From Peter Le Blond

Michael and I were as different as chalk and cheese and in some ways it is a tribute to the diversity of human personality that we became friends. I think that friendship was forged out of, and sustained by, our common love of the great outdoors. So it was during our many walks on the fells that I came to know and enjoy the company of the gentle man that Michael was. Some of these walks were real tests of our respective characters. Coniston Old Man in March can be a forbidding place - snow all around, ice flows in the tarns and an anorak defying icy wind roaring through one of the Lake Districts aptly named Windy Gaps. Once, returning from a day on the Scafell range, Michael's left shoe decided to disintegrate at Hollow Stones leaving him with a nasty sharp tack sticking into his heel. Beyond attempting to bandage his heel there wasn't much to be done as he had to wear the shoe. I'll always remember the stoicism and fortitude he showed that day as we, somewhat delayed, descended to Wasdale in the glorious evening sun. He showed the same qualities in his work, tenaciously recording the works of Geshe Kelsang. He had a wonderful microphone voice which he combined with his gift for musical composition both talents being put to marvellous effect in his relaxation tapes. I've said to more than one person recently that the world needs people like Michael so, Michael, when you're ready, do come back to the world - it needs you .

From Sally Ferrers

Dear Michael, the gentle giant. I shall always remember your kindness and good humour, which made visits to Ulverston such a pleasure.

The times I spent with you and Sue were full of fun, laughter and lively discussion. It was a memorable experience staying in your shrine surrounded by symbols of the Buddhist beliefs which meant so much to you, but which you never tried to impose on others.

You will be sorely missed Michael, but always remembered with love and affection.

From Sue Le Blond

I know we are all unique, and I know you’re not supposed to qualify the word unique with “very “ or “absolutely”, but my dear Buddhist step-cousin Michael was, and still is, in a way I don’t yet understand - very, absolutely unique, a one off in a world of clones.

I first met Michael in 1977 at my Uncle John’s wedding to Priscilla Kent. Through many years we shared a friendly, cousinly relationship, which bloomed into something more after my divorce in 2004. I was always struck by his unusual mix of virtues. Gentleness, sensitivity and humility were mixed with an anarchic sense of humour and a taste for the weird and the wacky. We got to know each other well, for despite the distance, the Le Blond family made frequent trips to the Priory from Wiltshire. As I learned to love the landscape of Cumbria I grew to love and respect Michael of the Mountains with his Buddhism and simple lifestyle. We were all intrigued by his clock tower kitchen, with its mice that shared it and were spared the death penalty. The whole ethos of the place has inspired my son and daughter, Simon and Josie, giving them a glimpse of different values and a quietness of spirit.

Michael lived all his adult life on a shoestring. He didn’t worry about a hand to mouth existence, having the gift of living for the day. Others, however, myself included, did a bit of fretting on his behalf. I was very much aware of our comparative affluence in the south and it was great to be able to help him set up his own studio. Skywave studio was just taking off at last and I know he would want it to continue in some shape or form, for the benefit of the Natural Health Centre in Ulverston. It’s hard to take on board the fact that he won’t be in their basement any more, mixing, balancing and twiddling controls with the headphones on.
Michael, or Mike as he was known to so many of you, wore his deep spirituality and purity of intention so lightly you could miss it in the shared laughter. I have never met anyone so free from self –importance or pomposity.

I don’t fully understand the Buddhist take on death, but maybe I will next time round! All I can say is that I am convinced death is only the beginning of the next stage. May we all with joy release Michael to that great unknown, for it has been a privilege to know him.

Gentleness, Music and Laughter

Michael was my cousin – a year and a day older than me. Our two families lived far apart but in some ways we grew up together. We saw a lot of our Sington cousins – regular visits during school holidays, mostly spent in the Lakes at Cockermouth and Lorton; and we all trooped off to Quaker Summer Schools together when we were teenagers. Holidays in the Lakes took us repeatedly to our favourite haunts – Sandy Yeats, where we swam (only occasionally!) and rowed on Crummock, Rannerdale, where we built dams across the beck, and Lanthwaite Green, where the four eldest cousins – Michael, Marilyn, Helen and I – scrambled up the fellside feasting on blaeberries and coming back with mouths and fingers stained purple.

My earliest memories of Michael are probably from around 1960. Priscilla (Auntie Peach) would arrive, car bursting with children. One time they drew up in a tiny bubble car (how they all squeezed in I can’t imagine!); on another occasion they arrived in an elderly, rusting Vauxhall which more or less expired on the grass verge opposite our house after reaching Cockermouth from Cambridge. Visits from the Singtons brought a touch of cosmopolitan modernity to us country cousins up in Cumbria. As the monochrome 50s gave way to the rainbow-coloured 60s, Priscilla introduced us to such exotic innovations as yoghurt and biological washing powder.

At that stage in our lives, Michael and I weren’t particularly interested in Ariel; we were beginning to be aware of the world beyond our families. I have a vivid memory one summer in the early 1960s when Michael arrived with a record (or was it a reel-to-reel tape?) of a spoof outdoor broadcast, caricaturing an English village. I wish I could remember exactly what it was: the Goons or Peter Sellars, perhaps? He and I spent hours literally rolling around in mirth – and later on we had great fun exploring the potential of a tape recorder (they weren’t very common in those days), interviewing each other, putting on outlandish accents. Now I can see that this was an expression of Michael’s early fascination for the recorded voice – something which stayed with him and provided an outlet for his creativity all his life.

Music was also important to him. I envied his skill at playing the piano: it was second nature to him to pick up a tune, improvise, play chords. And he also loved listening to music – often the same Beatles track over and over again.

It is Michael’s sense of fun and laughter that are my immediate memories from when we were around 11 or 12. And his kind, gentle sense of humour – never malicious – stayed with him throughout his life. Those two words – kind and gentle – are the two descriptions so many people have used to describe Michael since he died. Life can be tough if you’re a gentle little boy and many become hardened in order to survive. Not so Michael: he found an inner peace which enabled him to continue to face the world with amusement and a smile.

A snatch of a doggerel poem from the 19th century has kept coming back to me in recent days:

Give me a man with the sun in his face
And the shadows all dancing behind;
Who meets his reverses with calmness and grace
And never forgets to be kind.

Michael often had a smile on his face; he met disappointment and difficulty with calmness and good grace – and he never forgot to be kind. In this he was more successful than most of us; and it is for that kind, accepting, good-humoured gentleness that I’ll remember him.

From David Williams

I have known Michael, my brother-in-law, for over twenty years, and in that time have come to love him like a brother, a big brother.

I will greatly miss him – not only for his tenderness and shy charm, but also for his sense on humour. He was always ready to see the funny side of life. I will always remember his infectious laughter. He was much tickled by the absurd, we used to cry with laughter together at Monty Python and Fawlty Towers, and I know for example that many on his passwords were taken from Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky.

I am sure that his creative spirit will live on forever in his music and recorded voice – and it is nice to know that he is with us now looking on and feeling a little embarrassed by at our appreciation of him.

He was truly a
Gentle-man.

From Amanda Williams, Mike’s younger sister

Dear Dear Michael
Our lovely brother, son and friend
Your crazy hair,
The music you made
A gentle giant
Dear Dear Michael
Your consciousness, your laughter, your voice lives on.

Mike's Funeral

Mike's funeral was held at Barrow Crematorium on Wenesday 21st May 2008.

As his family and friends were gathered outside and just before the hearse arrived, some friends noticed a double triangle in the clouds in the sky, and commented that it resembled the symbol of Buddha Vajrayogini's Pure Land - very auspicious.

The remains of the double triangle in the sky

Also auspicious was the fact that the funeral was taking place at the same time as an ordination ceremony at the Buddhist Centre where Mike used to live. We joked that Mike was being granted ordination in his next life by his Spiritual Guide. Maybe he was.

Welcome

On 9th May 2008 my dear friend Mike died in hospital following a pushbike accident.
I have set up this website so that people who knew him could post their reminiscences, condolences, stories and pictures.