For my friend, Kerry Moore
I cannot believe the words I am about to write. My friend, Kerry Moore, has died, after a long illness. I cannot express how hard this has hit us all. We, her colleagues and friends in the School of Journalism, Media and Culture, and way beyond, are utterly devastated.
I don't really know what to do. There's nothing I can do. But I wanted to say something, to write something; something about Kerry as I knew her. Not an official thing. Just something about my Kerry. Official things will follow. She was dearly loved by so many colleagues, who are all stunned, hollowed out, disbelieving, struggling to comprehend this.
I have known Kerry since 2003. She was a new PhD student at Roehampton University when I applied for a job there. She attended my interview presentation, and afterwards, kindly said it was good (even though, really, it had been a bit of a shambles). After I got the job, she was a teaching assistant on the big first year module I led.
She later transferred to Cardiff University, after gaining a research assistant position in what was then called the School of Journalism, Media and Cultural Studies. When I saw a job advertised there, in late 2007, it was Kerry I turned to to ask about it. She raved about Cardiff and JOMEC, and encouraged me to apply.
When I started at Cardiff University in 2008, I took up supervision of her PhD, along with Professor Terry Threadgold. She was an excellent PhD student. She was my first PhD student in Cardiff, and my first ever PhD student to graduate.
But she was a perfectionist. For the last twelve months of her PhD, I spent so much time assuring her that she had effectively finished it, that it was really good, that it was ready to be submitted, right now, and that she should just submit it as it stood. But she wouldn't. She kept polishing and polishing, editing, moving chunks of it around, revising, tweaking, polishing, adding, subtracting, and finessing, until – eventually – it was up to her high standards. Then she submitted it. When it was really brilliant.
I was delighted when she became a colleague, gaining a lectureship in JOMEC. She was just the best person to work with. She was so switched on, so intuitive, thoughtful, circumspect, incisive, diplomatic.
And funny. She would always say something funny. But it was never just funny. It also nailed the crux of the matter. It was wit, yes, and it was always delightful – often muttered quietly to you under her breath during a meeting, as if she were saying something a bit irreverent or subversive, as if she was merely trying to make you laugh. Yet it was actually very often the most concise and definitive statement of the stakes and complexities of the matter.
In a sense, she was like this in many ways. She had a way of seeming mischevious while yet saying and doing things that were utterly responsible, deeply perceptive, highly ethical. She would often seem to be suggesting something naughty – like another drink, another bar, or what about karaoke. But her suggestions were actually, really, the absolute best thing to do – sociable, inclusive, hospitable. It was Kerry's interventions that produced some of the most fun nights out I have ever had with work colleagues.
Even when she couldn't go out for a drink, because she had football practice, she would still go out for a drink. And still go to football practice. She wouldn't let anyone down.
To meet her in the corridor, or stick your head around her office door, or to have her stick her head around your office door, was always like a little treat. Always a gentle word, often a joke. And she would listen, and really, properly, thoroughly, hear. She let me offload about my own parenting problems so many times, and I always felt better. One time, I remember clearly, as we passed on the stairs, we shared the usual lighthearted 'hello', but she stopped me, looked me straight in the eye and said, arrestingly, 'Paul. Are you alright?' She knew I wasn't. She knew that, right then, I was far from alright. And she dropped what she was doing, and wanted to help me.
And students loved her. And colleagues loved her. And her work was brilliant. And her concerns were always ethical, always current, always urgent. She researched poverty, migration, exclusion. She published the first bi-lingual (English and Welsh) open access monograph for Cardiff Univesity Press. She was an excellent PhD supervisor. She was extremely talented, diligent, engaged, and always fun to work with. She organised conferences. She edited journals. And she did it all with such good grace and thoroughness and clear-sightedness and collegiality.
When she got ill, we all thought she would beat it. She was so fit and so strong and so determined. And it would just be so wrong for there to be any other outcome. Even when she was going through the most difficult treatment, she wanted to join in and help me organise a conference. We'd chat about it over WhatsApp, and I'd keep her informed about developments. And she was looking forward to it – she was working towards it. And, God, so was I – looking forward to working with her again, bumping into her in corridors, asking her opinion or advice, chatting about family or holidays or the government or the institution, or anything, everything.
But, tragically, that is not to be. And it breaks my heart. We are bereft without her. And we will all miss her so much, for so long.
Goodbye, Kerry. You were the best colleague, the best friend. We all love you.
