Oh for a world of Chris Dicks rather than one
of dicks like Trump

FRIEND OF THE HOMELESS: Chris Dick

On the day the global stock markets went crasheroo because one economically illiterate crook in the White House thinks the word Tariff “is beautiful... so beautiful” I put on an unwelcome suit and tie and stepped into the warmest day of the year so far to celebrate a man whose decency and achievements stand in stark contrast to the authoritarian now wreaking havoc on us all. Including the bewildered penguins of the otherwise uninhabited Heard and McDonald Islands in the Antarctic.

My friend Chris Dick died aged 89 shortly before Christmas and I was off to a memorial at the In and Out Club in St James's to celebrate his remarkable life. Here was a man born into privilege who enjoyed a distinguished Army career before retiring as a brigadier, was awarded CBE by the late Queen ... and then spent the rest of his days helping others, specifically the homeless and the poor. Nothing fazed him, which was just as well when making beds and serving breakfast at Centrepoint at the age of nearly 60.

Catering for people who slept on the streets was rather different from the party he entertained in 1977. Chris was CO of the Third Royal Tank Regiment at Tidworth and had agreed to host an Army v Navy polo match in which Prince Charles would be playing for the Navy. The event went so well that another was arranged for the following year.

This time, however, it was not quite on the same scale. With two days' notice Dick was told that the Duke of Edinburgh would be arriving by helicopter along with Prince Edward, then aged 14, but that it would be a private event so would not appear on the Court Circular. That was no doubt the intention but it didn't turn out that way. The result was the Army's PR contingent was then drafted in for support and, alerted, the Commander-in-Chief Sir (later Lord) Edwin Bramall announced he would attend.

Then, without notice, Lord and Lady Mountbatten arrived by car with their twin grandsons. The royal tea party for 12 would now be for more than 25 and Dick's instruction to his loyal steward was simple: better get more scones! Another problem quickly became apparent; there was only one downstairs loo in the CO's house.

After retirement from the Army he joined Linguaphone, owned by a friend, just as the USSR imploded. Russia was to be his sales target and so the man whose most recent posting was to defend the West against the old Evil Empire was on a plane to Moscow.

“I met the senior staff of the Moscow News, whose editor was Lenin's grandson, and a reporter, the grandson of Stalin. They spoke impeccable KGB English!" The plan was that the newspaper would act as a Russian sales hub for Linguaphone and before a single course had arrived it had appointed eight staff, none of whom knew how they could be sold or distributed. The same happened with Moscow State University, lots of good intention, staff galore but still the old Soviet thinking.

After a few years Dick, who had always spent a good part of his monthly income on standing orders for a host of charities, decided he had to be practical with his generosity; he contacted the ceo of Centrepoint, Victor (now Lord) Adebowale, and told him he was available to volunteer in any way that was useful. Adebowale asked what brigadiers do. "We have to be flexible and are quick learners,” Dick replied. And so the former CO of 3 RTR began night shifts making beds and preparing and serving dinner for the homeless followed by breakfasts the following morning.

He then embarked on a one-man mission to replace all the furniture in the Dean Street and Vauxhall properties which were in very poor condition. With a combination of that flexibility and some hard bargaining, the Dean Street shelter was transformed within three months at no cost to the charity. His chosen mode of transport around the capital was by bicycle.

Dick was a great opportunity spotter and when the First Sea Lord moved out of Admiralty Arch he had the unlikely idea of trying to use this grand, historic building as a shelter for 100 homeless. A meeting with the head of the Crown Estates led to one with John Prescott, then deputy prime minister, who endorsed the idea enthusiastically and a fortnight before Christmas 1997 the grand new shelter opened with Prescott serving breakfast to the residents.

I give you this potted biography to remind ourselves that, in a time when it seems the world is populated by the mad and the evil, not everyone is bad. For every dictator like Trump (a would-be one), Putin, Erdogan of Turkey (still learning but advancing fast), the generals of Myanmar and Xi, Prince Andrew's chum in Bejing, democracy still dominates and in the main good prevails. Though sadly not in Netanyahu's Israel.

And it is heartening to see that the US is beginning to revolt, with huge crowds in cities across all 50 states protesting, not just against tariffs, but the way in which Trump and his mafia-style administration is threatening their country. No doubt ringing in their ears are two verdicts from men who know the president only too well. Gen Mark Milley, former head of the joint chiefs of staff in Trump's first term, said his former boss is a 'fascist to the core'. And Michael Wolff, four-times biographer of Trump and who knows his subject better than anyone, is certain: “Make no mistake, this man is crazy; crazy as in mad, unstable and surrounded by total incompetent disciples.”

Oh for a world of Chris Dicks rather than one of dicks like Trump.

*****

On the way back from the Dick memorial I visited my local Vodafone shop for a new iPad, my old one apparently on the verge of a nervous breakdown. To my relief I was seen quickly enough but that is where the good news ended.

What should have been a short and straight-forward business turned into a 140-minute marathon while the saleswoman consulted colleagues who knew no answers, and the Vodafone helpline where the 'expert' knew none either. The problem was, I was told, my contract was for a 'sole trader' when I should have been on one for a 'consumer'.

It took so long, mostly waiting for the information to load up on the poor girl's screen, that I popped into Waitrose across the road just to relieve the boredom of perching on a stool in the so-called 'store' and the inane Musak. Looking back I should have set myself up as a window cleaner and kept the erroneous sole trader status. I would have been out, ladder and all, in a flash.

*****

Myths about newspaper proprietors are plentiful but better by far are the ones about their wives. We all know about the toe-sucking techniques of the first wife of Little Lord Steven’s (not a proprietor, much as he thought he was, merely the chairman of the company which owned the Express). And the stories about ‘Bubbles’, first wife of Vere Harmsworth were legion. But it is the castrated bull story which seems to do the rounds the most.

When I arrived on the Daily Sketch in 1969 it was top of the paper's folklore. A picture of a Smithfield Show prize-winning bull had appeared in the Sketch and when the first edition arrived through the letterbox of Lord Kemsley, the then proprietor, it was seen by Lady K who needed smelling salts on seeing the size and circumference of the animal's, er, not-so-privates. She insisted his lordship took action with the inevitable result that the Art Desk retouchers got busy with their spray paints

The next day a writ arrived from the owner of the bull claiming the castration had caused great distress and meant his prize winner no longer had any value. Except to the butcher presumably.

Now I see the same story is told of Pamela Berry whose husband Lord Camrose owned the Telegraph. Having read reviews of the new biography of Pamela, who was frisky in the extreme by all accounts, I'm not sure she would have been remotely troubled by impressive parts. Quite the reverse. 

ALAN FRAME

8 April 2025