James goes quietly, the second time around
Australian-born journalist, humourist, poet and bon vivant dies aged 80 after long fight with leukaemia
CLIVE JAMES’S first demise was met with more fuss than his eventual quiet end.
When the Australian-born wit remarked in a 2012 interview that he was “getting near the end” after being diagnosed with health complaints including leukaemia two years earlier, it made headlines around the world.
But James survived another seven years, during which time he penned his own obituary advising other eulogists that “shorter is better” and “a single line is best”.
Following his own advice against ostentation, the news of James’s death was announced only after his funeral had taken place yesterday in the chapel of Pembroke College, Cambridge.
The poet, critic and broadcaster died on Sunday, aged 80, surrounded by his family.
“Clive died almost 10 years after his first terminal diagnosis, and one month after he laid down his pen for the last time,” read a statement by United Agents on behalf of his family.
“He endured his ever-multiplying illnesses with patience and good humour, knowing until the last moment that he had experienced more than his fair share of this ‘great, good world’.”
His “fair share” included what he termed the “false freedom of excess” in his poem Landfall, a liberty which embraced at one time an 80-cigarettes-a-day habit, heavy drinking and relentless socialising and writing.
Born in Sydney in 1939, James embraced the bohemianism of Sixties London, beginning with the garrets of Earl’s Court before, as a Fleet Street favourite, holding court in Soho pubs like the Pillars of Hercules, where a plaque was once placed in honour of the bon vivant. In between was a successful spell at Cambridge where his talents flourished in the Footlights.
His subsequent criticism for The Observer showed his embrace of culture high and low, and through his ITV show Clive James on Television introduced audiences to broadcasting oddities, and his own hilarity.
He once commented: “A life without fame can be a good life, but fame without a life is no life at all.”
His own life became the subject of intense poetic reflection when it was threatened in 2010, with a devastating diagnosis of leukaemia. James, enamoured of Marcel Proust, turned his pen
‘He endured his illnesses with humour, knowing he’d had more than his fair share of this great, good world’
to remembrance in a series of poetry collections, including Sentenced To Life.
This sentence of almost a decade came to an end in Cambridge, and a private funeral was held for the critic in the chapel at Pembroke College, his old Cambridge residence.
James’s representatives shared his appreciation for Addenbrooke’s Hospital, “for their care and kindness, which unexpectedly allowed him so much extra time”, and to the Arthur Rank Hospice for “their help in his last days”.
A statement from his old employers ITV read: “We’re deeply saddened at the loss of Clive James. He was a familiar presence on ITV from the 1970s onwards with original programmes that showcased his unique intelligence and wit. He will be sadly missed.”