Wednesday, April 29, 2026
My name is Jamie Donaldson. I was asked to post the words I spoke at Eric's internment.
Eric and I were cousins, related through our respective mothers, who were sisters. As such, there were certainly a few similarities in our upbringing: we both grew up “navy-adjacent”, kind of bathed in naval sensibilities For example, I (and my brothers) would receive random notes asking about details and service history of various relatives and others we may have heard about.
As I may be the only one present who is related to Eric, I thought I should share a bit about his family background. His father, Ross Malcolm Hanbury, was born in 1913, one of several children of an industrialist in the Vancouver lumber trade. Ross served as an RCNVR officer aboard several ships in the Atlantic theatre during WW2, including as captain of HMCS New Glasgow. He later became a partner at Wood Gundy (investment banking), then Crosby and Co. In my memories, he was just as you might guess from my mini-bio: tall; friendly but not overly warm; knew how to make things happen behind the scenes (my brother Jeremy was a grateful beneficiary).
Eric’s mother (my aunt Patsy), Patricia Louisa (nee Brock) was born in Winnipeg in 1925, the fourth of five children of Eustace and Margaret (who died in 1948). Aunt Patsy was a character, as were all her siblings (including my mother, her baby sister). She had a strong sense of what she believed in, although she was also very warm and generous. Some of you might know that she stayed with Eric during her recovery from double knee replacement surgery … and if you knew his apartment, you will know that having two such strong personalities there made for an “interesting” mix! Eric certainly showed us all his generosity and giving nature during this time.
Growing up in a naval family, we moved frequently, so I did not have much overlap with Eric in those years. Sometime after I moved to Toronto, we reconnected and stayed in some touch ever since. We often invited him to our house and Eric was always a fun and engaging addition to any social event, from large garden BBQs to small dinners (served with the Brock family silver, which he would note). Always nattily dressed, he was an excellent and enthusiastic gravy maker, and enjoyed festive times in an English spirit. Speaking of spirits, he never arrived at our house (in his baby blue Saab, which was sometimes out of the shop) without a bottle of scotch, which he would suggest was best opened promptly. We could only oblige!
He certainly wore his passion for organ music clearly on his sleeve. My phone is full of photos of church organs from around the world I took to share with him. Indeed, I have one from early this month, taken in Toulouse ….
My brothers wrote me some thoughts, which they are happy to share more broadly as well. From Jeremy “I recall laughing a great deal as we jammed ourselves into his apartment for a Christmas dinner one year (served on Aunt Pat’s china dishes, as he took pains to point out). What did he cook? I think it was two ducks, or something…
I do remember him very kindly taking me out to “do Toronto properly”, showing me around and taking me to a couple of pubs the night before I flew to the UK in 1986.”
And from my brother Bruce: “He was super helpful at Gina’s father’s funeral last year. I asked him if he knew anyone that could play the organ during the service and he said yes - him! He immediately took full ownership of the task, scouted out the organ and the church, assessed and reported on the competence of the staff, put a playlist together (and reserved the right to read the room and change the order), re-organized the bulletin and corrected the words to the hymns, and nixed the singing of the Hallelujah chorus (preferring to play it as an organ solo rather than listen to a shaky congregation’s attempt). All the while, he was giving us regular, detailed and opinion-laced email updates. Very Eric, but he sure saved the day.”
Bruce’s story brings me to my last anecdote. Jeremy also sent me a link to a transcript of the radio show This American Life from December last year (here is the link: https://www.thisamericanlife.org/255/transcript). In part of this show, Ira Glass (the host) is interviewing Ian Brown (the author and journalist). The relevant passage is Ian Brown discussing about planning to sing a carol with his brother for their mother:
“Bad? We sounded like people who'd been lost in the woods. But how could we fix it? 24 hour emergency carol-singing repair isn't a service listed in the Yellow Pages where I live. So I did the only thing I could think of. I called Eric Hanbury. Hanbury had been at boarding school with my brother and me. He was in the choir, too. He was an eccentric character even then. Very serious and strict, almost terrifying. He knew how to play the organ, for starters. And that was an unusual skill for a teenager to have back in the days when Led Zeppelin were releasing their first album. Hanbury's musical taste stopped at Gershwin and favored Bach. Plus, he was six foot two, even then, and had full mutton chop sideburns at the age of 12. I hadn't seen him in nearly 35 years.” … “But by 10:30 on Saturday morning, the very day we're to sing for our mother, we are in Eric Hanbury's two bedroom apartment on the 16th floor of a high rise in the Northwest end of the city. The spare bedroom-- the one we're all packed into-- is mostly taken up by a church organ the size of a Ford Taurus, complete with foot pedals.”
