My great uncle John was born in December 1925 and lived a fascinating life, spanning two centuries. I was privileged to assist with the editing of his life story, which was published in 2023. John was a man of great humour and inventiveness, who had a remarkable memory for detail. It was a great pleasure to be able to spend time with John, listening to and recording his stories. John died on the 24th April 2024 at the age of 98. He will be much missed.
On this page you will find a complete pdf download of John's book. It's quite a big file (223 Mb), so will take some time to download. If you wish to download this to print, do feel free to do so. The individual chapters can also be downloaded below.
John Stone Changing Times - the complete version of the book will open in a new tab when this link is clicked.
Front Pages | Foreword by William Stone | Chapter 1 - Early Life | Chapter 2 - The House | Chapter 3 - The Farm | Chapter 4 - Biggin Hill | Chapter 5 - Brothers and Sisters | Chapter 6 - School | Chapter 7 - Crops, Stock and Pests | Chapter 8 - Ploughing | Chapter 9 - Tractors | Chapter 10 - The War | Chapter 11 - Sports and Relaxation | Chapter 12 - Milk Production | Chapter 13 - Motorbikes and Cars | Chapter 14 - Accidents | Chapter 15 - Married Life | Chapter 16 - Edenbridge | Chapter 17 - Biddenden | Chapter 18 - Biddenden Community | Chapter 19 - Dogs | Chapter 20 - Friends | Chapter 21 - Sedlescombe | Chapter 22 - Retirement and Pestalozzi Village | Chapter 23 - Hope Under Dinmore | Chapter 24 - Further Adventures | Appendix i and ii - Leases of 1933 and 1896 | Appendix iii - Alfred Gibbons - His Book of Recipes | Appendix iv - poems and acknowledgements
The order of service for John’s funeral
Aurora Borealis
Last night you came in the aurora,
the sky blushed with pink, with copper green,
and with you, millions of molecules
to remind us how vast is life, and yet how small.
Your time, bright as sun-burst, but still too fleeting.
Super-charged particles, north and south, returning home.
I wonder where you would go -
to the crooks and crocks of Biggin hill?
The whale-grey seas of Newfoundland?
The mole-pitted orchards of Hereford?
Contrails streak through the womb of night.
We are all travelling through, but now your flight
is untethered from the wings of a bi-plane,
from the propellor of a Spitfire,
from the physics of fettered speed.
Through solar flares, beaming like celestial rabbiting lamps,
I see you soaring into freedom - with Eva, with Mark,
with the mad aunt who believed electricity would explode the world;
those characters in your book, transformed, ablaze, beside you.
You would never be alone. Your star burned too fiercely for that.
Around us, in air, in wild places, in solid ground,
is a celestial magic we don’t yet know -
unexplained energy, plasmic mass, the spaces
between each breath of our earthly life.
We watch the light show fade,
the sliver of a crescent moon slumber
into a wooded horizon,
the stars restored once more.
Beneath our feet dandelion clocks
wait for summer breezes.
And you, you with your gentle humour,
your generosity, your love for life,
travel still within us all.
Lizzy Lister 2024
