Apart from his own work as a composer it should not be forgotten that Jim Wilson's contribution to the musical infrastructure in Ireland was considerable.

He was involved in the activities of the Music Association of Ireland and the Association of Irish Composers and was a consultant director of the Performing Right Society prior to the formation of the independent Irish Music Rights Organisation. He was also a committee member and driving force of the still unsurpassed Dublin Festival of Twentieth Century Music and was one of the founder members of Aosdána, Ireland's affiliation of creative artists.

Jim had a great gift for friendship which drew people of all kinds to him. Those of us who were lucky enough to know him will remember his gentle and occasionally subversive humour, his love of travel, gardening and dogs, and his warmly hospitable dinner parties where everything, down to the ice-cream, was made by the host himself.

We all miss him.

Everyone will agree that Jim was a warm-hearted individual with a fantastic wit; in short, always great company. Despite his age, his passing was a shock, particularly since he seemed equally healthy the last few times I met him this summer.

Many composers including myself will also recall getting professional advice from Jim, this was always concise and to the point, even if one didn't always realise it at the time! And on the subject of any music, or any other thing, he was always fascinating, engaging and indeed, most importantly perhaps, engaged.

I first met Jim in the seventies at an SPNM concert in London. We immediately became friends and stayed in close touch ever since. I've sung quite a lot of his music over the years: I remember especially a performance of the orchestral version of A Woman Young and Old at Dublin Festival, and more recently, his Swift opera, but there were lots of chamber pieces too, all written with his customary fluency and responsiveness to aptly-chosen texts. The Windhover, included in a Wigmore Hall series with Alan Hacker in the early 80s won him a deserved rave notice in The Times which he cherished.

When we all saluted Jim on his 80th Birthday, and recorded and launched his special CD for the occasion, I never imagined that it would be so terribly soon that I'd be performing some of the same works at his memorial tribute. Pragmatic and unsentimental as ever, Jim spared us the ordeal of a funeral, but we will remember him with love and joy and hope that his irreverent spirit will continue to cheer us now and in the years to come.

I first met Jim at the 1998 Ennis Composition Summer School and immediately fell in love with his fantastic spirit and easy-going friendliness. One thing that made a particular impact on me at the time was his amazing accent -- one that simply does not exist in England any more. And there was also, of course, his notorious sense of humour, one example of which I reproduce below:

Picture the scene on an old London double-decker bus There's a pretty young woman descending the stairs. A gust of wind blows up her skirts, Munroe-style, and reveals the lack of certain conventionally-present garments. The conductor, noting this with some shock, can only say [insert appropriate accent here], "airy today, innit?", to which she retorts, "What d'yoo expect, fevvers?!".

My cousin Jim has now passed to me the position of oldest member of the family.

He last stayed with my wife Jean and I in June this year and apart from meeting up with family members we had the pleasure of taking him to his first visit to the new Birmingham Symphony Hall for a Stravinsky Concert. It left for us all very happy memories of a unique and much talented man.

Although I only knew Jim for a brief time (since I became his cousin Neil's second wife) I have found his music inspirational -- particularly the piano solo Tree and Moon to which I choreographed a piece for the Natural Movement Group workshop in London last November.

I could never imagine Jim as old. He had such a youthful humour.

In memory of a fine musician and a dear friend.

I was pleased, in recent years, to re-unite Jim with a wartime friend now living in Luxembourg. They had lost touch over the years. He was so grateful and appreciative for that small thought. It was typical of the man.

I was privileged to be both a colleague and friend of Jim's, through my work on the Ennis Composition Summer School (now renamed the Irish Composition Summer School) and through our shared devotion to composing and all things musical. Many will testify to Jim's qualities as a teacher of composition, from their studies with him. As a colleague, I was struck by his generosity of spirit, seemingly endless patience, and the ability to guide the student through the compositional process to a finished piece, often with a distinctive, individual voice. His wisdom and enthusiasm were greatly valued. At the end of each course, Jim would always say that that year's group 'were a particularly nice bunch' -- and it was never an empty comment. He genuinely enjoyed the school and the contact with like-minded young composers it brought him, and I think this kept him young in spirit as well.

On a more personal note, I have many treasured memories of evenings spent in his home (having 'a bite' as he put it (Jim was a wonderful cook) discussing, listening to and playing music. He was constantly curious about hearing new things, and would also seek one's opinion of whatever new work he had just finished. The evening often started with a welcoming GIN and tonic (in that measure!), and would culminate in us swapping places (and pieces) at the piano. I would mention what I was playing, or we would take turns at reading our way through whatever lay open on the piano. Schubert was never far away, and we would marvel at details as we played. He was always generous about any pieces of mine that we would listen to, but also had a knack for constructive criticism which hit home -- never an easy thing among composers!

He was also a very good friend to me at times of sadness, and had a gift for being -- at one and the same time -- a great support as well as someone who respected privacy. I shall miss him dearly -- the economical phone calls (once the arrangement was made, that was it -- no unnecessary glosses for him), the glorious speaking voice (often telling the most ungentlemanly jokes!) and the shared love of music. His modesty about his own work belies the significance of his contribution to Irish music. His extensive output deserves a full assessment. Quite simply, he is irreplaceable.

'You seldom see such a distinguished-looking man.' -- a comment made by a lady of a certain age, member of the audience at the premiere of Jim's Menorah. Jim's unfailing gentlemanly behaviour was combined with a wonderful enjoyment of the absurd. He loved when people stepped over the line while at the same time having little tolerance with either rudeness or pretentiousness. Sharing all his interests, most especially in music but also in literature, dance, gardening, food and of course, people, Jim was responsible for introducing me to the following: the vocal version of Rachmaninov's Vocalise, Dallapiccola, Leni Riefenstahl, Swan Lake (the rose -- not the ballet!), jugged hare, foie gras and three fairytales by Hans Anderson which he recently set to music. My favourite of Jim's works include the two mentioned above, the first very intense and serious, the latter playful, and also his opera Letters to Theo which made me cry.

I remember a great, good and unselfish man -- a real gentleman, full of kindness and always ready to help with his advice and give of his time.

Musicians -- young and old, but particularly budding young composers -- in so many countries, but especially in Ireland, his adopted and beloved country, owe him so much.

I am enriched for having known this gentle and beloved giant.

Jim, your music and your spirit will live on. Rest in Peace.

For your guidance,
Your patience,
Your ability to inspire,

Your independence,
Your commitment,
Your strength.

For your wisdom,
And knowledge,
Your willingness to share,

For your passion,
Your music,
Your self.

Thank you.

I think I was the last of Jim's pupils. He acted as my mentor, superviser and tutor over the past 2 years in preparing for an MA submission. My lessons took place in his beautiful, orderly home. He was always constructive in his numerous comments and very gracious in his hospitality. We often shared lunch together in Dalkey. I was honoured when he accepted an invitation to stay at my home during the last Cork International Choral Festival for a world premiere of one of his choral pieces by the National Chamber Choir. He was a gentleman and a scholar and a great teacher and composer.

Jim always struck me as a very courageous person. Whenever I was with him, he always seemed to impart optimism and energy, whether it was when we were discussing his music, or when he was teaching, or when he was entertaining at home in Killiney. He was a marvelous cook -- I have several recipes of his, notably his Provencal 'tian' -- and a good raconteur. What remains impressive was his ability to continue composing whatever the circumstances. His tenacity enabled his operas to come to fruition, for example, and has made him an inspiration to several generations of composers.

His leadership of the Irish Composition Summer School (in Ennis, in his day) was exemplary and benefitted so many young Irish composers who have gone on to make professional careers. New music in Ireland has a big debt to this warm, generous, gifted man.

The perfect gentleman with a quirky edge. Jim offered so much of himself to young composers. He gave such genuine encouragement when it was needed most.

I'll miss him and am grateful for knowing him.

Of course, like everyone, I was terribly sad to hear of Jim's unexpected death, but still I can't think of him without a chuckle! I'm sure that's how he would want to be remembered!

James Wilson was a rare bird on two accounts: an inspired and individual composer of integrity who was also a consummate craftsman, writing for instruments or voice with love, respect and finely judged skill. His music, like that of his beloved Ravel, never has one note too many or too few, and is thus a joy to perform and hear; always freshly original but without the pretensions of sheer novelty for its own sake. It has contributed greatly to the sum of human and artistic experience, of beauty and quiet humour.

As a man he was endowed with a rare gift for friendship. His wit and acumen were acute but always benevolent; while not suffering fools gladly, he was generally too kind to tell them so. Never effusive, he was however remarkably generous. Our friendship began in 1980 while I was still living in Sweden, when our mutual friend, Danish accordion virtuoso Mogens Ellegard, asked him to write for our trio (with Dutch flautist Rien de Reede) and we performed his Airs and Angels widely. During its creation Jim wrote to ask my advice and comments on the vocal line, and we stayed in touch.

When I was investigating a retirement to Ireland, he invited me to stay with him in Killiney Hill before travelling on, and with delight we became fast friends, though circumstances made my final home to be in my native England. Since then he wrote other song-cycles for me (which I had the pleasure of premiering with Concorde in Dublin) and one summer I was his 'singer-in-residence' on his composers' course in Ennis, a week of hard work but lots of joy, which deepened our mutual respect as musicians, and affection as twin souls.

Through these latter years, when I became unable to travel, we still maintained and developed an ever-closer friendship, even at long-distance. We were the first for each other to ring to share anything that happened, good or bad, or the latest joke. He was like a dear brother to me, his understanding and supportiveness were unique and very precious.

Although his passing was devastating and, as ever, too soon, I know he would be thankful to have such a quick exit. We often discussed our mutual dread of the pain and helplessness of lingering illness. Mercifully, he remained independent and creative until the last. But he leaves us all bereft. He was, in the best sense, a gentleman as well as an immensely gifted composer, whose works will long outlast him. We must be grateful to have had him and his music in our lives, to have shared so much love and laughter... but for once the phrase 'he will sorely be missed' is literally true, because it hurts so much to lose him.

Jim was a friend, a warm friend, a true friend. A friend who always had time to spare for his friends. A friend who made you feel special. A friend who cared enough to call you at odd moment to say he cared. That would have been enough for any relationship but then there was the added bonus of his music, his creatitivity, artistry and intellectual capacity. Always a joy to be with, you never knew where the conversation would lead and what surprise would be revealed.

He never judged, never took umbridge, never spoke ill of his fellow travellers.

He was our friend and we shall miss him greatly. Thanks, Jim, for being you and helping me through some difficult scores.