He put some hours in at the Abbey, did Luuk.  Just as a volunteer, you understand.  Mostly in the café but he’d lend a hand humping and shoving if heavier work needed it.

He was Dutch and spoke good English with that clipped precision of his countrymen.  His biggest giveaway were “S’s” which, like many other Dutch people he pronounced “Sh”.  He was a big bloke and always eating and I remember him telling me “I have a lot of body tissue to shushtain”.

To counterbalance his helpfulness and commitment, he was as awkward as a rail (colliers will be familiar with the simile).  If he was asked to do something one way, he’d do it another.  He could be exasperating.

Because I only worked two days a week I didn’t know he’d died until it was announced by the vicar during one service. I was quite stunned.  He was fat and ugly but he deserved a few more years.

I went to the market and bought a single flower to display on the café counter in his honour and memory.  It was an orange tulip.