Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing

Once a representative sample of my dad's protégés had arrived, we all walked down to Ristorante da Vinci for dinner. I spent the first part of the evening talking to MK, currently researching the careers of mathematicians and computer scientists, before VY, our Master of Ceremonies, dusted off his Komsomol-imparted organisation skills, asking everyone to talk about their first memories of my father and to come out with an interesting story about him.

SA remembered meeting my father for the first time at Euston station, discussing potential PhD subjects with him on the tube to Victoria where he was catching a train to Dover. Then, a little while later, she remembered an all-to-typical story of near disaster at a mine in Kuzbas:

We'd arranged for the Chief Engineer to take us down the mine. He clearly liked a drink. [My dad adds: when we met him for breakfast, the Chief was busy opening bottles of Soviet champagne and vodka. The mine director walked in and said in English, "What are you doing? You know we don't allow drinking in the mine!" To which the Chief replied in Russian, "What do you mean? There's no way I'm going down there sober..."]

Anyway, when we got down the main lift, there were chairlifts to take us to the coal seams. The engineer was there, preparing to give his little safety talk when your dad, who'd done a lot of skiing, just jumped on. The Chief swore and he too jumped on a chair, leaving me standing there. I wasn't sure whether to follow them, but I didn't want to get lost in the dark in this mine, so I got on too.

When I got to the bottom I was in such a nervous state that my Russian stopped working and when the Chief told me to get off, I thought he was telling me to stay on so I didn't get off. He shouted at me again, but I stayed on. He must've realised what was happening because he grabbed me and pulled me off just before the chair disappeared round the corner where I'd probably have been ground up by the machinery.

[My dad added later: when we got to the coal face, there was a long conveyor with all the miners working on it. The Chief, who clearly hadn't been down there in years showed us the seam and looked around for something else, taking us round a corner, only to discover that it was a dead end. When he came back, all the miners were laughing at their boss and his ability to get lost in his own mine with a group of western visitors in tow]

The others had equally good stories.

NZ remembered that she'd been looking for potential supervisors at UK universities, and had picked my dad because he has a photo of his children and his grandchildren on his web page. My dad said that when she came for an interview, he and AP had immediately decided that she was brilliant and they had to take her on, even though her undergraduate degree wasn't in the right area. Then, when she arrived and discovered she didn't have anywhere to stay, my parents immediately offered to put her up until she found somewhere.our family Christmases.

RJ said that when he was searching for a PhD supervisor, he was after someone with a strong theoretical background who was also interested in Russia and China. He wasn't hopeful, but he found my dad's web pages and realised that he'd found someone who precisely matched his criteria and who was very close to his current base. After he'd approached my dad with a proposal, his current boss tried to scupper the whole arrangement, asserting that he had first claim on RJ's time. My dad's response was that this constituted a brilliant endorsement and made him even more certain that he wanted to take RJ on as a student.

VY remembered the Young Russian Sociologists boat trip on the Volga in October 1991 — notoriously the boat only had single lavatory which, in the finest Soviet traditions. He announced that they should give serious consideration to celebrating the 25th anniversary of the conference, although he didn't think it would be quite the same now that the Volga cruise boats have been upgraded to cater to Western tastes.

In the conversations that followed, RJ encapsulated everyone's feelings by talking about how much they all loved my father and how much the respected him; MK said she always enjoyed it when people mentioned on of his books at conference and she was able to say, "Actually, he was my supervisor..."

Seeing him in this light and in combination with their stories about him, I finally realised what makes him such a successful teacher and mentor: he treats his students like family, in that he always makes time for them and always wants them to do their best; and should they need a little more motivation, all he usually has to do is indicate that he's disappointed in them, and most of them put themselves back on the straight and narrow.

It was really nice. Not least because we were all able to put aside our usual cynical pose and talk about someone who means the world to us — and doubly so to be able to do so while they're still alive and able to appreciate it! — but it was wonderful to be able to think of my dad's protégés as siblings — although SA was always the sensible older sister when I was younger — albeit clever, over-achieving ones.

After the stories — and, more importantly, after the rest of Da Vinci's clientele had left! — there was singing: OC went for a traditional Hebrew song, while the Russian-speaking contingent (which included one of the waitstaff) opted for something that may just have been a gloomy version of happy birthday.

Very, very late, after an excellent evening of fantastic food and good company, we went our separate ways, some back to hotels, and more than a few back our place to fill up the beds and, in the case of my nephew, to crash on the sofa...