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will never sell. I value this painting above everything else I own. The old man died when I
was eleven and the strength of my memories of him and the value I place on his legacy bear

witness to the mark that he made on people.

The move to Hermanus did not last very long and it was here that the last paintings of his

career were produced. I have a feeling that these were more paintings which pleased him and
which enabled him to indulge a hobby, rather than being a serious extension of a career that

had already brought him recognition and honour. For example, I have a painting of a vessel in
Walker Bay which he did for me. This depicts an incident that I remember to this day and

which enthralled me at the time. Clearly, my mother and I were visiting him in Hermanus, and
this particular vessel diverted from her course around Southern Africa to enter Walker Bay to

allow the second officer to see his mother for the first time in years. The weather, however,

did not play along and a transfer from the fishing boat, which took the mother out to the
vessel, proved too dangerous. They were, however able to exchange greetings for a short

while as the two vessels ran parallel. (Fig. 4.27)

A Reflection

At the time of his death Pilkington was living with us in St. James. My grandmother had died

some years earlier in “Oriana” of an asthma attack, and her death left him lost and confused.
His last few years were spent quietly. He did little, if any, painting. I remember him saying

goodnight to me the night he died. He didn’t say goodnight in the usual manner. He simply

said “goodbye my boy”.

The editor of a 1960 and 1970s magazine of the World Ship Society (Cape Town Branch),
called Flotsam and Jetsam, said this of his personal recollection of the man – a “quiet, well-

groomed man wearing a bow tie and moving silently and unobtrusively about the gallery.
Here was the artist himself; no long-haired exhibitionist relying on violent effects and