“One of Donald’s acquaintances had recently suddenly died at a Rotary Club luncheon, and I had said to him, ‘It’s not a bad way to go really. He was a good age and he died at his favourite pastime – eating!’ ‘I know a better way,’ Donald had said. ‘Oh? And what is that?’ ‘Shot in the back of the head, at ninety, by a jealous husband!’ He had continued our slightly morbid discussion with, ‘When I die, Jim, I would like to be buried at Southwoods in that field below the pine wood near the third gate, the one that looks up to the hill.’ ‘I think that would be a splendid place,’ I had replied. ‘Do you really think so?’ ‘Yes, I do!’ I have never forgotten his spontaneous reply, ‘I’ll save you a place next to me!”