We first met Howard at Oxford. W.H. Auden had returned to live out his remaining days in a grace-and-favour cottage within the walls of my college, Christ Church, and we decided to stage a play of his - The Dog Beneath The Skin - at the Oxford Playhouse in his honour. It was an all-collegiate affair and Howard came forward as Publicity Officer. The main poster was a triumph: Howard found himself negotiating with David Hockney (a chum of Auden!) for the rights to his stunning line-drawn portrait of the great man: rights that were freely given, as it happens. One sunny day we were discussing all the things we could do to get more attention and someone jokingly said that what we needed was a Town Crier to shout it on the streets. Softly-spoken and diffident Howard said “I could do that” and when we looked amused he shouted: “UP THE VILLA . . . !!!”  As the quad reverberated and diminishing echoes bounced back off the surrounding college walls we reeled back in amazement, holding our hands over our ears. We vowed there and then that this terrifying weapon should not be unleashed on a civilian population. But now every time I hear mention of Aston Villa that moment still rings in my ears. And it brings back memories of a man with a quiet but commanding presence, kind and supportive to all who had dealings with him. RIP Howard, you’ll be sorely missed. Graham & Christine.