Damn it Jack. Tucked pressed linen, poised. Damn it, always ‘so together’. Early morning walks with Lulu, damn it, she matches. Glamour & professionalism personified, on her way to the station, 10 hours later, damn it, still looking fab and darting home to make a forgotten school costume. Was there ever a woman more organized? More punctual? Hip, groovy, generous. Role model. Knock on her door at any hour, unannounced and uninvited, she steps aside, beckons, broad smile “come on in”. And damn it, of course she looks great, she matches, she’s coiffed, how does she do it? Of course she’s ‘put together’ - after all it’s Sunday afternoon, she’s just cooking, “cup of tea or glass of wine?” Damn it, did she really iron those linen trousers from Hobbs or is it just the way they fall on those long fabulous and undoubtedly tanned legs? Our Jackie, the unflappable army brat able to be deployed in the most treacherous of circumstances, Dulwich social circles. Who? Who amongst us did not deploy Jackie to sit beside the most awkward dinner guest? Success so often dependent on Jack’s charm and soothing ways. And Jackie, the woman to whom we all turned, to pour calm, and help sort something, to speak on our behalf, to intervene, break bad news, explain the tricky, the broken, the contentious… Thank you a zillion times over for letting us deploy you. And damn it Jack, how we will miss your gentle touch, your easy smile and generous ways. In celebration of a life not lived long enough. Damn it. We’ll all struggle, for it won’t be easy to follow your lead, your routine kindness, your rock solid dependability, with our family and friends, and, of course, with the random oddballs we are seated beside at dinners. Damn it Jack. We weren’t ready for this. You deserved another 30 years. And we deserved another 30 years of loving you. Thank you Jackie. We’ll do our best. Damn it. (Tessa, friend)