Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Jean was a compact, but not a tiny, woman. She was always neat and tidy, not
necessarily someone you would immediately notice in a crowd unless, of course,
you said something she did not like. Then she would tell you why she didn't like it
in a clear, penetrating and forceful southern Scottish lilt. It was one of those voices
you had to listen to and not interrupt until she had had her say but then she would
expect you to defend yourself. She demanded an intelligent response, or she would
soon lose interest.
Jean was also brave, something she displayed in her long fight against cancer,
continuing to travel extensively to satisfy her insatiable love of art history. She was
knowledgeable on most subjects, believed that politics and poor behaviour came in
the same package, and yet was generous to most faults. She balanced her criticisms
with witty comments as though we couldn't expect any better 'from that lot', as if it
was no fault of theirs. Most of all, she loved her children, Alex and Libby, with a
passion until her own death in 2012.
'Look at all these wonderful photos of his childhood,' she said. 'Most of these
seem to be of Alex. We certainly took far more photos of Alex than Libby.'
I was and always had been in awe of Jean. I met Alex's father only once, just
months before he died, but during the decade that I climbed with Alex, I got to
know Jean MacIntyre very well. It didn't take long to understand where Alex had
developed his debating skills. Alex would never let 'loose thoughts' go unchal-
lenged. And it was from his mother that he also inherited his quick, inquisitive
mind, his spontaneity and his wicked sense of humour.
She showed me a photo of a smiling, cherubic infant.
'You can see even as a baby why the girls were going to love Alex. He had crushes
on a number of girls, but there were only two girls that he really loved, Gwyneth
and Sarah, and they were both super girls. Hamish was very fond of Gwyneth.
They were both strong. They had to be to live with Alex. I remember taking him to
the airport when he was flying down to Peru just after Gwyneth had broken it off.
He was really very upset and said: “I don't think I can take it Mum.” But he soon
found solace didn't he John, being Alex.'
Alex was born in Cottingham near Hull in Yorkshire in March 1954, their first
child. Both parents were Scottish and devout Catholics, from Campbeltown near
the Mull of Kintyre.
'We'd moved down from Scotland when Hamish got a job as an agricultural rep
with ICI not long before Alex was born. Everyone adored him. His great aunt Joan
on his father's side terrified the whole family, but not Alex. He was such a bonny
baby and he knew how to use his charm.'
