I met Joseph a number of times in Vienna with Malcolm. Joseph impressed me as a cultivated man, understated in a very British way, urbane and an urbanite. He had a youthful and teasing sense of humour, but I knew he had a highly responsible job as a nursing manager in a psychiatric hospital in London. Joseph could not but be liked for his unassuming manner and his sense of fun — and for being an anglophile. His command of English and knowledge of British culture and history were extraordinary. I admired him too, for his insights into people, his unabashed sense of style and his zestful appreciation of life. I have known Malcolm in Vienna for over 20 years, and have trodden common ground with him at work, on the stage and in the mountains. Malcolm has a rewarding career and many interests, but he first seemed truly at peace with himself and at one with the world over the eight years he shared with Joseph. Malcolm and Joseph thought the world of each other, and they went together like toast and marmalade. They were obliged by their careers to lead their lives apart, but they overcame the emotional challenges and the practical difficulties of the many partings to spend all possible time together. Joseph and Malcolm had committed themselves to each other, and they were looking to the future together when Joseph fell ill. Instead of a common future, they were to have just six heart breaking months before Joseph’s last departure. How cruel and devoid of sense the loss in his prime of such a gentle, generous and sympathetic man.