bout de papier, Vol. 15, No. 1 (1998) — Spring 1998 // Printemps 1998, pp. 30–31
Richard Tait died at Limoux, France on October 25, 1997. Richard joined the Department of External Affairs in 1955 and served in posts abroad in Athens, Geneva, Saigon (as Commissioner with the International Commission for Supervision and Control) and London. In 1973 he was seconded to the then Department of Manpower and Immigration where he was Chair of the Task Force that produced the Green Paper on Immigration and Population. Subsequently, he was Assistant Deputy Minister (Immigration) and later Executive Director for Immigration and Demographic Policy. From 1978 to 1982, he was Ambassador to the European Communities in Brussels. Returning to Headquarters he served as Director General of the Cultural, Public and Information Programmes Bureau. Richard retired from the Department and the Public Service in July 1985.
A memorial service for Richard was held in Ottawa at St. Barnabas Anglican Church on December 20, 1997. Tom d’Aquino, a close friend, gave the following eulogy:
Requiem for Richard Marcus Tait
To lose a devoted husband, to lose a loving father, to lose a caring grandfather, to lose a dear friend, is a deeply wounding experience.
And so it is, at this Requiem for Richard Tait, that we feel a profound sadness. We also share together a sense of privilege, satisfaction and joy in having been part of the life of this extraordinary man.
I came to know Richard some twenty-five years ago when he was posted to the Canadian High Commission in London. My wife Susan, who had met him earlier at a philosophy seminar in Ottawa, had spoken of “an eclectic and gentle man with an unabounding intellectual curiosity”. Her description could not have been more apt.
In the years that have since passed, we shared a deep friendship that endured unshaken until his death in Carcasonne, France, in late October of this year.
He was a cultured man blessed with a fine intellect. I did not know his father, a professor of classics at the University of Toronto, but I always felt that Richard somehow bore a strong imprint of his father’s influence. Richard’s mother, who died not so long ago at a very ripe age, was a formidable character with a scintillating mind. It is not surprising therefore that Richard in many ways saw himself as a scholar throughout his life.
As a young man, Richard had already caused others to take notice. A boyhood friend writes: “Distinctive looking new boy enters Oakwood. Said to be from Upper Canada. Exotic. Red hair, brown eyes, freckles. Says his name is Marcus. Great poise… Girls thought he was cute. Called him Ricky.” Later the friend notes: “In our graduating class, Richard was clearly one of the best students… He loved poetry and this influenced me mightily”
Following his graduation from the University of Toronto, he served for a brief period with a firm of stockbrokers, but decided that Canada’s foreign service was where he should make his mark. And make his mark he did. He served in Athens, in Geneva, in Vietnam, and in London. In the late seventies, he was appointed Canada’s Ambassador to the European Community and took up with relish his post in Brussels.
Richard’s contribution to the public life of Canada was not confined to diplomacy. For a period of time, he worked outside the Department of External Affairs helping in an important way to shape Canadian immigration policy and legislation.
Richard’s concept of public service was a noble one. He believed without reservation in the virtue of a professional, independent, non-partisan public service. He spoke with passion about the need for integrity, honour and accountability in his chosen vocation. Indeed, his beliefs were so strong and his expectations so high that he was not prepared to stay on to normal retirement in a foreign service that he believed had changed in a way not to his liking.
Colleagues in the foreign service remember him fondly. One veteran says: “He was part of that gilded group in the Department of External Affairs that brought consummate skills to whatever they put their hand”. Another notes: “Richard was one of the finest pens in the department and supremely eloquent”. Yet another says: “He had enormous integrity and understood better than most the meaning of loyalty”.
Richard’s many accomplishments while serving in Canada’s foreign service are only one dimension of this complex and compelling man. His love of poetry, developed in his childhood, remained with him all of his life. He came to love music. He embraced his beloved cello with intensity and tenacity. Few string musicians that I know would speak so rapturously about the subtle qualities of their horsehair bow. He had a good eye for fine paintings and prints and he loved to draw.
He read prodigiously and was undaunted by complex texts in both French and German. Brave soul that he was, on one occasion he asked my advice about Dante and wandered how difficult it might be to master sufficient Italian to navigate the passages of the Divine Comedy!
A diplomat, a man of letters, a lover of the arts — Richard Tait was these things, and more. At an early age he learned the techniques of wilderness survival, of how to make a canoe respond to the twist and turn of a paddle. As a sailor, he knew the waters of the English Channel, the Mediterranean, the Aegean, the St. Lawrence, Georgian Bay and the Brador Lakes. He knew about fly rods and the pleasures of fishing for trout in mountain streams and lakes. And perhaps best of all, he passed on his love of the outdoors, and the skills one needs to feel confident there, to each of his children in turn.
With characteristic aplomb, Richard even took up carpentry and for those of you who visited the Tait family farm north of Buckingham, you saw first hand evidence of how a small, dilapidated log house was transformed into an attractive and comfortable dwelling.
The family defined Richard’s life. Husband to Janice and Veronika; father to Ruth, Alison, Catherine, Zöe and Godfrey; Grandfather to Jesse, Sean, Max, Eric, Nicola and Beatrice, brother to Michael — Richard gave much of himself, and in the case of his children in particular, he offered instruction, moral guidance and most importantly, unconditional love. Last November when I visited him in France and we were hiking in the hills above Limoux, he turned to me at one point and said: “as I grow older, I have derived extraordinary satisfaction in rediscovering the great love I have for my elder daughters; and young Zöe and Godfrey daily give me reason to feel blessed”.
At that time, Richard also spoke to me of his dear Veronika — almost as if sensing that death was not far off. He said “I long for nothing more than to find good health and to live out the rest of my days happily with Veronika here in this wonderful place, but I am not sure that is to be”
On October 25, Richard died in Carcasonne, his family at his side. In those painful days as Richard’s life ebbed away, his two families became one as never before.
Veronika, Ruth, Zöe, Alison, Godfrey and Catherine were united by the powerful, lingering spirit that emanated from this man that they all loved.
Two days later, the family climbed to the remains of the once great Cathar fortress atop Mont Segur — a place that had captured Richard’s imagination, a place he once told me, where he had felt closer to God. There they mourned their loss. There they erected a cairn. There they placed a small cross. There, they prayed together.
Today, thousands of miles away from the bleak and haunting precincts on Mont Segur, we — family and friends – join together in honouring the memory of Richard Tait. We shall not forget his humanity, his decency, his loyalty. We shall not forget that he could be an impractical romantic, a man of great urbanity and studied eccentricity. He richly enjoyed the pleasures of this life and he pondered thoughtfully of the next.
A man of learning and intelligence, of charm and challenge, he was good company, a fine colleague, a loved friend. I feel privileged to stand before you today to say goodbye to Richard Marcus Tait. He has marked us all.
View the original scanned pages →
Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 15, No. 1 (1998) — Spring 1998 // Printemps 1998, pp. 30–31. Read the rest of this issue →
