My heart is aching today

A truly amazing man in every sense of the word. Thank you for all the incredible memories you’ve created with us as a family. From the Wednesday visits to Long Sutton, the endless trips to France and some great days out to Brighton & Beaulieu car museum to name a few. You were never short of a surprise and had so many talents- Even excelling at table tennis and always pulling out a random “celebrity” name in Town & Country that no one had ever heard of to get maximum points. RIP, we will never forget you. George x

To my friend who has been my inspiration in so many ways
Rest well and in peace

Brian first cruised stylishly into my life, up the drive of Inwood Lodge on his Lambretta on my birthday in 1983. Home to the standard Hatton midweek fayre of kidney's in red wine sauce.
I have many happy and fun memories of him at family parties at Farrington's, on the Brighton run with the kids draped all over the Victoria. The expectation of Wednesdays when he would always visit on my day off and how Diesel would start howling in anticipation when the back gate lifted at the college, having picked up the "magic aroma" of Grandad's trousers from over half a mile away.
How kind and generous he always was with his time always making a point to come and visit when my sister and Rog were over from Australia.
The numerous visits to France when he would often splash out on a new bleu de travail to undertake the many jobs we always had lined up for him. He loved his trips to Moreau where the legendary "cement prompt" was purchased.
His excellent Franglais in which he would converse with our neighbours "the brother's grim" as he called them.
The four day long who can drink the most undrinkable cheap French red wine contest with Ian in which he took the gallant runner up spot before it came to it's less than glorious conclusion!
How witnessed by Martin, he royally entertained the locals at the Les Lezes Boules strip, having been nicknamed Prince Philip, then slipping seamlessly into the role.
So RIP Brian, a better father in law I could not have wished for.
Sleep easy on that Clic Clac in the sky (with a Lilo topper of course) as you leave us with just one unanswered question.
Who was Wally Frost?

Grandad, you will be so greatly missed by all of us. You were the most kind hearted, caring and talented man and a true inspiration to all of us in the family. Thank you for everything you did for us growing up, we will cherish all the happiness you brought into our lives. Rest in peace, all my love, Harriet x

A true gentleman with a twinkle in his eyes who will be sadly missed by all.
Rest in Peace

Grandad, I have so many memories of you and your home whilst we grew up: sitting on your living room floor, watching Magic Roundabout or Roobarb and Custard. Always being excited about rummaging around in your cupboards for a tiny box of cereal or finally becoming tall enough to reach the garibaldis on the counter. We spent hours spinning the wheel on your lightbox in your office and had many happy memories in your always immaculate garden. You were such a kind person but with a wicked sense of humour. I will miss you a great deal. Love always, Alex x

Quite simply the best father anyone could wish for.
He used to say to me as a child
' Night night cherub '
Now it is our final ' Goodnight '
Rest in peace Dad, I love you.
Josephine xx

Grandad you are so greatly missed. Such a kind and gentle man, and never one to complain about anything. When asked how he was doing, grandad was always "struggling along". A wonderful sense of humour passed on to his children and grandchildren, his memory lives on in the retelling of grandad's anecdotes and jokes. Rest in peace, grandad.

We are so sorry for the loss of your Dad. And in reading the obituary, wish we had met him, He seemed to quite the lovely man. Please know our prayers and thoughts are with you all at this difficult time. XO

Dearest Brian,

I often wonder what you thought when this noisy American girl appeared in your kitchen 36 years ago… I wonder if you thought, here we go again… another one! I would never have known if you felt any reservations, as you never let on and were nothing but kind, warm and open-hearted. I could not have asked for a more wonderful father-in-law.

In the early days, I felt out of my depth, not understanding family jokes, British culture and language, television, navigating Southeast London (so different to home) and figuring out how to cook here (it took me several years to work out that a British pint is not the same as an American one.) I’m sure there were many times that you and Freda looked at me and wondered what I was doing (and perhaps despaired!) But I moved to the UK wanting to be embraced by my new family. I was.

You were a steady rock and as a young family, we gravitated to you and Freda. Many times, especially on a weekend, we would drift over to Edgebury, where we would start with a cup of tea in the afternoon… that segued into staying for a takeaway in the evening. Those days were fun, filled with laughter and the joy of being part of a large family. We loved being with you; those days were so precious.

I also cherished how you embraced my family, too… spending lots of memorable times with my parents: flying in Pops’ plane, repaying the favour with a spin in the Morgan, visiting Tulsa, enjoying two people that had such a different background to you. That meant so much to me.

Thank you for being such an important part of my life. I am so grateful and blessed that you were my father-in-law. I will miss you, but I know that you are back with Freda after 31 years of waiting. Rest in peace.

I first met Brian in1952 when we were both members of the church drama group.
I have many happy memories of the years
Brian,Freda,Peter and I spent together and now I am the only one left.Brian was always a kind and gentle man with a fantastic sense of humour.
I want to say to Brian
Goodbye we will all miss you.
Pauline

Grandad, you have always been, and will continue to be a huge inspiration to me; both in your kindness and your amazing illustrations. I will miss you, but your memory will live on through your work, especially for my art students who study you and learn so much from you.

Much love
Jess

We said goodbye to you today, Grandad. We gathered at 26 after the service and had tea and wine and fish and chips and talked about you. We will miss you so much.

I will remember your quiet stoicism and quick humour, always polite and ready with a joke. After every thanksgiving meal I’d offer you dessert and you’d say “no thank you, dear” - and then we’d offer you cheese, which you’d happily accept. I will remember the smell of your waxed Barbour jacket and eating Frosties from tiny cereal boxes. I will miss you.

Eulogy
Brian Alfred Joseph Hatton

I want to tell you about my dad. To do so, I will have to tell some stories. And there are a lot to choose from, so I should say up front that many other stories, and indeed other versions of these stories, are also available.

First of all, my father was incredibly talented. I mean, he could draw. He could look at a thing and take paper and pencil and through his eyes, brain and hand he could draw it. And the drawing would look exactly like the thing! I still find that absolutely amazing.

As a young man, he went to Art School and spent the rest of his life drawing and painting and he made a good living out of his art his whole life. That is very rare. And, as an artist, he was prolific. His “cutaway” illustrations of cars appeared in the Motor magazine regularly and he produced more freelance work as he got older – mostly of cars, and much of it more artistic than technical. And, just for fun, he would also “dash off” a watercolour – maybe a house, a holiday memory, a car – and give it as a gift. And his paintings are beautiful. His work has featured in several art auctions and today his art is highly prized and very collectable.

He went to the office every day – on his Lambretta scooter – but he also worked at his studio at home. Growing up, I was fascinated by his desk: it was full of special pens, ink, pencils, erasers, paint brushes, rulers, compasses and things called “French curves”. It was amazingly exotic. I can still see him at his drawing board in the evening, the smell of his angle poise lamp slightly overheating, concentrating, and drawing the most beautiful and intricate pictures of cars.

When I was at school, I used to love it when someone asked me what my dad did for a living. I’d always say “artist”. (By the way, he, modest as ever, would probably say “illustrator”). No other kid at school had a father who was an artist. It was so cool. I was incredibly proud of him. And I still am.

And he was very practical. He could fix anything. We didn’t have builders, plumbers, electricians, painters, gardeners and vermin control people when we were growing up. We had my dad.

And he would build and make things. He built us a train set which was the size of a double bed. It had trees, hills and fields, cliffs and tunnels, a town with a station. It was breath-taking, really beautiful. And in the garden at home he built stone walls, erected trellises, turned a concrete coal bunker into a workshop. As a child, I honestly believed he could make and build anything.

And we certainly didn’t need anyone to fix machinery. My father had been a motorcyclist since before he was in the Army and he had a passion for bikes his whole life. As an adult, he would literally scour the entire country for old bikes that he could restore. Once he even went to the Black Isle, north of Inverness to collect one. He would come home with a pile of old rusting metal, an engine, maybe a couple of wheels, a saddle if he was really lucky. I’m sure my mother wondered what on earth he had spent his money on, this time. And over the course of several months of hard work, a beautiful new, gleaming machine would appear, as if by magic. And he would start it up and head off down the road. Never a man to throw anything away, he kept them all – Sunbeam, Douglas, Triumph, Victoria, Morgan and others. And all of these “devices” (as they became known) worked. And, so far as we know, they still do. If not, my brother’s looking for a lift back home after the service.

My dad was a very active member of several vintage motorcycle clubs and went on runs and tours for over 25 years. And doing so, of course, he made many strong and lasting friendships. Restoring, fixing and riding bikes and being in the company of fellow enthusiasts made him very happy.
 
He was very loving and caring. My brother and I are 18 months apart and when we were little we were very naughty boys. My mother was a lovely, beautiful woman and she, of course, wanted her children to behave properly. She was a teacher and became a headmistress, so she knew about the value of discipline. But when, frequently, we were horrible little boys, I never remember her once threatening, “wait till your father gets home”. Ian and I would have laughed. My dad was such a softy. He never smacked us – well, nowhere near as hard as she did, anyway. And the one memorable time when he tried to, when we had finally driven him to distraction, mucking about in the dark underground viewing gallery of the Brighton Dolphinarium, he emerged from the shadows and, by mistake, whacked two other boys, complete strangers. Once he realised what he had done (and Ian and I stopped laughing), we realised we had never seen three more terrified people in our lives. The story, “When Grandad Smacked the Wrong Boys” is still a family favourite to this day.

But really, he loved and cherished his family - and especially his wife whom he had met at the local Church youth group, aged 16. They were married for 36 years and he cared for her throughout her whole life, nursing her through illness at the end of her life. After she died he remained a widower for the rest of his life. I think there was never any question in his mind that there could be anyone else but the love of his life.

My dad was great company – the sort of person you wanted to go to the pub with, or on holiday with, and looked forward to it. And we – Deborah, Ian, Jo and I – and our families often did. We treasure the memories of time spent with him. He was very loveable too. He very rarely lost his temper and never complained, never made a fuss. When you asked him how he was, he would always say the same thing: “Oh, you know, still struggling along”. His wonderful carer, Heather, became very fond of him in the last year of his life and we in turn became, and are, very fond of Heather and very grateful to her for caring for our dad.

His lasting legacy, his family, is here today: artists, teachers, lawyers, business specialists and managers, students - even a vintage motorcycle dealer. One grandson, George, who has just started a new job in the Middle East, couldn’t make the journey. I know he wanted to be here. We all miss you, George.

And my dad was very funny. He was an only child, but both his parents came from very large families. Growing up he was surrounded by uncles, aunts and cousins who often gathered for events like Sunday lunch. I can imagine loud, raucous meals full of nicknames, mickey-taking and jokes – because that’s what his family, our family, is like. Our childhood was full of laughter. I can remember him crying with laughter with friends at the punchline to an old joke – something like, “there’s nothing queer about Carruthers” – when we didn’t even know what the rest of the joke was (probably because it was completely inappropriate for children). The other day I shared a joke about three dogs at the vets with my brother (don’t worry, I’m not going to tell it). And I felt quite sad because it was exactly the kind of joke my dad, who always had dogs when he was growing up, would have loved.

Towards the end of his life, all of the children and grandchildren were very keen to see him one last time. My son, Christopher, went to see him, a bit concerned that his grandad might not know who he was. There were doctors, nurses, technicians, people coming and going so it was a confusing time. I should also tell you that my son is a solicitor. He spoke to my dad and said, “Hi Grandad, it’s Christopher, Trevor’s son”. My dad was unwell and not very responsive at this stage. But at one point he rallied and said to my son, “so, how much is this conversation going to cost me?”. That was typical of my dad and I thought it was a wonderful thing that even when he had forgotten people’s names and forgotten so much else besides, he could still remember his family and crack a fond, funny joke.

So, yes, my father was a talented, practical, loving and funny man. But most of all, he was a good man and he taught me many things: How to bring up and train a dog … properly. How to build and repair things – the idea that, with the right tools, you can do anything. To appreciate and admire art, craftsmanship and beauty. How to tell a joke, and enjoy life ... and laugh … and love. How to bring up a family and love them unconditionally. Not because he sat me down and told me how to, but just by being himself and showing me.

And now I think that if I could be half as good a father to my family as he was to his, I would be happy with that. I would feel that was a real achievement.

We are only here on this earth for a short time and to not take advantage of every moment would be an absolute waste of that time. I didn't know Brian except through your sharing but I got the distinct feeling Brian did not waste a moment. You can revel in the time you shared and memories are a reminder that you had something very special. Brian will be missed but he has created a family full of memories.

A lovely chap. Sorry to hear of his passing.
Tim and Norma

To the Hatton Family,

My sincere condolences to the Hatton family. I'm sorry that my message is being posted several years after Brian died.

I trust that this message will reach his family and that they will find this story interesting, and perhaps it will give a new insight into Brian's influence and generosity.

I didn't know Brian personally, however, I wanted to let his family know that he was incredibly helpful and inspirational to me as a teenager growing up in Te Kuiti, New Zealand during the 1970's. I was a huge fan of his cutaway illustrations in Motor and Autocar magazines and pawed over them for hours trying to understand how he did them. I was good at art at secondary school and thought it would be fantastic to design cars or become a technical illustrator like Brian.

As a teenager, I wrote to him by airmail, asking questions about his drawings and how I could become a technical illustrator. To my surprise and delight, he wrote back to me and generously sent articles about his technique and process. He also invited me to send him examples of my work which I did. After several weeks he replied to me. (in the 1970's it took about 6 weeks for a surface mail package to get from England to New Zealand one way!) He was very encouraging and recommended that I go to Art School. Around this time, I learned about the Royal College of Art in London. It became a crazy ambitious goal of mine to study there one day.

I took Brian's advice and subsequently attended The Wellington Polytechnic School of Design to study Industrial Design. I was very keen to get a job as a car designer. I excelled at Design School but was told because there was no car manufacturing industry in New Zealand, I should pursue a career in industrial design.
During an internship with a Government Department in an Industrial Design Unit attached to a large Architectural Division, I discovered that I could apply for a Government-funded study abroad scholarship. Fortunately, my application was successful. I then applied to The Royal College of Art and was offered a place in their Industrial Design Masters Program. I lived in London and studied there from 1981 to 1984. Upon graduation, I practised professionally for 18 months in an Industrial Design Consultancy In London. I returned to New Zealand in 1986 to fulfil my scholarship obligations.

Studying and working in London was a dream come true and a fantastic opportunity that laid the foundation for my professional and subsequent academic careers in New Zealand. Brian was a significant influence on my career. I sincerely wish he had known that. To my eternal regret, I didn't reach out to Brian while I was living and studying in London. I did think about it but didn't act on it.

I have had a successful career in New Zealand and my designs have won awards internationally. While studying at the RCA I won a prestigious Royal Society of Arts Award. Jonny Ive won the same award some years after me in the same category. Unlike Jonny I'm not a household name! I became a Professor of Industrial Design at Massey University, was a President of The New Zealand Designers Institute and was awarded a Queens Service Medal for services to Industrial Design.

My story began in a small rural township in New Zealand. Brian's kindness and generosity was a significant inspiration at that time. He helped me to dream big and push to achieve my ambitions.

Thank you, Brian Hatton. You remain a significant person to me and an inspiration for my career. (Your cutaway drawing of a BRM P153 F1 car is a treasured memory).

Very best wishes and kind regards to the Hatton family.

Emeritus Professor Tony Parker (Massey University)
Dip ID Wellington Polytechnic, MDes RCA, OMNZ,