Just a few days after our last deadline I received the sad news that Bill Ford had died.
As is so often the case in these modern days, I got the news from a friend on Facebook. I spoke to Bill’s daughter Julia, to offer my condolences to the family; she said he had passed away peacefully at seven thirty in the morning of Sunday 2nd September whilst sleeping. He had woken at about four a.m. and his last words were an abbreviation, “GCRN…”
It would seem his last thoughts on earth were somehow to do with connecting the north and south sections of the Great Central Railway – his last unfinished project in his role as Managing Director of that heritage railway.
He was the most amazing man I ever got to know and he was also the true definition of enigmatic. He could be frivolous and jokey or deadly serious, wise and insightful or naive and hungry for knowledge; he was all knowing and self assured, shy and retiring, confident and masterful and a whole raft of other contradictions too.
In his field he was a genius, and his field was business. He became a multi-millionaire at the age of 35 and in his prime he had 11,000 employees working under him. He had lived the high life but he’d had his tragedies too: almost dying after a head-on road crash two weeks after his 21st birthday, losing his wife to cancer at the age of 34, suffering a brain haemorrhage, a heart attack and in his later years battling with cancer himself. In his memoir A Life on Fire he attributes his many escapes from the Grim Reaper throughout his life to his beliefs based on the teachings of Christian Science and the power of positive thinking through prayer.
I had known Bill from my volunteering activities at the Great Central Railway (GCR) and after he was ‘eased out’ of his role as MD in 2016 he asked me if I would help him write his memoirs. I was honoured and humbled at the same time, but I agreed at once. From March 2017 to May 2018 I met with him at least weekly and towards completion more often. As the weeks turned to months the ever growing manuscript that was to tell the story of his life grew higher.
I’d arrive around half past nine in the morning and Bill would be all ready for me, sat at the big oak table in his kitchen. “Coffee? … or tea?” he’d ask. On the table there were relevant piles of papers, letters, books, photos and his green leather bound desk diary with his initials WJCF embossed in gold leaf on the front cover. He was ever eager to fill his diary with appointments. After he stepped down from his role as managing director of the GCR he had hoped to continue overseeing one or two of the many projects that he had driven forward, but the new board chose to relieve him of all his duties at once. I know this hurt Bill immensely and he struggled to keep his life together after that. His great skill as a businessman was bolstered by his natural desire to network and bring people to his cause. His diaries for the previous years, which he showed me, were full of appointments. He’d go out to lunch most days, usually with someone he knew could make a difference to some part or other of his projects. He didn’t know any way of life other than to have a full diary. Now, forced to retire, he grasped at every little excuse to put an entry into those empty pages.
Debbie, his wife, would usually appear with her beaming smile. “Anything you want, love?” she would ask on her way out leaving him with an affectionate kiss, which always brought a smile to Bill’s face. She’d return an hour or so later with bags of shopping and often there was a treat for us – chocolate biscuits or cup cakes; one time, the week Bill was telling me about his early days working in Africa in the 60s, she gave to me two yellow coloured misshapen fruits.
“What are they? I asked.”
“Bill said you had never even seen pawpaw fruit, or eaten one, so I bought some for you and Mary to try…” (Pawpaw is described on page 109 of his book, when Bill first tasted the delicious fruit himself.) From the early days of our collaboration we were hampered by the ever hungry Toffee.
“Bloody cat – shoo!” But Toffee took plenty no notice and continued in his quest to be fed. “I hate the blooming things,” Bill would declare, “Cats are selfish creatures—did you know that?” He’d then get up off his chair to put him outside the open door, saying, “You’ll have to wait …”
Immediately Toffee would re-appear, jump on the table and waft his tail in my face, whilst I tried to take notes. Bill then succumbed, opened a pouch of cat food and served it in the cat’s bowl by the fridge door. “It’s not even our cat you know? Belongs to a neighbour, but I don’t think they feed it.” Toffee, having vacuumed up the gourmet food in barely a minute, jumped back onto the table with tail waving in my face again. Bill gave him an affectionate scratch on the head, “He doesn’t normally like strangers!” I guess I was no longer a stranger in Toffee’s house.
I recorded most of our meetings on a little digital recorder and now have dozens of hours of recordings of Bill’s fantastic life. Some times we argued, sometimes we laughed, and sometimes there were tears in our eyes. I’d write up each week’s episode and print it out for him to read through over the following week. In between our kitchen table meetings he’d ring me up to praise, criticise, pass comment or to offer more detail to the events described.
At times it was really hard going— both for Bill and me. His health was always up and down as he’d endured prostate cancer for sixteen years. He never let on to me though, how ill he really was. Often the journey to his house in Kibworth was arduous, knowing I might find him struggling with his health and his age when I got there. But, by the time I arrived, he and I had put on a brave face and we greeted each other with a smile.
Bill always saw through me though. Or maybe I hadn’t had as much practice at brave faces as he had. “Have I upset you? ” he’d ask, or “Is this your stern face?” or “Are you about to tell me off?”
At the very end of the writing process, the toughest part of all was writing about his time at the GCR and I really did put my all into it. Mary and I edited, wrote and re-wrote it several times until I knew we had nailed it and I left it with Bill. He rang me on the Saturday evening as Mary and I were having dinner.
“Can I be honest with you, Steve?”
I gulped because I guessed what was coming. “I don’t like it!” he said.
I snapped at him. We had by this time arranged the book launch and the formatted manuscript had to be with the printer in less than a fortnight; there were hours and hours of work left to do – there was no turning back. Over the following four days I re-wrote the last section from scratch and left it with Bill on the Thursday.
He phoned me the next day to say, “I love it, it’s perfect!”
“I’m sorry I upset you, Steve,” he said. It was a short meeting that day.
I had got used to Bill phoning every few days and seeing him each week. Even after we had completed everything and the book had been launched at Rothley Court with more than a hundred people attending, Bill continued to phone. “Hi Steve, how many books have we sold this week?”
Even now, every time the phone rings I think, for a moment, I bet that’s Bill…
Bill’s funeral was held on 27th September at St Cuthbert’s Church, Great Glen, the same church where his wife who died in 1973 is buried. Hundreds attended and there was standing room only. The wake was at The Manor House in Quorn which was closed for the day for this special function. It was the most glorious weather. The hedge at the bottom of the field had been cut to give a good view of the railway line behind. There, simmering gently, was Oliver Cromwell. On the front of the engine, above the wreath was a blue headboard which read “Bill Ford 1937 – 2018 Legend”.
At five minutes to two the mighty engine blew her whistle long and loud and in a cloud of smoke and steam she eased forward and away to the south. Hundreds of mourners stood in silence; it was the most poignant moment many of us had ever experienced.
He was more than a friend to me, and to many who were there.
If you would like a copy of the special first edition of Bill Ford’s memoirs ‘A Life on Fire” please phone Steve or Mary on 01509 813125.
