The obituary below was written by Sir Tim Waterstone (JH 52-57)

Roger and I met at Judde House in January 1953, he a first-dayer, me a grand old hand of no less than one term's residency. Absolutely immediately we became friends, and for the next four years were inseparable at School, and pretty much in school holidays as well.

As I have written elsewhere, Tonbridge then was a tough, bullying, uncompromising school, still geared really to a set of values of the early decades of the century, focused primarily on preparing boys for a lifetime of rugged service within the Empire. Cleverness was not much admired by either the masters or the pupils, and was best kept concealed. Being good at games absolutely was admired, and a boy’s standing in the School largely depended on it. Some very stupid boys therefore became heroes and school captains, and some very clever boys got absolutely nowhere. The former loved the School, and no doubt were never in their adult years as happy nor as secure in their self-esteem again. The latter were miserable, and in general hated it. Roger though, who loathed and shrunk from all form of sport, and made that immediately obvious, coped however, cautiously, and rather well. A quite remarkable mimic, he was in his quiet, unmalicious, gentle way very funny and very perceptive, and a markedly good actor, and that helped him gain presence. He and I had a drag act (‘Sisters’) which we performed in flapper-era dresses in our latter school years at the end-of-term Big School concerts – think Hinge and Bracket, but we were better. How did we have the nerve?

It was 1957, we left School, and travelled hitch-hiking around Italy together, absolutely penniless, sleeping on beaches and in vineyards, surviving off purloined bunches of grapes, and on one occasion huge slices of a mysterious simple peasant food, unknown to us, baked on a punctured oil drum in a war-battered village. Pizza, we were told it was named, and it was glorious. A pity it never really caught on thereafter here in England!

Then Trinity Dublin for Roger, and Cambridge for me, but we were continually in touch. Three years later, uni years done and dusted, Roger was cast in a couple of plays at the Theatre Royal Stratford East, Harold Pinter’s The Dumb Waiter being one of them. There his professional acting career ended, for he was swept up into BBC TV, and his lifetime career that followed as a most distinguished light entertainment producer and director. The list of his shows is endless – for example Call My Bluff, Paul Daniel’s Secrets, The Kenneth Williams Show, A Bit of Fry and Laurie, Dee Time, Juke Box Jury, Tell Me More, Parkinson, Odd One Out, and of course Jim’ll Fix it, with its huge ratings. Roger produced this show for all its 19 years, appointed by the bamboozled Bill Cotton despite Roger recommending against Savile, and when overruled, Roger issued an instruction that Savile must never be left alone with any child.

The years rolled on, and in our seventies and indeed eighties, Roger and I lunched together regularly, and in great affection. The news of his death was an unexpected blow, and I shall miss him desperately. Susie, his devoted wife, and Lulu, his devoted daughter, are much in my mind.

(JH 53-57)