“He nothing common did or mean/Upon that memorable scene …” Andrew Marvell

He was our John Tenniel or Ernest Shepherd or Dr Seuss.

Bermuda was his Wonderland or Hundred Acre Woods or Jungle of Nool.

And we were all of us co-opted as characters in the occasionally dramatic, frequently eccentric and routinely whimsical ongoing saga of island life which flowed from the pencil of Peter Woolcock for more than three decades.

His cartoons, exquisitely limned single-panel commentaries on the issues and people of the day, represented a playfully mischievous chronicle of our times.

It’s a story which got under way in the pages of the Bermuda Sun in 1983 almost as soon as Peter finished unpacking his drawing board after he and wife Ethel moved to the Island to join their daughter and grandchildren here.

And it’s one which came to an abrupt and tragic end last Thursday when Peter was hit by a car while delivering what was to prove to be his final cartoon to the offices of The Royal Gazette.

A children’s book illustrator, comic strip artist and political cartoonist of international standing before settling here, what Peter Woolcock had anticipated would be a breakeven retirement job soon evolved into a full-time second career.

His cartoons, which were to eventually appear in The Royal Gazette, the Mid-Ocean News and the RG, Bottom Line and Bermuda magazines, attracted a wide and enthusiastic following from the first.

The life of a community like the life of an individual comprises a great number of small incidents and a small number of great ones. And Peter instinctively grasped that everyday concerns and everyday people were often just as important to his readers as grandiose politicians, General Elections and hurricanes.

By casting his kindly, perpetually bemused eye over the whole of the Island, by incorporating the selfless and self-effacing as well as the self-important into his work, the teapot tempests and trifles along with the events of genuinely great moment, he created what amounts to an only slightly askew portrait gallery of modern Bermuda and Bermudians.

He was able to put into his drawings a passion for Bermuda and Bermudians which no words could ever convey.

Always underlying the silliness was an unwavering seriousness of purpose. Peter was a classic romantic, free-spirited but adamantly principled with a highly developed sense of justice and fair play. He was always on the side of the little guy, always on the side of Bermuda whenever feckless politicians administered yet another self-inflicted injury to his beloved adopted home.

As a schoolboy Peter had even taken a line from Rafael Sabatini’s quintessential adventure novel Scaramouche as his personal credo – “He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad”. The story of a likeable, swashbuckling rogue at the time of the French Revolution, Peter viewed himself as the Scaramouche of the drawing board, one who cut a swath for righteousness with his pencil rather than a duelling sword. This maxim served him well throughout his life. It could also serve as his epitaph.

Conscientious, indefatigable and possessed of a sterling character and cast-iron work ethic, he was one of the most original talents Bermuda has ever known. Perhaps more importantly, he was also one of the most remarkably goodhearted and generous souls who ever drew breath on this Island, a fine artist and an even finer gentleman.

Only those among us who have had their funny bones surgically removed could find anything to object to in Peter’s gentle but unerringly accurate lampoons of the Bermudian way of life. Even those politicians who were among the most frequent targets of his good-natured jibes rarely believed they had been drawn and quartered, as it were; in fact they tended to buy his original artwork to frame and hang in their homes and offices.

Peter’s art perfectly reflected his keen wit and benevolent nature. There was nothing cruel or meanspirited or spiteful about the man or his work. As his friend and fellow artist Vernon Clarke remarked, he was a master of social commentary who made even his most serious points without ever resorting to the mordant political bite — his punchlines were always sparklingly droll, never sardonic, sarcastic or cynical.

Aside from producing literally thousands of cartoons and caricatures for publication and for private clients, Peter somehow also found time to work in other areas. He designed actor Gavin Wilson’s life-sized puppet Aloysius “Lock Jaw” Fox, the cantankerous St David’s Islander with uncompromising views about life in modern Bermuda and an unfiltered mouth, who has been a hugely popular draw on the local entertainment circuit for the last decade; he illustrated a series of well-received children’s books with local author Andrew Stevenson; and he provided artwork, gratis, for a wide variety of local charitable endeavors which was used for everything from Christmas cards to logos to posters.

He was so very prolific and the quality of his work so consistently high that we almost came to take him for granted. Almost but not quite. His was a talent so singular, his draftsmanship so adroit, his caricaturist’s eye for the telling detail which conveyed personality and character so very acute, it was all but impossible to underappreciate the man.

When he had worked in London as a young man, he was proud to have been known as “The Boy Who Never Missed A Deadline” among the editors of the various British comics he contributed to. It was a reputation he fiercely and proudly maintained for the rest of his life. Following his accident last Thursday, he was as anxious to ensure the newspaper had received his contribution for the next day’s edition as he was to receive medical attention. We did and the cartoon ran in its usual spot at the top of Page 4 in Friday’s edition — the same paper which reported his death on the front page. His record for reliability remained unbroken even unto the end.

It was my pleasure and privilege to know and work with Peter Woolcock for almost 25 years. He was a fixture in my life: a valued colleague, a dear personal friend and a perennial source of advice, support and encouragement. And, of course, laughter.

On behalf of The Royal Gazette, I would like to express my heartfelt condolences to Peter’s loved ones on their loss. His passing represents a death in the family for all of us as well.

Adieu, Scaramouche ...

TIM HODGSON