Those of you who knew her will remember who I am talking about. Many of you won’t. Liz and I were friends for seventy years. We met in 1955 when I was still at the beginning of my sixteen year advertising career. She was the Market Research Head of an agency called Lambe and Robinson, later acquired by Benton & Bowles. The novel solution I came up with to solve a cinema-space buying problem the industry had was significantly influenced by her guidance on the scope and limitations of research in those days. Although only a year older than I, she had a steadying hand on my somewhat childish exuberance – and was a wonderful encourager for the gifted amateur.
Liz was that strange combination of the lover I aspired to and the American mother I never knew. By any standards that is a rare person. In my life, unique. I never quite grew up but to the extent that I did, Liz was a big influence. I can still quote verbatim many of the wise words she gave me during our lunches and dinners together. I can still hear the lively chuckle with which she greeted news both good and dreadful. I can still feel the tears she so rarely shed that when she did you realised how touched she could be, how caring was her love.
She never took a rain-check on life – but just occasionally a ‘tear-check’.
On one occasion, at the start of the seventies, we were attending some dreary after-work drinks party, probably someone leaving or joining, you know the kind of thing. Our dutiful attendance having been registered I asked Liz if she’d like dinner and she said yes. I suggested that we went to Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club. By then it had moved to Frith Street in Soho. I don’t remember the food but the music was sensational. I also can’t remember if Jimi Hendrix performed that night. He was a regular and gave his last public performance there around that time. Whenever I hear jazz I’m mentally with Liz at Ronnie Scott’s again.
Liz would have hated a panegyric. Her modesty was the ring of truth, the facing of life’s swings and roundabouts, the acknowledgement of ‘good is for the birds; great is for the stars’.
Dearest Liz was and is a unique star.
May she shine forever.
Good memories.
John Bittleston
02 May 2025
