Memories of Elliott are just as much to do with the person as with the music. I feel exceptionally privileged to have got to know him, and Helen, long enough ago – they were in their youthful late 70s – to have become wholly at ease in his company rather than in awe of the mighty centenarian, although there was always something awesome about him. What I remember most is the huge smile of greeting, then the eagerness for new things, and the extraordinary memory, vivid reminiscences (Paris in the 1930s and standing behind Ravel in the queue for the Opéra), the warmth of character – not that the occasional carefully barbed remark didn’t escape. How to begin to describe the experience to one who wasn’t lucky enough to meet him? He took great pleasure in the company of younger people (well, that meant almost everyone) and it kept him youthful – the mind never seemed to lose any of its sharpness. I saw him for the last time at Tanglewood: though increasingly frail he found time, as ever, to talk to students and to go to rehearsals. But always, of course, he was impatient to return to work, to add to that remarkable body of music almost to the end. Surely he was going to last forever?