I am going to start the term with a story, one of which came to me by chance, as I had asked Mr Maltby to let me know a bit about Andrew Lucken, whose parents gave a speech day prize to the school in their son’s name ‘for personal courage’. A few of the current teaching staff will have known him. The story is undeniably sad; but also, due to the boy he was, unbelievably uplifting.
15 years ago, Andrew was diagnosed with Leukaemia whilst at Bedford School. He showed extraordinary fortitude during his illness, facing his treatment with exceptional stoicism and good humour. He never complained about the hand he was dealt and always went out of his way to help others. Despite the bravest of battles, Andrew lost his fight for life in May 2007 at the age of 18.
By way of setting the scene, I have taken a few edits from his eulogy to show what sort of a boy he was:
Andrew Lucken has left an indelible mark on the lives of those who knew him. Courageous, caring and uncomplaining, he’ll be remembered for his integrity and insight, his candour and honesty, his sense of fun and cheery banter, his compassion and sensitivity. During his life at Bedford School, Andrew also became an ambitious, inspired and excellent student: he was articulate, engaging, and, above all, independent. Two other characteristics also came to the fore: Andrew’s wicked sense of humour and his passion for Chelsea FC. An ardent fan, he was always keen to discover which teams others supported and, when you bumped into him, you would know as his face broke into a beaming grin that he had been rehearsing some playful jibe about the weekend’s results. He would have been delighted at seeing his chemistry teacher, Mr Sheldon – a hardened Evertonian – wearing a Chelsea shirt for the school’s fundraising ‘Day for Andrew’, on which boys and staff turned out in football shirts. The fact that the boys raised over £4,000 in a single day for Andrew’s chosen charities is a testament to the regard in which he was held by all who knew him. It would be wrong to pretend that Andrew was a saint. Terry Jones’ words, “He’s not the Messiah; he’s a very naughty boy!” seem particularly apposite, but his disarming charm meant that one could never be cross with him. However, Andrew never allowed himself to be defined by his illness. You never once heard him complain or show the slightest shred of self-pity; indeed, his courage and stoicism helped others draw strength from him. He never courted others’ sympathy: on the contrary he went out of his way to offer support to those whose concerns were trivial compared to his. He didn’t want any fuss, or any recognition, but simply to help. Andrew’s formidable spirit never ever gave in.
The eulogy went on to give Andrew himself the last word, and this is the bit that I really wanted to read to you, because it really touched me.
When he was ill, he had said this, ‘Healthy people take good health for granted; most take life for granted. This is the mistake, and in a way an advantage for ill people over the healthy. The healthy spend days at home doing nothing, making up hollow excuses why they can’t do anything today; just putting things off, sweeping them under the carpet. But for me, at least, I know I will never mask a moment of my future. Time is precious, life is great: make the most of it! In a strange, perverse kind of way, I wouldn’t swap my illness.’ And in response to sweeping things under the carpet, he simply added, ‘I don’t own a carpet.’
What an incredible young man to have said that when so ill; and what a great message this is, not least at this stage of a pandemic, when life has taken such a big turn, when people have felt so disorientated; and this last week or two, of course, imagine those poor Afghans, well educated, healthy, with fine jobs and families, suddenly uprooted and displaced with nothing at all; a whole life of work in Kabul translated to no possessions whatsoever in Milton Keynes and Newport Pagnell. Andrew reminds us to treat every day as a blessing and to make the most of it and I am personally going to try my hardest to take this to heart for my own year ahead. By all means, hold me to account!