Inside the McLaren Technology Centre, there is a hush - a sense that the whole place is holding its breath, trying to cope with the sudden and wholly unexpected news. There is a palpable feeling of disbelief, even as a pair of Anthracite-clad minions lower the Union Flag to half-mast. Moving smoothly through the pristine corridors, we can taste the loss emanating from every door...
...no less so as we approach the Granite Portal of his Ronship's mighty office. We see Martin Whitmarsh stood without, head bowed in silent reflection. Presently the Portal opens silently, just wide enough to admit him into Ron's noble presence...
RD: Martin...I...er, I am currently bereft of the requisite vocabulary to express the feelings of lachrimosity, grief and, indeed, no small measure of regret at the passing of Biomaton no.22's patriarch. It has failed to escape my attention that such feelings are permeating the entire McLaren Racing Concern's facilities at present. How may one achieve a satisfactorily fitting tribute to this man, who, reprehensible though I found his proclivities to be, performed such surprisingly effective service in fostering the endearment of the McLaren family to F1 fandom?
MW: Er...I know you & John weren't the best of friends Ron, but that is very kind of you to offer. We're all feeling a bit shell-shocked, to be honest. I've given Jenson the rest of the week off from the simulator.
RD: Of course - that is only right and proper under the circumstances. Have Biomaton no.20 fill in for the duration, would you?
MW: Er...it will be done Ron.
RD: Splendid. Now - I am minded to facilitate the memorialisation of John Button in some manner. Nothing too extravagant, however. Do you have any thoughts, Martin?
MW: Er...I'm not sure Ron - it all seems a bit pointless now, doesn't it?
RD: Indeed not Martin - despite his noisome habits, and infuriatingly obtuse view of Cleanliness and Order and the McLaren Way and Purpose, I do understand that he really had the interests of Biomaton no.22's, and by extension, McLaren's good standing at the core of his actions. That is not an insignificant marker to lay against one who, when all is said and done, was never actually employed by ourselves, is it not?
MW: (brightens slightly) Er...since you put it like that Ron, yes - I suppose he did, didn't he?
RD: I am glad you concur. I would be deluding my august person not to recognise the fact. I believe I may have a fitting tribute for the man in mind - kindly accompany me to the main lobby, would you?
The two man enter Ron's private lift, and emerge into the vast sweeping lobby, walking past the McLaren F1s, the MP4/4 and the gleaming trophy cabinet, we see them stop in front of a particularly luxuriant pot plant...
...a gleaming plaque on the pot itself bears the testimony:
In Memoriam John Button.
Father, Friend and Ally of McLaren
He always gave that little bit extra
We Will Not See His Like Again.
R.I.P.
Wiping away a tear, Martin shakes Ron's hand...
MW: Thankyou Ron - it's what he would have wanted...
RD: (wiping away a small tear of his own) Yes, I thought so too. Will you join me for a commiseratory glass of Shiraz, Martin?
We leave the two men to their remembrance.
(Author's Note - this was far from easy to write, unspurprisingly! RIP John Button - my favourite F1 personality. I hope you can forgive me taking liberties with your character over the last couple of years, but you made me laugh, and I wanted to share how much I enjoyed seeing you support your son all these years. From a fellow Somerset lad, I will miss you terribly, even though I never met you in person. Sadness abounds!)
smilie.
