Memories

Please add your memories of Stuart using the form at the bottom of this page.

35 thoughts on “Memories

  1. I’ve known Stupot for 24 years, having met Jo at playscheme on her first day in Norwich and forming an inseparable friendship. We were 8. I proceeded to spend the rest of that summer practically living at The Goodmans’ house…. And I didn’t really leave for the next 11 years, until I left Norwich for uni!
    I have the fondest memories of Stupot and his eccentricity and dry wit! Friday night dinners, boxing rabbis, Billy Bass singing in the hallway, a bugle to announce dinnertime, seeing Tom Paxton in Swaffham, driving to the airport with The Goodmans to collect Jo after she returned from her gap year travels, songs about ferrets up noses, his pure hatred for our teenage music choices, his beautiful photos, trips to the seaside and afternoons spent in the back room watching The Life of Brian.
    Stu always referred to me as his ‘other daughter’.
    It’s a shame Otto never got to meet you, but I’ll keep singing your songs to him.
    So here’s to you Stupot!
    All my love, Rozz (Hi-me) xxx

    Like

    1. Oh Rozz – that is such a beautiful tribute. It really did bring a tear to my eye thinking of all the times you spent here with Jo while you were growing up. You are definitely my other daughter too and will always be so. Can’t wait to meet Otto and be his honorary auntie.

      Thanks for sharing those memories – they are so important and that’s what made Stu so special. He really had a huge impact on people and you were always such a big part of our family. He was very very fond of you!!!!
      Lots of love Xxx

      Like

  2. Stu and I met at Swansea College of Education in 1968. He was in his second year and already a character, not least because he stood out physically (he claimed to be registered with the Ugly Models Agency…) and could regale us all with tales of his previous life on Fleet Street. He had a wicked sense of humour and, even then, a well-formed sense of outrage at any perceived unfairness, something that he carried as a lifelong attribute, fuelling his love of the ‘real’ Labour Party. He also knew Essential Stuff – the best pubs, the lecturers whose monologues and assignments you could afford to miss etc. He was larger than life and could get away with things that the rest of us couldn’t. There was a lot more to him than student misdemeanours, though he had more than his fair share of those, including a not-very-deniable role in arranging for a well-blessed young lady’s bra to fly from the college flagpole. He genuinely cared for people he felt were … genuine … and once onside he couldn’t do enough for you. He directed a remarkably good version of ‘A Man for All Seasons’, during which he gently helped me to begin to learn about stage lighting, a passion that stayed with me for many years. He loved jazz, blues and folk music and his jazz trumpet career took an interesting turn when he reinvented himself as the one and only teapot-trumpet player in the college jugband, which he tried unsuccessfully to rename Micky Katz and his Kosher Jammers. He eventually met his college nemesis in the shape of the redoubtable and eccentric Nellie Summers, lecturer in Art & Craft, which he took as a minor subject (no, he didn’t know why either). Sadly, though it caused much amusement at the time, he eventually flunked his final needlework assignment despite the unofficial helping hands of several young ladies skilled in such matters and so his career as a teacher – at which he would have been wonderful – was not to be and he returned to Fleet Street. Others have chronicled his considerable achievements there, and I won’t go into that.

    He was the Best Man at my first wedding, and he did a great job. Somewhat to my surprise, he was on his best behaviour, polite, tolerant (yes, really), even wearing a tie and having had a possibly self-administered haircut and beard trim. We lost touch for a while when I moved to Zambia for 10 years, and later to Hong Kong and now Australia, but never for long and it’s been my delight to meet him again from time to time over the years, notably when we met at the Festival Hall and he showed me with a quiet pride his photos on exhibition there, which now form the book of his photos of Broadway Market that’s just been published. I’m so glad he was able to be aware of that and the recognition it implies.

    The last time Stu and I were actually together was in 2014, when my wife Sue and I were back from Oz for a while. He travelled down to London from Norwich and met us at Liverpool Street Station. He was dressed in suitably extravagant style, including his famous headgear, emerging triumphantly through the turnstiles with aplomb and substantial presence. We had lunch in a appropriately greasy cafe, ambled around the City talking and generally having a fabulous few hours together before he had to get the train back to Norwich. The years just dropped away. Sue was meeting him for the first time and was entranced. Our FaceBook relationship has endured before and after that meeting and we were still chatting away online only a week or so before his untimely passing. When we posted about Stu’s passing, we were surprised (but in hindsight shouldn’t have been) at the number of our friends who didn’t know Stu but who commented on how much they would miss our joint banter and his unique view on the world. He made a difference to people’s lives without even knowing it. That was Stu.

    His love for Annie, Jo and Adam was right up front, as was his zest for life, his humour, his knowledge of the craft of photography, his willingness to help others and his unsurpassed ability to do a good grump when he felt the occasion demanded it. I will miss him and everything he stood for.

    One last memory, partly of Stu, but also of his parents, who were very kind to us. Stu asked them to help us get to Heathrow when we left for Zambia (with a 3-week old baby!) way back in 1977. They picked us up from Paddington, fed us tea at their flat in Woodberry Down, cooed over our brand-new son and then Stu’s father took us out to Heathrow in his cab, not charging us a penny, including at the last minute running us to and from the Large Unaccompanied Baggage building some distance away when it turned out that we had far too much stuff and they wouldn’t allow us on the plane. Disaster averted. A lovely man – like his son.

    Like

    1. What a fabulous tribute Vern. You’ve known him along longer than I have and in fact your memories stretch back 50 years. I was not at all surprised to learn that he was already a big character at the teacher training college. I really don’t know how they coped with him. He always used to tell me how he stood up in front of all the new students to take exception to a lecturer who said that most children would quieten down with a gentle hand clap!! That was not my experience he told her brazenly!!!

      He always really enjoyed your banter on facebook and latterly that became a huge part of his life. He was larger than life and he leaves a larger than life hole.

      Like

  3. Allan Watson

    As I said to Annie, I can’t get ‘larger than life’ out of my head. I have known him for a long time, so long I could not possibly remember the date. Larger than life while telling a story, when giving a thoughtful view about tories, with a fist full of photos in his hand. I think that if he sunk into a snowdrift with only his wonderful hat showing, he would still be larger than life.

    I shared his love of photography and I remember a visit to Stu and Annie to see a new camera. Was it the Hasselblad? He had told me about the magnificent collection. So he drags out the box full of cameras and starts tossing them in all directions ‘where’s that new bloody lens’? At last the Hasselblad, which is given to me to hold – he wipes the lens with a shirt tail to another dust storm. My eyes water. ‘Bloody good camera’, he comments. Bloody good camera.

    Just as I will miss him so I will very much miss his photo cards at Christmas. Hope Adam keeps up the artistic flow.

    Love to Annie, Jo and Adam

    Allan

    Like

    1. Allan – that is so true. There were cameras everywhere and he couldn’t always find what he was looking for! But he could always get the picture he wanted!! His hat will take pride of place on our kitchen wall.

      Like

  4. I first met Stuart when he was Night Picture Editor at the Standard. It seems appropriate that he still holds the record for the most memorable brief I ever received: ‘ I need you to photograph XXXXXXXXX. I should warn you that she will probably come on to you. One of two things will happen. If you accept, you will be fired. If you refuse, you will be fired. You just have to pretend to be gay.’ Great advice from a great man, who will never be forgotten.

    Like

    1. Oh Mike – what a lovely story. That is my Stu for you – always finds a way to make a challenging situation in to a humorous one!

      Like

  5. My memories of Stuart is a big generous man: generous with his love and interest in people, generous with his humour and seeing things as they truly are, generous with his talents, generous with his creativity, generous with his devotion to his family and generous with his undying need for equality and fairness.
    Life has changed forever, there’s a big Stuart shaped gap, but his love, generosity and wisdom will ripple on forever through us all Xx

    Like

    1. Oh Jane – what a fabulous comment. You got Stu completely. You’re right there is a huge Stu shaped gap and I don’t know how we’ll ever fill it X

      Like

  6. Stuart was a member of our family. We were not related by blood and we had only known him since 2018 but to say that he was a member of our family is a statement of fact.

    To explain this, we’ll rewind a bit. In 2015 we started an independent publisher called ‘OWN IT!’ as a husband and wife team. We were frustrated that only certain voices and talent seemed to be recognised and celebrated in books and across the arts. We didn’t see a diversity of stories or experiences being told or represented and we wanted to change that. We believe that sharing and hearing each others’ stories are a window to the soul and if we create a way to really see each other, we can create true empathy that will change the world for the better. So ‘OWN IT!’ a small independent bootstrap publisher was born.

    The thing about running a bootstrap independent publisher is that in the early days we had no office so would often find ourselves working from cafes and bars. On one particular day we were working from the ‘OFF BROADWAY’ bar on Broadway Market owned and run by Stephen Selby and his son Rupert.

    Both of us have lived in Hackney for a long time (Jason his whole life and Crystal for the last 20 years having moved there from Bow E3) so when we saw Stephen Selby cross the road and walk towards us, he was a familiar friendly face that we had seen around the market for a long time. This chance encounter was to mark the beginning of much serendipity.

    After catching up with Stephen and realising that he knew the photographer of the photos we had just been admiring on the walls of ‘OFF BROADWAY’ and that they had never before been published in a book, we set in motion a meeting for us to discuss publishing Stuart’s photographs. Based on the pictures we had already seen we were so keen to be the publishers of Stuart’s wonderful photographs and we asked Stephen if he knew if Stuart had any more.

    When we saw the rest of the collection, unbelievably there was a familiar face in some of the photographs that Stuart had taken on this one random day in 1982 on Broadway Market. Stuart later told us that despite having lived and worked on the market for many years, this was the only time that he had ever photographed it. The familiar face was Jason’s mum!

    A few weeks later we gathered in Stephen’s flat and we met Stuart and his daughter Jo for the first time. By the end of the meeting (read: a few drinks later!) we all knew that this was going to be the beginning of a beautiful relationship and it truly was.

    We felt a great internal pressure to do the stunning photo’s justice and to produce a book that Stuart felt did his work proud. In the process of developing the book it was such a pleasure to learn from such a veteran of his craft and work closely alongside such a uniquely individual spirit. It was also a blessing to get to know his amazing family.

    Stuart had a few health scares along the way so we had to delay publication a couple of times but Stuart’s fighting spirit always pulled him through and it was so evident how much it meant to him to be able to see his work published in a book.

    Stuart’s photographs are truly a window into the souls of people, a community and a place (Broadway Market, Hackney) which had so often been neglected and written off. But Stuart a Hackney born native never wrote it off. In fact, alongside Stephen Selby and others, he fought to preserve it from demolition and for this we’re forever grateful.

    Stuart was the personification of diversity in stories, both in who he was and where he came from. Through his photographs opened a window to the soul of a community and place that most others didn’t even acknowledge existed. He was a real champion with an eye to capture the truth. He was the embodiment of everything ‘OWN IT!’ is and a truly loved member of the ‘OWN IT!’ family and always will be.

    We’re so happy that Stuart got to hold his book and it means the world to us that he was proud of it.

    Thank you for coming into our lives and inspiring us to always continue to do what we do.

    Crystal, Jason and the whole OWN IT! family xxxx

    Like

    1. Oh Crystal and Jason – this is such a moving tribute to the great man. He loved you guys and was so proud that you wanted to publish his story. He was so emotional when he held the book in his hands and he was delighted with the way it looked.

      Thank you thank you thank you – he died in the knowledge that his book had been published and that he would leave an indelible mark on the world. Annie X

      Like

  7. I saw a funny video yesterday and thought I must send that to Stuart. And then I realised I couldn’t and why. Everyone’s friends give and take something different, and Stuart was my ‘go to’ for wisdom and a rollicking laugh. He (and Annie) have supported and encouraged me as if I were a younger brother. We shared and discussed possibilities – photography, art, music and especially politics. But, we never argued – at least not in that falling out kind of way, there was too much respect. I knew he was different at my first local Labour Party meeting. Maybe it was his demeanour – scruffy,and a bit grumpy, but out of whose mouth came insight, straight talk and the umbrage of someone who really cares. I think he liked me, I agreed with him (against the tide).

    Over more recent years we held an afternoon salon, every Thursday, illness and holidays excepted. Coffee at chez Goodman, with forbidden chocolate biscuits, coffee and banter unfit for polite company. ‘Have I told you this? (only five times but I’m listening)’, and ‘What’s happening in the Labour Party? (nothing that can’t be solved with a shotgun)’, became regular favourites. He had so many near misses health-wise I called him Lazarus, and each time it seemed he used up a cat’s life. I’d tell him to behave, admonish him when he pushed himself too far and encourage him when he felt down with frustration. But that’s as nothing compared to what he did and has done for me. I’m going to miss you old friend, the very best of the best.

    Like

  8. I remember lovely conversations and laughter with Stuart when he visited us in Snettisham…. I recall one party at Rob’s house when Stuart’s parents were there too – they were equally fascinating to listen to.

    I have a vivid memory of Annie and Stuart cooking a delicious curry at their home in King’s Lynn…. Jo and Adam were very little…. Stuart had everyone laughing as he recounted all the ‘damage’ that Adam had caused, for example breaking the video player by stuffing in a sandwich through the video slot (I think Adam was about 2 yrs old at the time).

    When I was studying for my A Levels, Stuart very kindly lent me one of his cameras and several lenses – I was absolutely blown away by his generosity.

    I have a couple of treasured photographs that Stuart took of me and my daughter, just a few days after she was born (22 yrs ago).

    I also had the privilege of working with Stuart at CWA – I really enjoyed chatting with him between classes.

    Everyone who knew Stuart will remember him for his kindness, generosity, intellectual wit and for the fact that he always gave his time …. in Adam’s words ‘a legend’.

    Love and prayers

    Sarah Pink

    Like

  9. Stuart I will never forget you. Your warmth and compassion, kindness and understanding, and brilliant sense of humour, will stay with me always. You and Annie welcomed our son Philip into your family, and along with him you got us too, and we have felt blessed. I’m so glad we made that trip to Huntingdon in February – wonderful memories of good times.
    Rest in peace, dear friend.

    Like

    1. We’re delighted that you are all part of our family. We look forward to seeing when things get back to some sort of normal.

      Like

  10. I first met Stuart in a country pub in Worcestershire, not by chance! Joanna and my son Philip were obviously serious about one another and it felt right for the two sets of parents to meet. Neither of us had any illusions about being able to influence or control our offspring that is why we were very pleased that they wanted us to meet. Stuart and Annie together with Stuart’s brother and sister in law Tony and Sue were on their way back from Ludlow. Meeting your grown up children’s future in laws is a strange and can be a nerve wracking experience but Stuart made it easy. Both Helen and I were at our ease within ten minutes and apart from the odd disagreement over Tony Blair! the relationship was brilliant. He was a fascinating man, his Facebook entries were legendary, his politics that of genuine concern for his fellow human beings. It was an honour to have known him, he made a place for himself in our lives, in a way that no one has ever done before, which we are never going to fill.

    I miss him already and find it hard to believe he’s gone. I suspect that his influence will grow.
    Wherever he is (and I cannot believe that he is not somewhere) he will be stirring it up, looking to help the disadvantaged and damning the Tories.

    Like

  11. I met Stuart when he started the ‘Red Light Gallery’ project in Norwich. Over the years I had the pleasure of knowing him, he connected a wealth of photographers together, and championed the development of my own photographic practice with a genuine enthusiasm and honest critique when needed. A true expert photographer, mentor, vibrant character and a wonderful advocate of positive change.

    Like

  12. Stuart and I knew each other some 55 years, and met or spoke most weeks all that time. One of my oldest and closest friends. I’ll miss him. There are too many stories for my fingers to type them all – and not all repeatable either – we didn’t agree on everything (I mean, Jermy Corbin? Miles Davis? The Olympus M3?!), but we understood each other, and much shared history. I’m very glad I went up to Norwich to see him earlier in March, and we had a good day. There are people and things you remember all your life. Thanks Stu, good to know you.
    Geoff Howard

    Like

  13. I am so sorry to hear about Stuart. I remember him from when he and my brother Geoff were at college,and he came around. I also remember when I moved out of the bedsit in Walthamstow into my own flat, he came and helped moved my stuff, with Geoff, – who hired the van? He bought me a pot plant for my new home.
    Love from Alison Howard
    Dear Stu Baby. Remembered with great fondness.
    Sheila Rawlings (nee Howard)
    So sorry to hear about Stu baby. Remember him fondly.
    Rose Howard

    (via Geoff)

    Like

  14. I met my namesake in April 2018.

    I was about to post a response to a political comment on a Facebook page when I noticed I’d already done it. Or so I thought. When I looked closely the tiny photo was that of another Stuart Goodman who had written exactly what I was going to say, word for word.

    We shared political views and became Facebook Friends. We also shared a silly sense of humour, and enjoyed causing confusion and mayhem when our Facebook Friends encountered two Stuart Goodmans in the same conversations.

    I wish we had properly met. I also wish I could tell Stuart that I am a proud owner of his book ‘One Saturday in 82 on Broadway Market’.

    With love in memory of the original Stuart Goodman.

    Like

    1. Oh Stuart. That is so lovely. He was always talking about you & had really wanted to meet you. You have met him through his book. Annie

      Like

  15. Stuart and Annie were two of the first people I met when I returned to Norwich a year and a half ago.

    I instantly fell in love with both of them … and feel I have known you both all of my life… well in terms of my new life in Norwich that is true.

    I absolutely love and admire Stuart’s complete integrity and inability to stay quiet in the face of stupidity and injustice. God is in for a pretty hard time!

    Lahitrayot.

    Like

    1. Nigel you really do say the nicest things. Stu wasn’t ready to leave this world and would like to have read what you had to say X

      Like

  16. No doubt it was the daily experience of looking in the mirror that drove Stuart-the-photographer to seek out the beautiful in the ugly. So for his looks we should be grateful. It turns out that we (too few of us) were blessed to know who was surely one of the country’s best portraitists. I watched him work – shooting the image and the soul of Irma, a dear friend and sometime bag-lady of Ealing. Irma was raised in wealth and escaped Nazi Germany, but did not encounter slavery and oppression until she was rescued to London and set to work as a live-in maid. She was a stunningly eccentric, funny and loving character, at home on the street and digging in bins, but never for a second lost her inherited dignity and seriousness. Stuart captured all of that in two portraits, and I would challenge anyone not to see it. He was spontaneous and naturalistic, no setting-up, no positioning for light and shade – just as it was. Revealing. The perfect, honest journalist.

    These two attributes Stuart had were ideal for documenting ordinary lives: en ‘eye’, and a lack of artifice. But they were also enviable attributes in life and friendship. He looked at you with something of an eagle-eye, and his stare as he listened to you was almost like an instruction to draw aside the curtain of evasion. To talk with Stuart was to have an honest conversation. I never once, for a moment, stopped thinking of him as a journalist, someone whose democratic obligation was brokering truths. I was happy to endure his lame jokes and I was never frustrated by his dogged refusal to accept any political statement or achievement as sufficient. His standards were ever-receding.

    There are lot of people I miss, fewer whom I admire, and only a small handful whose passing diminished our world. Stuart is a prominent member of that group.

    Like

  17. So many memories over 17 years of being neighbours and friends. Especially my first memory and first impression of Stuart, which was meeting him by accident in the park near our newly bought house. I was with my 1 year old and Stuart struck up conversation, telling me how much she reminded him of his daughter when she was little. He had such a warm and genuine demeanour. I liked him straight away. Eventually we both had to go, coincidentally at the same time. I had arranged to meet my soon to be new next door neighbour to get the key for our new house. It was at that moment he realised he was that person I was about to call on. What a wonderful way to start our long standing and special relationship with Stuart and his,family. I knew then that we were going to be incredibly lucky to have such wonderful people in our lives, and it was Stuart I met first! He set that tone.

    So, memories… Ringing up and asking ‘How are you?’ to which Stuart would always reply, ‘I’m OK, it’s the others’. Being exposed to a wonderful eclectic mix of music played by Stuart on summers days in the garden. Stuart laughing with my kids about his ‘jelly belly’ and making funny noises to entertain them. He always told me how wonderful they are, with genuine feeling. They felt that sincerity and my kids have always seen him as their surrogate grandfather and loved him like one too. Stuart, telling stories and anecdotes over a roast and ice cream at his house. And him impassioned about politics and things he believed in, wearing funny T-shirts and his trademark hat, under which he hid the scar from when he was struck purposely with a saucepan. (I believed that story for quite a while…you old rascal). Stuart, always supportive of me, and I am so grateful of that kindness. Stuart knew his mind and didn’t suffer fools gladly. So, his empathy and care was authentic. Nothing fake about Stu. He was who he was. Good for you Stu!
    Stuart was one of a kind. So talented, creative and sensitive. Larger than life and someone who touched the lives of people he cared about. And isn’t that what it’s all about… life? Making an impact and trying to make a difference?
    Stu, we miss you enormously, but focus now on how blessed we have been to know you and have you in our lives. We take that forward with us.. and in doing so, your spirit lives on…in our hearts…

    All our love, Tanya, Isabel, Sol…and Fish (we know how fond of him you were too, even if he does tease Jasper, quite mercilessly! Thank you for such a lovely portrait of him.. and for all the other fantastic photos you have given us over the years!) xxxxxx

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s