ars longa, vita brevis
I once saw Ken Cambell in a train station café chatting with a throat singer I had met in a Colourscape installation. I wanted to go over and say hello, but they looked deep in conversation so I didn’t. I regret that now as I find out that Ken died last August.
whatsonstage have a great write-up of his memorial service:
There has never been a funeral like it. Warren Mitchell told a Jewish joke. Someone recited a speech of Macbeth in pidgin English. And a clearly distraught former colleague rushed the coffin, trying to tear off the lid. The dead man’s daughter said that her father used to make her learn poems whenever she asked for a pair of new shoes.
Ken Campbell was buried yesterday in the heart of Epping Forest, removed to his silent resting place among tall trees by a sled drawn by his own three dogs and followed by several hundred mourners and a clarinettist in a kilt.
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