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If you know your Irish mythology you will know that Fynn was pretty big; me too. Standing about six foot two, weighing some sixteen stone odd, close to being a fanatic on physical culture, the son of an Irish mother and a Welsh father, with a passion for hot saveloys and chocolate raisins — not together I might add.
My great delight was to roam about dockland in the night-time, particularly if it was foggy.
This website contains some memories and reflections of people who knew him, along with research results of Anna enthusiasts who wanted to learn more about him, which all builds up to somewhat of a profile of Syd Hopkins, the real Fynn, a very special person.
For general enquiries, if you knew Syd or can supply any further information, Malmesbury Road, London E3 — Guerin Street is to the left by the lamp post opposite the primary school Syd attended. He was born on 26 March at 15 Guerin Street, Bow, London E3, and it is fairly safe to assume that he lived his first twenty years there.
Guerin Street was a small, dead-end street of some 21 terraced houses, leading off Malmesbury Road and ending where the main Great Eastern railway line passed across the end of the street. Sadly there is now no trace of Guerin Street after comprehensive redevelopment probably in the sand although Malmesbury Road still exists, it has also been redeveloped and diverted away from its original course.
However, other houses of the type in which Syd grew up are still plentiful in the area. According to his widow Jill, Syd suffered an unexplained fall off a cliff in North Devon, and was referred to Finchden Manora therapeutic community near Tenterden, Kent, by a psychiatrist, because he was experiencing symptoms of a phobia about falling, resulting in chronic insomnia.
It closed in Finchden Manor — Syd had come to Finchden Manor in after a meeting with me in Harley Street, he with learned books under his arm, me drawing little match-stick-like figures to illustrate my points.
He became willing to join us at Finchden Manor only after I had disclosed the fact that there he would find Mister Knox and his laboratories. Agricultural chemistry, my foot!
Frequently there seemed to be sounds of music coming from their room — over the big kitchen — but whenever anybody went to investigate the music stopped, for Syd had arranged that the opening of the door turned off the music.
On returning inSyd was on the staff and supervised the catering, as well as his role as mentor and counsellor.
He made me feel I was an equal, and listened to me. While at FM, I sometimes went to have a chat. He talked about anything and everything, explained how a computer worked, and seemed to know about anything mathematical or scientific.
When I found out, quite recently, that he had walked and married I wondered how, but was thankful. Then his books were a surprise.
I guess that his intellect and capacity were remarkable, so we should not wonder how or why he did it.
One thing I am sure of is that he did a great deal more good than harm in his life. He had been studying to be a research chemist by profession. Heftily built, formerly an athlete, his feats of strength had become a legend; he had been able to lift two boys and hold them from the ground, one on either arm.
An accident to his spine some years ago had made it impossible for him to walk without a stick, and he was seldom out of pain. His massive and still young face had the nobility of a Cockney Samson. He played the piano, the accordion, and other instruments. He was in remote or immediate control, as the occasion demanded, of the cooking.
The loss of his physical vigour may have deepened the resources of a spiritual and speculative nature already deep. The role into which he had moved at Finchden seemed to be that of one who reassured. The slowness of his movements seemed now to be in character.Ex-Stanford swimmer Brock Turner was sentenced to 6 months in jail for sexually assaulting a woman but was released from jail Sept.
2, after serving just 3 months. Jun 26, · One August morning nearly two decades ago, my mother woke me and put me in a cab. She handed me a jacket. “Baka malamig doon” were among the few words she said.(“It might be .
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