Nicholas Courtney - Lord of the Isle: The Extravagant Life and Times of Colin Tennant

It is so typical of Colin Tennant, the 3rd Baron Glenconner, that a biography of him does not end with his dramatic death outside the hospital in Souffrire in St Lucia for, as in his eventful life, his story twists and turns in many diverse and unexpected directions.

For the funeral in early September 2010 I joined the immediate family of Anne, his wife of fifty-four years, the twins, Amy and May, the daughters-in-law, Tessa Tennant with her son Euan, and Sheilagh with her son Cody (then a strapping lad aged 16 and now the 4th Baron Glenconner and 5th Baronet), along with Joshua Bowler, Colins recently discovered son, on the Virgin Atlantic flight to St Lucia. It was not a particularly mournful journey, as no one really believed that Colin would not be there to greet us at the airport. But when the white-clad figure was missing from his usual corner, from where he could espy the disembarking passengers, it finally dawned on us that he really had gone forever.

We went straight to the optimistically named Lazarus Funeral Home. While I said farewell to my friend of over forty years, Anne and the girls were choosing the coffin. The choice was not difficult, for the single plain one in oak stood out amongst the array of white, shiny plastic versions with silver rococo handles and stable-door type lids to show off the deceased. At Beau, Maharukh Desai, who had aided Colins passion for collecting antique Indian jewellery, was waiting for us, having flown in from India that morning. It was all very strange with no Colin there to organise us, and Kent Adonai, his factotum and friend for thirty years, was still very weepy. But there was much to do. Various politicians and local dignitaries called on Anne: we called on the Roman Catholic priest of Our Lady of Lourdes in Choiseul to discuss the funeral service even though Colin, if he was anything, was lapsed Church of Scotland. The tiny priest, who came from India, had his own format and we only just managed to include two Anglican hymns in the order of service. I gave an interview down the line to the BBCs Last Word. It was all very poignant. I said that one of Colins greatest legacies was how he had changed the lives of countless numbers of people, myself included. One night we all dined with Lyton and Eroline Lamontagne at Fond Doux, Lyton being another of Colins protgs.

At dawn on the day of the funeral, I showed my fellow pall-bearers the clip on YouTube of the Irish Guards carrying The Queen Mothers coffin out of St Georges Chapel. Josh and his son Patrick, Sheilaghs sons Cody and Matthew Scott, and Euan and I practised the slow march with a couple of teak loungers around the swimming pool. Euan, at least six inches taller than the rest of us, threw the bier at an impossible angle, so I suggested that he went before us with a large bunch of heather that he brought from Glen, the seat of the Tennants in the Borders. Meanwhile Kent had dressed Colins body in a magnificent Indian coat, gold-embroidered shoes and a silk wedding kurta with churida (trousers), along with a golden crown and the Tipu Sultan white jade amulet he always wore.

The Mustique contingent flew up for lunch and, as St Lucia tradition dictates, the mourners filed past Colins coffin in the Great House only with the lid closed. The coffin turned out to be solid oak, so heavy that we pall-bearers could barely carry it to the hearse, a converted black pickup truck with an illuminated cross on the roof. At Choiseul all the townsfolk were about in the street, while the members of the local chapter of La Woz, a historic Creole cultural society of The Rose, who mark every important happening on the island, were seated under a canopy. There were the king and queen, prince and princess, doctor, magistrate, policemen, nurses and soldiers, all dressed in white and red satin, with red sashes denoting their rank.

The church was full. There had been many wakes for Colin in the villages around Souffrire, and one representative from each attended the funeral. The service was traditional. An octogenarian altar boy removed the flowers, St Lucia flag and Colins hat from the coffin and replaced them with a pall. The local Member of Parliament, Marcus Nicholas, gave the address; the hymns were sung with gusto, prayers were intoned. Bryan Adams, the Canadian rock singer-songwriter sang the traditional folk song He Was aFriend of Mine. It was indeed appropriate as he was so fond of Colin.

The service over, the St Lucia flag and Colins hat restored to the coffin, we pall-bearers then struggled to put it on our shoulders to march out of the church. We staggered up the hill through Choiseul, then down to the cemetery to the grave (carefully sited in view of the sea) Colin had bought a decade earlier. The coffin was lowered into the grave, gleaming white for the twins had painted it the day before. Hardly had the coffin touched the deep bottom before wet mortar was slapped onto the top edge and large concrete slabs sealed the tomb. The committal was a happy affair, with the members of La Woz dancing with the other mourners. The doctor even took her stethoscope to Kent: it was the first time he smiled since Colin had died. The dancing and the drinking continued in Choiseul until the tiny hours of the morning, and when the party was over, Mr Tennants had finally gone.

Im the Horrible Colin Tennant! was how the 4-year-old son of the second Baron Glenconner innocently described his Honourable status to strangers. Few murmurs of dissent were heard, especially from his nanny. His mother, Pamela Paget, had perforce married Lord Christopher Glenconner at Wells Cathedral in 1925, in a lavish ceremony designed by the bridegrooms brother, the epicene Stephen Tennant, who dressed the bridesmaids in colours taken from the cathedrals stained glass, and turned up with a snake and tortoise concealed in his pockets. Colin was born the next year, on 1 December, at their home 76 Sloane Street, Chelsea, in the heart of London.