Ronald Searle was a cartoon genius – as generous with his advice as he was with pricey champagne. Gerald Scarfe remembers his friend and childhood hero
Wonderfully dry … Ronald Searle's Los Angeles. Photograph: Chris Beetles Gallery/St James London
I was an asthmatic child and didn't get much of an art education. But then, at the age of about 14, I discovered Ronald Searle. He was working as a cartoonist for the News Chronicle and Punch magazine, doing wonderful, satirical portraits of people such as the Archbishop of Canterbury. He became my hero. I found out where he lived and used to cycle over to Bayswater from Hampstead, composing what I would say to the great man. His house had a green door with a brass doorbell – but I could never get my fingers to ring it. I was too afraid. I would get back on my bike and cycle home, feeling dismal.
A few years later, my wife Jane Asher organised a secret meal for my birthday at this exclusive restaurant in Provence. When we walked in, the only other people there were Ronald and his wife. It turned out they had lived in this town for years. A beautiful little package sat on the table, all done up with ribbon. I said: "Oh, is this for me?" And Ronald said: "Yeah, it's nothing." So I opened it, and there was a brass doorbell with a note saying: "Please ring any time."
We became great friends, meeting up in that restaurant every year. Ronald had a wonderfully dry sense of humour. Once a year, he would pay the restaurant with a picture: pigs going into the kitchen looking doubtful, or snails crawling on to people's plates. We would always find pictures waiting for us at the table: Jane would have a drawing of a cat wearing a ballerina's outfit or putting lipstick on in front of a mirror; and I would have a bearded, scruffy cat, scratching his head, pens and paper laid out, waiting for his cartoon to come. Ronald made me laugh so much: although he was an elderly man, he didn't have an old mind at all.
Gerald Scarfe's full tribute at The Guardian.
A few years later, my wife Jane Asher organised a secret meal for my birthday at this exclusive restaurant in Provence. When we walked in, the only other people there were Ronald and his wife. It turned out they had lived in this town for years. A beautiful little package sat on the table, all done up with ribbon. I said: "Oh, is this for me?" And Ronald said: "Yeah, it's nothing." So I opened it, and there was a brass doorbell with a note saying: "Please ring any time."
We became great friends, meeting up in that restaurant every year. Ronald had a wonderfully dry sense of humour. Once a year, he would pay the restaurant with a picture: pigs going into the kitchen looking doubtful, or snails crawling on to people's plates. We would always find pictures waiting for us at the table: Jane would have a drawing of a cat wearing a ballerina's outfit or putting lipstick on in front of a mirror; and I would have a bearded, scruffy cat, scratching his head, pens and paper laid out, waiting for his cartoon to come. Ronald made me laugh so much: although he was an elderly man, he didn't have an old mind at all.
Gerald Scarfe's full tribute at The Guardian.
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