A King Edward VI scholarship boy, he made no impression there, but qualified as an apprentice draughtsman from Supermarine. Following his two years National Service, he went on a coach trip to Europe and fell in love with all things French, particularly Van Gogh. Emigrating to Canada in the mid-50s, he took to painting seriously because he "had no piano and had to do something".
This is when he became remarkable. He taught himself by reading, observing and studying the modern masters, not copying but using their techniques. Two years later he returned to his parent's home in England, a dedicated artist with no prospects. A job at Pirelli Cables on the production side was only a livelihood. After work, he regularly painted for several hours nightly. Lunch-times were spent drawing around the city ("a day without drawing is a day wasted") so, combined with his unforced eye for the unsung, there is an astonishing historical record of vanished buildings. He made two 'pilgrimages' to Arles, recorded in sketchbooks, only to find his inspiration "just outside the back door".
Always a masterly draughtsman with an innate sensitivity, he had to learn to become a painter. For ten years, he fed avidly at an eclectic series of artistic 'tables' until, by 1968 – 9, he was in full flight, expressing himself effortlessly.
The phenomenon is that, in a mere twelve years, by the time he died he was producing, from his own unique vision, powerful images which drew attention, not only locally, but from London (R.A. & Cork St.) and Paris (La Revue Moderne).