Professor Richard Holmes, 1946-2011.

2011 has been a black year with regard to famous figures leaving us for good. One of the greatest, if not the greatest, actor in Britain, Pete Postlethwaite passed away in January and at the end of the same month the world lost film composer John Barry. The man responsible for the famous theme tune of countless James Bond movies and a host of other epic soundtracks such as 'Zulu' and 'Dances with Wolves'. These deaths saddened me greatly, but this past weekend the world bade adieu to arguably the finest military historian the world has ever, and in all likelihood, will ever, see. 

Professor Richard Holmes was my hero. This word, as tainted with risky mawkish connotations as it is, I use without hesitation. As a kid growing up, I spent hours upon hours watching Richard Holmes present his spell-binding documentaries dealing with wars, battles and the men who shaped them. Shows such as 'War Walks', 'Wellington: The Iron Duke' and 'Rebels and Redcoats' moulded my perception of history and were crucial in laying a foundation of context and general (not to mention wonderfully trivial!) knowledge that would inspire me to study history at A and degree level. As an author of dozens of books dealing with military history, he was in a league of his own. Amusing, accessible and deferential, his work was popular yet outstanding in its quality. If you have not read any of his material, I strongly urge you to do so. 

Of course, Professor Holmes will not be as familiar to many compared with the likes of Simon Schama and David Starkey but their brand of aloof and politically charged popular history pales depressingly when contrasted with that of Richard Holmes. My everlasting memory of this great man will be his pacing across the fields of Northern France and Belgium, satchel and memoirs in hand, sitting amongst trenches, farmyards and fields, recounting the experience of ordinary soldiers in their own words. Whether it was galloping across the battlefields of the Peninsula War, retracing the steps of the Duke of Wellington or demonstrating how to operate a brown bess musket, Richard never once talked down to his audience. And from people who had the privilege of meeting him, I understand his television personality differed not a fig from his actual manner. The man seemed incapable of being disingenuous or uninteresting and as a serving officer in the Territorial Army, and a teacher at Sandhurst Military Academy, his respect and affinity for real soldiers shone through in every second of his screen time. 

His death at the age of 65 has left me numb with disappointment. I'd sincerely hoped that one day I'd meet him. Alas, this will never happen. But we are left with a catalogue of work, of television shows and books, that echo the downtrodden voice of the common soldier who gave so much for so often very little. The British army has lost its greatest champion and chronicler. And the world the finest military historian who ever drew breath. When I was ten I wanted to be Professor Holmes, and although I will never come close, I owe him more than he could ever have known. Thank you, Richard, and farewell.