by Tim Jotischky, Read at Anthony’s Funeral
‘Dead at 39: the shining light of African journalism goes out’. That was the headline in the Press Gazette, journalism’s trade newspaper.
We know Anthony Mitchell was a brilliant journalist; not because he told us himself – Anthony, like all the finest journalists, was quite insecure and, despite all the bravado, never realised how good he really was – but because in the days and weeks after his death it was evident in the lavish tributes bestowed by colleagues old and new; in the services held in his memory in Kenya and Ethiopia, and the numbers who turned out to mourn his death; and in the grief shared by all who value a member of the profession who, whether unwittingly or not, changed the world around him by what he wrote.
But, though I too am a journalist, I am not here to remember Anthony Mitchell, the journalist. I am here to remember Anthony Mitchell: the loving son; the much-loved brother; the loyal husband; the proud father; the ebullient, perenially entertaining friend.
Now, perhaps this is a very selfish thought, but I wonder how many of you – like me – when we heard the news of Anthony’s death mourned, not only for his family, but also the fact that never again would we enjoy the company of someone who, no matter where you were or who you were with, would, without fail, be the most irrepressible; the most outrageous; the most dynamic presence in the room.
We received many wonderful letters and cards after Anthony’s death; one of the lovely things about them was that those who knew him best recognized not just that side of him, but also his generosity of spirit; his innate decency; his great loyalty to those he loved.
One especially beautiful card from a close family friend summed up Anthony brilliantly. It read: ‘You can always tell when someone has come from a happy home. I always saw it in Anthony. To have that powerful start in life is a thing many people never know. To appreciate it, while it is happening, as he did, is rare. Your parents have raised remarkable, courageous, confident and kind people. Anthony was irrepressible, funny and engaging. I always looked forward to seeing him and admired the man he became. He experienced so much and lived, as most of us would wish to, with enthusiasm and without fear’.
He was brought up with a clear sense of right and wrong. There’s a story told by an Ethiopian colleague of Anthony’s which illustrates just how deeply he had absorbed the lessons of childhood. The two men were on a reporting trip in a rebel-infested area and Anthony’s colleague told him; ‘If we’re kidnapped by rebels they may kill me because I am an Ethiopian, but they won’t kill you, they’ll hold you for a few days, then release you’. Anthony’s response will stay with his colleague for ever: ‘Listen, old man, we either live or die together. I will never abandon my comrades. That was not how I was brought up’.
As a child, Anthony was always getting into scrapes. I’m told he was in and out of the local casualty department so often he had a season ticket there. From the age of five he had eight accidents which required hospital treatment; on the sixth occasion – this time he had hurt his hand – the doctor asked what had happened.
When Jackie tried to explain, the doctor silenced her, insisting he wanted Anthony’s version of events. ‘Am I a battered baby?’ Anthony asked the doctor. Jackie, who was writing a thesis on battered babies at the time, cut in: ‘No, but you will be if you don’t shut up!’
Actually, by her own admission, Jackie did once chase Anthony around the garden with a hockey stick. That was in Zambia when Anthony, aged two-and-a-half, decided to mix together sugar, soap, and butter – all in short supply at the time.
Then there was the time Anthony – rather older by now – managed to trade his father and grandfather’s military service medals; a tin helmet liberated from Germany in 1945; and a collection of old foreign coins much loved by his great grandfather – all precious family heirlooms – for a collection of 1970s tat.
John forgave him just as he also forgave him when he was at college and, after closing time, brought back some thirsty friends to his parents’ house in Chertsey for a nightcap or two. The next morning John went downstairs to be greeted by a scattered pile of empty bottles – his expensive hoard of French wine completely demolished.
How could you not forgive Anthony?
Rebecca Whiteley, one of Jo’s oldest friends, can remember Anthony in all his 6-year-old cheeky splendour. ‘He had slightly crooked teeth which were often on display as he was nearly always laughing, his expression one of pure wicked delight and mischief.but in the nicest possible way for he was a charmer too when he wanted to be’.
As a teenager, Anthony had everyone in hysterics – he always knew the latest dirty jokes or catchphrases. ‘Jo, having the benefit of his wisecracks 24 hours a day, would simply roll her eyes’. Rebecca recalls that he was never in trouble for long. ‘Jackie found it hard to resist Anthony’s apologies, which consisted of much sucking up and wide eyed innocent smiles, behaviour that Jo and I found outrageously manipulative, but to which Jackie was blind’.
I asked Jo what Anthony was like as a younger brother when they were teenagers. ‘Embarrassing,’ she replied. He would ask my friends: ‘Why do you wear so much make-up?’ or: ‘Why do you have such bad acne?’
When I first met Jo I was surprised – and impressed – to see just how close the two of them obviously were.
Once I got to know the family set-up better I understood why. Anthony and Jo were not only John and Jackie’s children; they became their friends too. As parents, could any of us wish for a greater tribute? And so, naturally, Anthony and Jo were not just brother and sister but close friends too.
I have so many happy memories of Anthony: one of the first, being the night when Jo and I were celebrating our engagement; Anthony couldn’t make it to the restaurant but very generously rang them to order us a bottle of their finest champagne. It later transpired he didn’t have his credit card on him, but managed to put it on a colleague’s card instead…
To our two girls, he was a much adored uncle. In fact, he was directly responsible for getting Millie, then twelve-months-old, to walk for the first time. Anthony was sitting on a sofa at our house, munching cake. ‘If you want a bit you’ll have to walk over here and get it off me,’ he teased her. Millie, who couldn’t string two steps together, suddenly tottered over and did just that.
He loved to tease the children. I remember the time when Millie was telling him she was desperate to meet the Queen. ‘Fine,’ said Anthony, ‘I’ll ring up Buckingham Palace and arrange it’. He grabbed the phone; held an imaginary conversation with the Queen’s private secretary and then called Millie over, saying: ‘I’ve got the Queen on the line, she wants to speak to you’. Millie, by now terrified, was too embarrassed to come to the phone whereupon Anthony, in ever more theatrical stage whispers, started to berate Millie, telling her she would be sent to the Tower of London if he kept the Queen waiting.
In time, of course, Anthony himself became a dad and, to no-one’s surprise, he was utterly besotted by Tom and Rose. The way Cath tells it he verged on the obsessive: What’s that spot on Rosie’s arm? That other child is already using a knife and fork – why isn’t Tom? Has Tom learnt to kick a ball yet? Will he ever play for Chelsea?
He was besotted by Cath too and I was always interested in the story of how they first got together. Cath was, after all, a good friend of Jo’s from university. Dangerous, surely, for Anthony to make a play for his sister’s friend and risk humiliation.
Jackie claims she was the matchmaker, telling Anthony that Cath was really fond of him and then, unbeknownst to Anthony, telling Cath that Anthony had a crush on her. ‘But he was pretty hooked and seriously determined,’ she remembers.
That’s a Mitchell characteristic, by the way, in case you didn’t know.
Rebecca concludes: ‘Whatever tactics he chose, I am so glad they worked and that in his life Anthony married the woman he loved and with her had two lovely children. I am sure there is much of him in Tom and Rose and he is lucky to have a family that will always cherish them’.
I think we would all agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment.
Anthony leaves behind a wife whose heart has been broken, plagued by daydreams of a future so nonchalantly expected: of football in the park; camping trips; opening Christmas presents; Anthony interrogating Rose’s first boyfriend.
Cath told me: ‘My years with Anthony were the most amazing of my life, filled with the fun only he could bring. It was not always easy – but it was never dull. Life without him will be the hardest challenge I have ever had to face’.
Anthony used that phrase often. ‘Just another challenge,’ he would tell his parents after luring them on another hiking trip in the mountains that couples half their age would have struggled to endure.
I know John and Jackie kept that in mind when, with great bravery, they, like Cath and Jo, trekked to the mangrove swamp in Cameroon where Flight 507 came down on May 5th. (And I should say at this point how grateful all the family are for the amazing support given to them by AP in the weeks after the crash; and I know they wanted me to say that publicly.) The conditions were unimaginable – the smell; the heat; the horrific scene that awaited them – and I know that several times they felt they could not continue.
But each time they wanted to give up they heard Anthony’s voice: ‘Just another challenge, mum and dad’.
Maybe that should be our motto too. Our challenge is to support Anthony’s family in their grief; to remember all that was best about him; to be there for Cath when she needs us; to keep Anthony’s memory alive; and to tell his two children, when they are older, what a remarkable man their father was.
For Anthony’s sake, I’m sure we will all meet that challenge.
No Comments Yet