garden and allotment remained great sources of exercise, as well as of community. Holidays were occasions of great joy, especially when walking in dad’s beloved Alps. He remained amazingly fit and active – a few days ago Caroline discovered a photo of him on his 81st birthday, launching himself into the air on a large rope swing.

More recently, too, it has been wonderful for us that dad has got to meet his grandchildren Felicity, Theodore, Rosanna, and Phoebe. He spent precious months and years entertaining and enjoying them. He clearly adored them, and they adored him.

The many cards that mum has received testify to some of the qualities we remember in dad. People remember him as gentle, caring, meticulous, wry, thoughtful, and steady. He wore his faith privately and deeply, and we are grateful for the way he has passed on that same passion to us.

In September 2023 Roderick was diagnosed with MDS. The following fifteen months were difficult, with a gradual narrowing of his horizons as his energy levels slowly dropped. Through it all mum was a stalwart presence, supporting my dad through the many hospital appointments, and through the physical, emotional, and spiritual challenges of nearing the end. Thank you, mum, for all you have done – for your care for dad in these last months, and for the love with which you and dad shaped our family.

When it came, the end was fairly quick. Once treatment was no longer effective, dad spent what turned out to be a final fortnight at home. We were grateful as a family to enjoy some final days with him. On the morning of 17 December, their vicar Liz Barnett came to anoint and pray with dad. The prayer he repeatedly uttered in those final hours was both simple, and entirely at one with that Advent season: ‘Come, Lord.’ And in due time, this good and faithful servant was called to glory. Thank you, dad, for your love to us all. We will miss you very much.