I'm grieving over the loss of a dear friend and Labour Party comrade, Alan Davidson.
Alan died suddenly, though he was only in his early forties, on Tuesday. There was no warning, no opportunity to say goodbye. My heart goes out to Alan's beloved wife, Anna.
The last time I saw him, he was in good spirits and full of ideas. That is how I will always remember him. He had been immensely proud to lay a wreath at Streatham War Memorial on behalf of Streatham Constituency Labour Party. We talked for a long time after the ceremony about anything and everything, as we always did.
He was one of the most committed activists in Streatham Labour Party. I believe he had a bright future and (I know) big plans ahead. It is so sad that the future and those plans have been snatched away from him, and he has been snatched away from us.
We all have those moments when we hear terrible news, and we always remember where we are.
I was at home, up a ladder, painting a wall when I got a message from the Labour Party to say Alan had died. It was devastating, and ironic at the same time. Only days earlier, I had been offering Alan my services to hang wallpaper and for painting at his own home. Alan was not gifted in the painting and decorating department, and I think he was about to take me up on the offer.
Only a few days ago he and I were chatting about the writing of a history of Streatham Labour Party, and the need to archive all the election leaflets and pictures and minutes of meetings which have accumulated across the constituency over the years. Alan, as ever, was all for going full steam ahead.
There are so many conversations left unfinished between Alan and I, so many ideas left undeveloped, that the suddenness of his death has left me not really believing it has happened. But it has happened.
I went to a building society in Streatham High Road yesterday and saw a dark-haired man with his back to me, wearing a jaunty fedora just like Alan's. I paused in the doorway, hoping that the man would turn round and turn out to be the wonderful Alan, but knowing full well that it couldn't possibly be.
Alan and I met ten years ago, when he was working at Millbank for the Labour Party and I was working at Downing Street as a civil servant. I took to him instantly, sensing the warmth and generosity of spirit he showed throughout all the years I knew him.
It was Alan who suggested, in a beery conversation at the Westminster Arms, that I should look in Streatham for somewhere to buy a flat - a flat being what I was looking for. After a circuitous search, and many false dawns, that was what I did. Alan was one of the first to welcome me, and was always a welcome guest at my flat.
He relished a full role in Streatham Labour politics, and was always an intelligent, interesting and provocative speaker when he made contributions at any of our meetings.
He was also a staunch trade unionist, with his roles in the constituency and in his union (Amicus, now Unite). I recall bumping into him at Conference recently in Bournemouth, toiling up a hill returning from a demo, rolled-up banner over shoulder, as happy as anything that he had been part of a big protest march on the seafront. He was unique, a man of many interests, individual and irreplaceable. I also recall meeting him later that day in a Bournemouth hotel bar, pint of Guinness in hand, glued to the Rugby which was playing on a screen in the corner.
Though we disagreed frequently, I always knew he spoke from a principled stance. He never wavered, or spoke to one audience differently from another. I admired him for that, amongst many other things.
When I became a councillor and then a Cabinet member, Alan would offer me considered advice about policy, or more personalised advice on how to give the best of myself at public meetings. That advice, in an occasional string of phone calls, texts and emails, has continued up to now. It was always couched in a friendly, amusing way and I always valued it.
I've been reading through his emailed comments after a public meeting just a few weeks ago. He said: "You have to stop holding the mike with both hands. Just think of a good crooner: Mel Torme or Bing Crosby. They always used the spare hand to sing and speak their feelings. You need to loosen up your delivery. Try to modulate more and project your voice."
I can hear him say the words, with that gentle Kiwi lilt he had. If it was face to face advice he was giving - "a quiet word, Councillor" he would say - an almost avuncular hand would be on my arm or elbow. None of Alan's advice was lost on me - I have borne it all in mind. At another public meeting, on the evening of the day he died, I was putting Alan's advice into action. A political Bing Crosby I will never be, but he has helped me to be a better public speaker.
I remember Alan very fondly in so many different settings - at stuffy receptions in Westminster, thoughtful seminars and symposia, in the crushed bars at Conference, at CLP and branch meetings, wine tastings and parties, and out campaigning in all weathers. He was an enthusiastic campaigner, and a natural on the doorstep.
I'm proud to say he worked like a Trojan during my by-election in October 2005, and again when the whole council was up for election in May 2006. He was also a great campaigner at GLA and General Election times.
I have very happy memories of being out knocking on doors with Alan in torrential rain, when it was also miserably cold.
The weather got so terrible at times that we kept our spirits up by making up alternate lines of Limericks, poking fun at the Lib Dems, each Limerick related to the roads we were canvassing at the time. I wrote the best ones down in my diary, and here are a couple.
A Lib Dem who leafleted Braeside
Had "issues" with those on the "gay" side
In true Lib Dem fashion
He altered his passion
In the arms of a trucker from Tayside
A Lib Dem who canvassed in Churchmore
Had a bottom a dog made a lurch for
Said he - no pretence -
"Ow! - can't sit on the fence ...
So instead of just sitting, I'll perch more."
Alan loved the Labour Party, and the Labour Party loved Alan, in all his flamboyant ways. The hats and scarves, the fob watch and chain. His laughter, and ability to chuckle at himself, the looks of intense concentration as he listened to others' views. He loved to chat and gossip, and loved to be in the know about issues large and small. He loved intrigue but hated infighting. He would have had so much more to offer the Party in years to come, and we discussed his plans many times over the years, with me lending a comradely ear. His death is a tragedy, but he is missed and will be remembered long into the future he should have been a part of.
Locally, Alan did good service in many ways for Streatham Labour Party, and for his chosen communty as a helper at Keith Hill's surgeries, for his local (St Leonards) Safer Neighbourhood Panel and as chair of governors at Woodmansterne Primary School. He gave a lot back to Streatham. He was also the proud author of elegantly waspish letters to the South London Press and other local papers.
I am proud to have known Alan. I am proud to have been a sounding board in his parliamentary ambitions - he would have made a great MP had he lived.
Wherever I go from now on, and whatever I do, there will always be something of Alan with me, reassuring me, but ensuring that I give the best account of myself and my party.
