We are saddened to announce the passing of Old Viking, Kevin Halsey (72E), who died aged 70 on August 5 2025. 

Fellow Old Viking, and close friend, Jonathan Skipper (73E), has shared some memories of his friendship with Kevin.

Kevin Halsey. Everett House '72

I can’t believe I’m writing about my memories of Kevin, our birthdays are 10 days apart, and we had a great video chat on the 14 of January to celebrate his 70th. 

We were at boarding school together, living with each other 24/7 for 4 years, and then he even moved up to Norwich for a while where he lived in a ramshackle house just outside the city, and went out with my twin sister’s best friend. 

The first time I met Kevin, at Shiplake College, was at a beginning of term roll call. He came bursting into the room 1 minute late which set the tone for the next 4 years. He didn’t exactly apologise, he just quipped about his Italian “jet lag”. Which we all learned was “a bit of a stretch” because he’d only just been dropped off after a short drive from Reading, six miles away, where his Guardians lived. His family were in Italy. People wondered who “the new guy” was, but humour was Kevin’s trademark and lubricant, and he seemed to get away with all sorts of things that tripped up the rest of us. But Everett House at Shiplake suited his character, he was a little bit zany and mischievous. But he obviously had a big heart and once he made a friend his loyalty was incorruptible. 

We spent a lot of our free time outdoors, usually down by the River Thames, somewhere in the countryside, or out on a punt. We were frequently “out of bounds” but usually got back in time for the “roll call”. 

One Sunday he invited me to come to lunch with his Guardians in Reading. The car didn’t turn up so we decided to walk and meet them, they never came and we walked all the way, only to discover an empty house. Kev had got the wrong weekend. The neighbours kindly fed us, and gave us a lift back to school. On arrival we were told we’d missed Sunday evening “roll call” and had been declared AWOL. Kevin broke into a sweat and told me he’d forgotten to sign us out for the afternoon. We hatched a plan to save our skins. Within 10 minutes we were ushered into the House Master’s study and the chilling request from Hans Wells-Furby  “Where the hell have you two been all afternoon…?” set the tone. We lied fluently… “Down by the river Sir. We didn’t notice the time.” The question was repeated, we lied fluently for a second time. The third time the question was asked we faltered…  House Master - “You were both seen by a member of staff walking along the main road about a mile from Reading!”. The game was up and we mumbled our apologies. 

Friday afternoons were always for Army Cadets training and I distinctly remember Kevin’s uniform never seemed to fit him. He was so skinny that however tight his belt was, it wasn’t too long before his Battle-Dress Trousers were moving southwards. Marching on parade was another challenge. Kevin conjured up the precursor to ASMR and would quietly hum the theme tune to the Pink Panther and add a little skip into his march. Needless to say there was sniggering in the ranks as people tried not to wet themselves laughing. 

We’d frequently walk along the towpath beside the Thames and go to the cinema in Henley. In those days, once you’d bought your ticket you could sit there and watch the movie twice, gorging on popcorn, Liquorice Allsorts and Wine Gums. We watched Spaghetti Westerns, Inspector Clouseau, James Bond, and the Carry On films. Kevin had a long trench coat and a leather Cowboy Hat and usually turned up as sinister looking Clint Eastwood lookalike. 

My sport was rowing. By 1972 I was Captain of the Second VIII, and we were heading towards Regatta season in the summer. A couple of days before Chiswick Regatta I wasn’t feeling too good. And the day before I definitely had a fever. Kevin and I shared a Study Bedroom. I told him I was going to bed early because I was determined not to miss the racing. I tumbled into bed at 9pm feeling lousy. Something cold touched my head and I woke up with a start to see a figure looming over me in the dark. Kev had stayed awake and put wet flannels on my forehead to stop the fever, it was 1am in the morning. It worked. I woke up in the morning feeling much better. The racing went well at Chiswick, we won, and I’ve still got the Tankard on my mantle piece. Thanks Bro! 

During the summer holidays I was invited by his parents to go to Italy with him. The following term we had quite a lot of Italian small change left over. We discussed exchanging it in Henley, but the exchange rates were not very good. 

“I’ve got an idea!” said Kev “We’ll put it in the Church Collection on Sunday!”  

“We can’t do that...” I said “What’ll they do with it…?” 

“Oh that’s easy..” said Kev “They can give it to the Catholic Church up the road, it’ll filter back to the Pope somehow…!”

Half an hour of laughter followed. 

Summer 1972 saw us catching the Boat Train to Dover, we crossed the Channel by ferry, then another train to Paris where we caught the Simplon Express, a trans European express train with several different destinations. Our route was meant to be through France, Switzerland and Italy, getting off at Milan. There were stops at several cities on the way, and we had time to get off, stretch our legs and buy treats in the kiosks and shops. After one stop I was back in my seat waiting for Kev to come back. The train gave a lurch and started moving. It gathered speed and left the station. But NO Kevin. I left the compartment and walked up and down the corridor, looking into other compartments. Still NO Kevin. I walked through every carriage to the front of the train. Still NO Kevin. I was beginning to panic, he’d missed the train. The last four carriages of the train were inaccessible. The adjoining door over the coupling was locked, because at Lausanne they split the train and the back carriages were going to be hooked up to another train that was going to Yugoslavia. After about half an hour I went to the side door of the carriage, pulled down the window and leaned out for some fresh air. I was looking straight ahead at the scenery and I heard a familiar voice to my right. Kevin’s head was leaning out of the adjacent side door behind the locked, and partitioned train. 

“What the hell are doing there  mate, I thought you’d missed the train.” 

Kevin shouted back…

“I got on the wrong bloody carriage, the guards are all Yugoslavians, they’re laughing at me, and told me I’m on my way to Zagreb and then Belgrade. It’s awful in here, standing room only. They’re even sleeping on the luggage racks.” 

We bantered about his upcoming “long holiday” in a Communist dictatorship. A laughing Guard kicked him off the rear of the train in Lausanne, and he rejoined the journey towards civilisation. Someone had gifted him some chocolate and a spicy sausage, living proof that Kevin was never going to starve to death amongst strangers or communists. 

Kevin’s parents had a large apartment in Milan and a villa on Lake Maggiore. There was a Fig Tree in the villa garden. We borrowed his mum’s blender, plundered the fridge for milk, and made some fabulously large Fig Milkshakes one morning. Fortunately there were two bathrooms in the villa. We didn’t go to the lake that afternoon. 

His mum’s food was fabulous. And there was a local Pizzeria near the village that sold glorious Pizzas that were so big they were difficult to carry. And only a few lire each. 

I remember learning to Water Ski on the lake. On my first go I splattered into the water and my swimming trunks came off. I dived deep to retrieve them because Kev was trying to get the speedboat to turn quickly so that my embarrassment would be evident to all of his siblings. He didn’t succeed..! 

The lake is wide, I rowed about a mile out from the beach in a rubber dinghy with one of his sisters. I could see his mum waving at me. I waved back happily. Eventually we got back, his mum had gone up to the villa to cook some dinner. Kevin was chuckling as I waded into the beach. “Mum was going nuts about an hour ago, she thought you were going to paddle off to Switzerland with Nicole!” I said “Don’t be daft that’s 35 miles away.” I didn’t get ticked off, I think she was too busy and forgot. 

We used to sneak into Arona, the town up the road for a bit of underage drinking, and loud music. There was an Italian lager called Moretti. We used to buy that because we couldn’t afford the Peroni. There was always Wine. The Italians also made Fanta, it was far more Orangey than the stuff made elsewhere. I learned a bit of Italian. Kev poked fun at my accent, but his was fluent, his mother was Italian, his father was English. 

Kevin had a younger brother and three sisters. One of the summers I went with my twin sister. Kevin’s siblings also had friends visiting. The place was always a hive of activity and hospitality. The beach by the lake was a favourite spot. Kevin was a bit of a Pied Piper, a lot of people gravitated towards him. It’s absolutely no surprise to me that he ended up working for the United Nations, and other disaster relief organisations. Kevin was a natural humanitarian. Quirky, fun to be around, deeply caring about other human beings. And quick to look out for other people, often at his own expense, because he needed looking after too. 

After school he came up to Norwich whilst I was in College there, and eventually moved on to Denmark. Life took us in different directions, we stayed in touch sporadically. Then social media and smartphones arrived. During our chat on his birthday last January we talked about getting together, taking it for granted that we had plenty of time. Seeing his face, hearing his familiar laughter and jokes. “Let’s get together later this year” we said to each other. 

We took the mickey out of each other knowing that our friendship was enduring, and never going to end. But now you’ve gone Kev. I’m gutted. What a wonderful friend you were. Thank you, and your family, for the wonderful memories, your generosity, warmth and your brotherly love. 

Written by Jonathan Skipper (73E)