Meeting Lyall
Watson
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
I met Lyall
because it was raining. Let me explain. Cyril
Rosenberg was my furrier in the 70s when it was
not taboo to wear fur coats and hats.
He had made me a beautiful Canadian red fox coat
with ‘Jill’ embroidered on the tan
satin lining. I was going for a final fitting but
Mr Rosenberg was not in his workshop. The
showroom was in Woodstock Street centrally
located, running off Bond Street.
What to do? Where to go in the rain? Luckily I
saw that there was the Woodstock Art Gallery on
the same premises.
I gingerly ventured down the stairs into a
contrasting artistic atmosphere and met the
gallery owner, a friendly middle aged man called
Lyall Watson. That snowballed into meeting many
artists as Lyall changed the exhibitions every
month. I got friendly with David Lach from Mexico,
Juan Carlos Stekelman from Buenos Aires and Ed
Badajos from The Philippines. I became a regular
every month and used to help serve the drinks and
put out the nibbles.
Lyall’s wife, half his age, was Judy from
Hong Kong. They came to stay with me at my flat
in Paris at 27 rue Campagne Premiere. I recall
Lyall accidentally locking me out of my flat one
night and I had to sleep on a camp bed at a
neighbour’s flat.
Lyall had had a French lady before Judy and had
strong connections with France.
I remember he came to my wedding in 1983 and I
remember going to visit him in hospital toward
the end of his life. He was very bitter and told
me Judy was very violent and tried to kill him
with a knife. But was it really true? Lyall died
in 1994 so we were friends for many years and I
think of him fondly.
Written
4/12/24 at Nightingale.
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