W a y m a r k s ~: A Gentleman & A Scholar

Dr Ian Jenkins OBE

I've just heard the very sad news that Dr Ian Jenkins OBE, Senior Curator in the Greek & Roman Dept. of the British Museum, passed away just over a week ago on Nov 28th.

Ian had lived valiantly with Parkinson’s disease for many years. I say ‘valiantly’ because it certainly never seemed to slow him down at all! – He was a genuinely dynamic individual, with one of the sharpest minds I have ever known. And to know and have the good fortune of spending time with him, chatting to him, was always a real pleasure. Always enlightening and amusing in equal measure. He'd always been very supportive of me since I first joined the Greek & Roman Dept. around 20 years ago, and I was lucky enough to continue working closely with him, as well as travelling the world together, with his 'Body Beautiful' exhibition, long after I'd left the Dept. We toured the ‘Body Beautiful’ exhibition in its various iterations over a period of almost ten years from China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, South Korea, and Japan, to the USA, Mexico, and Australia, as well as to Spain and Switzerland, before it opened in its final form at the BM itself. Throughout the tour he charmed, delighted, and enthralled all of the audiences he spoke to – his wit and intelligence when speaking publicly always seemed so effortless, yet his words let you in and gave you a glimpse through an acute eye which saw the world in a different light to most of the rest of us. He delighted in discovering unusual connections, and, as such, he could often confound you by revealing something so obvious that you couldn’t fathom why it had always gone unseen before. In that sense he was truly brilliant. To chat with Ian was to always have your mind-blown wide open – in a nice way! – Plus, he had a wicked sense of humour, and was an endless fount of funny and often highly irreverent stories. It’s a genuine truth to say that I am forever recounting his stories to friends. He may have left us, but I am sure that amongst his colleagues and his friends, his anecdotes and his bon mots will long live on hereafter.

Ian Jenkins speaking at the opening of 'Body Beautiful' in Australia in 2014

Ian was, of course, best known for his association with the Parthenon sculptures (and the controversial issues which surround their current location). Classical sculpture and architecture were his specialism, but the culture of modern museums, and academic-yet-accessible curating for a well-informed popular audience was his forte. He was one of those intellectuals who simply assumed you were just as well-informed as he was, and if you weren’t (and who was?!) – no matter – you soon absorbed the information he was imparting and took flight with him because it was simply too infectious not to! – In that sense, as a scholar, as a colleague, and as a friend, he was always generous with all that knowledge and experience which he possessed, he was always open, always had time for you, and, always was supportive.

I feel I was especially fortunate. He and I clicked hugely after I wrote a short piece for the BM Magazine in 2005 about John Keats and the possible sources of inspiration for Keats' Ode on a Grecian Urn - so much so, in fact, that he suggested we should co-author a book together about classical sculpture and harmony (with him writing about classical music, and me writing about Keats). I said we should perhaps give it a go once I'd finished writing my PhD, but sadly that will never happen now – life's too short.

He was over the moon though, when I very excitedly told him, several years after my article had come out, that, having done some research into my family tree, we'd discovered I had the joint family names of Keats and Jennings in my direct ancestry (Jennings being Keats' mother's maiden name), and so he was absolutely certain that this was a sign from the Gods, there must be some sort of mystical *cosmic connection* and that I must be related to the poet! – As ever, Ian’s encouragement was nothing if not enthusiastic!

Ian at the National Museum of Korea, 2010

The last time I saw Ian though leaves me with quite a magical (and a rather fitting) memory of him. It was just before we (the staff of the BM) were all sent home ahead of lockdown at the start of the pandemic earlier this year. I already knew I was soon to be leaving the BM but hadn’t yet announced this fact to my colleagues, when I bumped into Ian in the Great Court. It had been a while since we’d last seen each other, so we stopped for a quick catch-up. It was super early in the morning, before the BM opened to the public, and he suggested we should take a stroll around the Duveen Gallery together, where the Parthenon sculptures are on display – so we wandered off in that direction. The Duveen was totally empty except for the two of us. This is one of the real privileges of working in such a museum, walking around the galleries out of public hours, when the place is totally peaceful and you have it all to yourself. You can stand and look at the sculptures, the artefacts, and the artworks in total silence, uninterrupted, and really lose yourself in contemplation of them. Walking with Ian through the museum’s galleries was always a treat even when they were bustling with visitors, as he could never resist, all those thoughts and ideas just came tumbling out as he’d share with you a running commentary on all the things around you, always asking and interested in your thoughts, and always fascinated as to how his ideas and yours might bounce off of one another.

To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,

We made sure we took a moment to say 'hello' to the panel which it seems clear inspired in part some of John Keats’ most famous lines, indeed, quite definitely some of the most famous of all lines of the finest English poetry that have ever been written, lines about truth and beauty – the panel which the painter Benjamin Robert Haydon saw John Keats standing in front of, utterly transfixed: the one with "that heifer lowing at the skies." Even then, after all those years, Ian was still telling me new facts and theories, fascinating things which I never knew, nor most likely would I ever come to know, about the sculptures had he not told me. He was a real Renaissance man – a true gentleman and a scholar, and a jolly good laugh too! – RIP Ian.