Mark Williams, chief executive, The Lord’s Taverners (1999–2007), writes: Among the many charities supported by Lord Attenborough (obituary, Aug 26), one of the earliest was The Lord’s Taverners. At our dinner in February 2001 to celebrate the career and 93rd birthday of his oldest friend, Sir John Mills, Dickie modestly reminded us that Mills, our founding president, had made him a Lord’s Taverner. “You were Taverner No 54, Johnny, and I was Taverner No 93,” said Dickie. “That’s pretty good actually, to be only 40 paces behind John Mills.” With Lord Attenborough’s passing only one of our first hundred members, all elected in 1950, is still with us — our ever-green Patron and 12th Man, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. Appropriately he is Taverner No 12.
Robert Stiby writes: In the very early days of commercial radio, as a director of the fledgling Capital Radio applicant group, I had the privilege of asking Richard Attenborough to be our founder chairman. Although a very busy man, to my amazement he accepted, but only on condition that he could play a full and active part, not only in winning the licence but also in shaping the station’s broadcasting. It was very typical of this amazing man — this was to be no trophy appointment, this was a total commitment.
The pioneering days of Capital Radio were fraught with difficulties. Indeed, quite early on we almost ran out of money. I remember a crucial board meeting when the directors had to have a whip round to get through the week without going bust. Dickie led the way in committing himself and we all followed suit. However, in my case I hesitated, simply because to my shame I hadn’t got the necessary funds. Dickie put his arm round me. “Don’t worry,” he said, “put your name to the loans and I’ll underwrite you personally.” He was as good as his word, even though it later transpired he had little money himself while seeking funds for Gandhi.
The rest is history. Not only did the station survive, it went from strength to strength under Dickie’s inspirational chairmanship.
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Tony Bradshaw writes: In 1994 I held an exhibition at my small London gallery, the Bloomsbury Workshop, of a Zimbabwean wildlife artist, Arthur Azevedo. Knowing that Richard Attenborough had been in Zimbabwe filming Cry Freedom and had bought sculpture and drawings direct from the artist, I contacted Attenborough (who I did not know) to ask him if he would kindly open the exhibition. “Certainly,” was his response. “Azevedo is a good artist and deserves support. At the start of his short speech Attenborough told the audience: “I expect you thought my tall, handsome, naturalist brother would be speaking — sorry, but you got the short, dumpy fellow instead.”
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