I first met Gareth thirty years ago, almost to the day. I was a guest at Quarr Abbey. I was considering on which path the Lord was leading me; he was already a monk of Quarr. It was his duty that week to serve at the guests’ table in the refectory. One day, a Friday I think, he brought in a collection of dishes that included a very unappetizing looking fish, a kind of bloater or something, and a dish of white, lumpy sauce that looked suspiciously like rice pudding. The guests eyed each other nervously while Gareth looked at us encouragingly. All of us had heard of the horrors of the monastic cuisine, so we embarked on this voyage of gastronomic discovery obediently, if not with enthusiasm. I poured the white sauce on the bloater and stoically munched my way through it. The white sauce was, of course, rice pudding. Gareth had mixed the dishes up and brought them all at the same time! The first time I was treated to his wonderful smile was when he realized his mistake and saw the rueful expression of the guests. I shall not see that smile again this side of eternity, and how it pains me.

I have always thought that this first encounter said something about both of us. It showed Gareth’s flair, sense of adventure, experimentation and imagination; all qualities that he was to show to great effect in later years. It showed my docility and sense of obedience, all qualities that have been so absent from my own life ever since, as my brethren will confirm.