Bembridge School - Bas & Miles 1964

friends

There’s something quietly remarkable about friendships that endure across decades. I recently sat down with my old school friend Bas—now living in Sydney—for a conversation that spanned forty years yet felt like no time had passed at all.

We found ourselves transported back to Bembridge School on the Isle of Wight, where we spent our formative years in the late ’70s and early ’80s. Boarding school life then had a curious blend of austerity and enchantment—freezing dormitories with ice on the inside of the windows, the five "houses", and house ties that marked your allegiance. It was, in hindsight, a kind of Hogwarts before Rowling imagined hers.

Our chat meandered through the odd rituals that shaped us: nicknames so entrenched that real names were practically forgotten, the infamous “Island Walk”—a 30-mile overnight trek through darkness—and ghost stories that haunted us in the best possible way. These shared rites stitched us together, forging bonds that have somehow survived time and geography.

Music was a lifeline. Bas credits ABBA with getting him through boarding school, while I remember The Jam as the soundtrack to our adolescence. Those songs weren’t just background—they were emotional anchors.

What struck me most was our shared sense of what Bembridge gave us. “It taught you respect,” Bas said, and I agreed. Independence, resilience, and a kind of emotional literacy that’s hard to quantify but easy to recognise. Though the school itself now stands empty, its legacy lives on in us.

This conversation wasn’t just nostalgic—it was affirming. Proof that the past isn’t lost, just waiting to be revisited with someone who remembers it too.

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"In a world where you can be anything, be kind."

Bill McGuffie - Moray 1957

father/son

What happens when musical brilliance collides with the complexities of fatherhood? In this episode, I speak with Moray McGuffie about his father Bill—a Scottish piano prodigy whose life was as dazzling as it was difficult.

Bill’s story begins with a jaw-dropping moment: stepping in at age twelve to play with a professional band, sight unseen. Despite losing a finger to gangrene, he became one of the world’s top jazz pianists, composing for film and television—including Doctor Who with Peter Cushing—and performing alongside icons like Bing Crosby and Bob Hope. Their home was a revolving door of celebrities, from June Whitfield to Monty Python regulars.

But behind the glamour was a more tangled reality. Moray opens up about his father’s struggles with alcohol, erratic behaviour, and the decade-long estrangement that preceded Bill’s death in 1987. It’s a story laced with tenderness: music scribbled on cigarette packets, a trombone bought to nurture his son’s talent, and the enduring advice—“Be yourself.”

This conversation is a reminder that even flawed relationships leave lasting imprints. Moray’s words—“If anyone’s listening, sort it out if you can, because it hurts”—echo with quiet urgency. His reflections will resonate with anyone who’s navigated complicated family dynamics or longed for just five more minutes with someone they’ve lost.

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"In a world where you can be anything, be kind."

George Palmer - John 1966

father/son

Every family has its storytellers—the keepers of memories that might otherwise slip away. In this conversation, recorded on the sun-drenched Mediterranean coast of Spain, I spoke with my brother-in-law who, John, without even realising it, had found himself living out his father George’s dream.

Early on, a quiet revelation set the tone: “I just found out from my sister that I’m probably living his dream.” From there, the conversation unfolded gently, full of memories—family holidays to Cornwall where his dad hand-sewed wetsuits, an old air raid shelter reimagined as a music-filled bedroom, and the comfort his father George, found in the sound of a distant motorway, which reminded him of the sea.

A vivid portrait emerged of a man driven by creativity and curiosity. He once hang-glided off cliffs, built tennis ball machines before they were mainstream, developed photos in makeshift darkrooms, and turned everyday materials into tools of adventure. Through his son’s John’s recollections, we glimpsed a spirit who valued ingenuity as much as imagination—and passed down a musical legacy stretching from Johnny Cash to alternative country.

What would he make of smartphones and AI? John & I both believed he’d have embraced the possibilities, while staying true to his love for authentic sounds and hands-on crafting. That reflection led to a quietly profound moment: “The sad thing about life is that when people are no longer there, everything they ever thought or believed disappears too.”

And yet, by sharing stories like these, something vital is kept alive—not just memory, but meaning. As I sat there listening, I couldn’t help but wonder: what stories of your loved ones deserve to be remembered?

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"In a world where you can be anything, be kind."