was a sub editor of the Cape Times, sadly passed away in the late 1990's. As I recall it was following a heart attack
I worked with Glenn at the Natal Mercury for a while and then lost contact with him when I moved to the Sunday Tribune in their Jhb bureau. I think he worked in Hong Kong for a while after that. He was a feisty little bugger, full of bullshit, great drinking buddy and all round good guy. As he was of Welsh extraction, he taught me a war cry in Gaelic. If I get it wrong, I beg our Welsh mates to forgive me - and apologies to the Brits as well for content...I recall it went something like this:
"Yyachadin bob Cameron en tochlyydin bob Sous...here's to the Welsh and screw the English...." or something alomg this lines. Anybody know the actual words?
Raising a glass to Glenn...
As Larry has said Glenn was a good drinking partner and a pretty feisty guy. This latter trait is perhaps best illustrated by a clash we had in 5th Form. I sat behind Glenn and adjacent to me sat Dave Corrin. Glen had been elected “Dirt Boy” and in consequence he would often return from break to find all manner of rubbish under his desk. Corrin decided that he could further “bait” Glenn by flinging bits of paper at him during a class. This usually resulted in an expletive explosion from Garven; often with hilarious if dire consequences.
Although a friend of Garven’s it didn’t take me long to work out that I could have fun at his expense but with Corrin picking up any retribution. This involved leaning out into the aisle to create the right trajectory and flinging paper at Glenn. Given the angle he would turn on Corrin much to Dave’s annoyance. One day just after break and before Mr. Piper arrived for an English lesson I decided to liven up proceedings and with paper in hand leant into the aisle. As I released the missile Glenn turned and realising I was the culprit swung his left hand backwards. Instinctively I lifted the desk lid and he succeeded in thumping the desk. Like an enraged bull, he leapt up and began flailing his arms like the sails of an antique Dutch windmill. In order to avoid the blows, I inelegantly slid to the floor. At the moment Piper walked in. He surveyed the scene and barked:
“You two, the Headmaster now”.
We left the classroom hurling recriminations at one another when it suddenly dawned on us that Wrinkes was on long leave and that the judge and executioner was Tom Howard. Those who had the dubious pleasure of feeling Tom Howard’s cane will know he wielded it with a “heavy arm”. This sudden realisation resulted in a spirit of rapprochement heretofore unseen as we desperately tried to come up with a plausible excuse. Howard however was having none of it and we each got four. Strangely enough we this did little to disrupt our friendship.
After leaving school we lost contact but this was re-established after I moved to Cape Town. We would from time to time get to-gether for a drink at Forries and it was a real shock when I read in the Cape Times of his passing. How he would have enjoyed the 50 year reunion.