4 JUNE 1994, Page 34

Tabula Rasa

At eighty, he set himself the task of repainting his rooms. He worked slowly, wheezing up and down the folding steps.

He chose the blue of his old cricket club tie; the half-recollected gold of his wife's hair when they first met in Rawalpindi; and an ash-grey, which brought to mind his son's death — that dark year of hope and despair.

In the evenings he was meticulous with his white spirit, laying out the brushes, battening down the lids of the tins.

Nine days after finishing, he keeled forward over The Times, and closed his eyes on a final view of his hearthrug.

Young couples came to view the property: Perfect. We'll only need to give the place a couple of coats of brilliant white.

Connie Bensley