Rob Leighton Funeral Report

By Peter Moore

Rob in the studio on Ross Revenge	St Peter's Broughton - image courtesy of Craig  Thornber www.thornber.net

Family and friends, Radio Caroline colleagues and listeners and representatives of the progressive rock and folk music world, gathered at St Peter's church in Broughton, Staffs on Saturday 26th to pay our respects to Rob Leighton who died on Jan 17th.

While Rob's views on religion put him somewhere between being an atheist or an agnostic, he loved the architecture of this 16th century church and he helped the churchwarden and the vicar with electrical work within the building.

His spirituality was such that some religious aspects included in the service were not inappropriate. Much mention was made of his connection with Caroline, in addition to the tribute read on behalf of the station by Pat Edison.

Rob's wife Sharon read the poem 'When I Have Fears' and his young niece Ellie, bravely read the ode 'We are The Music Makers'. The comment 'We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams' was regularly used by Rob, but we did not know that these were the opening lines of a much longer piece of verse.

After the service, a private burial service took place in St Peter's church yard.

A collection was made on the day to benefit the National Association for Crohn's and Colitis Research. Crohn's disease was the wretched illness that plagued Rob's life for many years.

If anyone would like to contribute to that cause, cheques made out to N.A.C.C can be sent via 426 Archway Road, Highgate, London, N64JH.

We will keep the book of condolence open for a short further period, if you would like to add your own tribute. All messages will be forwarded to Sharon Leighton in due course.

WE ARE THE MUSIC MAKERS

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting desolate by streams;
World-losers and world forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world’s great cities.
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song’s measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying 
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.