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Shepperson Memorial

veterans.” Professor Shepperson had been an officer in the King’s African Rifles
(Kenya section: Nyala askari). (September 9, 1992).
Directly related is a photo of himself, sent on January 11, 1996, and taken on
August 20, 1995. The Professor is dressed to the nines, apparently standing in front of
his home in Orton Wistow, wearing his service awards. On his lapel is the badge of
the Burma Star Association (which I think was a veteran’s organization); below this
are his four WW II medals, including the Burma Star, and from under his collar and
over his necktie is the insignia of his C. B. E. (Knight Commander of the British
Empire, Second Class, again I think.). He signed this: “To Gary – with fraternal
greetings from Sam”, from one soldier to another.
Another and special “war story” he shared with me: [my photo]: “… of the
river in Okavango reminds me of an ancient snap I have of some of us coming back
out of action in central Burma to Kalewa on the Chindwin River in December 1944.
We spent Christmas in the jungle; and a movie projector was brought up, a screen
erected between the trees, and we were shown a wonderful American movie: Frederic
March in “The Adventures of Mark Twain.” (November 29, 2006).
Just days ago as I write this Her Majesty the Queen, with her father’s sword
th
knighted old soldier Tom Moore, who the month before his 100 birthday raised
£32.5 million worldwide for the fight against the pandemic. In WWII, Sir Thomas
had been awarded the Burma Star.
Among the other cards, Sam discussed his family and questioned mine: he was
delighted, of course, when his only child, Janet, presented the world with a daughter,
on January 15, 1995. Both Sam and I were also born in January.
Of his granddaughter, Sam wrote: “Our little Catriona, just over four, can
already identify lots of birds. She is especially fond of pheasants.” (April 24, 1999).
Another card, from Belfast, has a color photo of a pheasant (Phasianus colchicus),
which he and his daughter’s family had seen in a local bird sanctuary. (May 15,
1998).
Again, he freely showed his grandfatherly pride: “My daughter Janet still lives
in Belfast. Her child, Catriona, now nearly 12, is apparently, a good scholar.”
(November 29, 2006).
Early in 2005 I mentioned to Sam that soon my family was planning to
vacation in Queensland, where of course I hoped for some time “off” for birding.
Well before we left, a small cassette tape “Symphony of Australian Birds” arrived, a
major contribution to the success of my pastime. To use a baseball phrase that I drag
out on rare occasions: “Sam never missed a pitch.”
Another venue: “I am delighted to learn that you are teaching early British
(tribal!) history. Peterborough is full of vestiges of it. We live not far from a Bronze
Age settlement – in permanent excavation, and not far from an excavated Roman
farm. (March 8, 1996): “I should love to pop in at your early English (British) history
class. Your approach seems splendid.” (May 2, 1996). In one of my Japanese
universities I was required to teach one of ten sections on British history. When the
others were falling over each other to work with the Tudors, I quietly chose “Britain
up to 1066,” which course I introduced into two of my other universities. Sam was
delighted with my choice, and we shared many paragraphs on my discoveries and his
lifelong knowledge.
In our cards and letters we rarely missed a topic: Africa and Edinburgh, history
and geography, persons past and persons present, and of course, our families. In
preparing this small tribute to my professor, I relished his several ways of signing off.
Most common was the standard but quite meaningful “Yours as ever.” Many were

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