What sort of person was he?
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He had strong convictions throughout his life. These led him to cut short his articles to Isaac Barradale early in 1884 and to break off the partnership with Ernest Barnsley in about 1903. It was probably the volume of his correspondence as a young student which drove William Morris to write to his daughter, May, in 1885:
‘Thank you for sending on Gimson’s letter: though I will say this of him:
There is a young person named Gimson
I could wish that he never had limbs on
For then, do you see
His writing to me
Would have been a tough matter to Gimson.’
As the same time his strength of character and vision enabled him to achieve a great deal both as a designer and as an employer of craftsmen.
He was a great walker all his life. Maggie Gimson remembered walking with him from Leicester to Sapperton in Gloucestershire in about 1900. It took them four or five days covering about 20 miles a day. The distance along the Fosse Way is about 75 miles.
Gimson enjoyed theatre and music particularly the light operas of Gilbert and Sullivan. He had a good singing voice and was regularly involved in amateur dramatics. He obviously impressed William Morris when they met in Leicester in 1884 and he quickly became part of the circle of younger men round Morris when he moved to London in 1886. According to the silversmith and jeweller, John Paul Cooper, the two men became friends one evening spent discussing and quoting poetry. He recalled that Gimson was, ‘great at telling amusing tales of his friends but it was kindly done.’ In 1889 Morris proposed his election to the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings and Gimson became a member of the committee alongside Philip Webb, Sidney Cockerell, Emery Walker and Morris himself. They met regularly every Thursday evening and after the committee meetings adjourned to Gatti’s, an eating house in Charing Cross Road for tea and conversation.
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Walker, the printer and associate of William Morris, got to know Gimson in London in the late 1880s. Following the move to the Cotswolds in 1893, Walker was one of many London friends to visit Gimson and the Barnsleys for weekends and holidays. Dorothy Walker, his only child, was twenty-one on their first long holiday in the Cotswolds in the summer of 1899. She was charmed by Gimson. She described days trying out the chair making lathe in the workshop, drawing, playing croquet and walks and picnics and evenings spent playing games or listening to his creepy ghost stories and songs. Here are some of the entries from her diary:
Sunday, August 27th:
Mr Gimson gave us tea in The Nuns' Walk, and the Barnsleys and he came to supper. Very jolly evening. Enjoyed it very much. Mr G. ridiculous. He was very funny and teasing.
Wednesday, August 30th:
Made cakes. After dinner, thunderstorm. I swept the barn. At 4 all Pinbury assembled for tea, after which we had lovely games of all kinds. 1 liked 'Adverbs' best, I think, but what was finest was Mr Gimson's reciting of Lord Dunsany - his stammer. Then home to supper and bed.
Saturday, September 2nd:
Rode to meet Miss Starr and drove back in wagonette. Very busy getting ready for the Supper in the barn. So exciting! It was lovely. We played 'Blind Man's Bluff' and 'Lodgings to Let'. Simply lovely. Mr Gimson sang several songs, especially 'Coming down from Bangor'.
Friday, September 8th:
Went to draw Mr Gimson's cottage. He asked me in to tea and showed me some of the drawings he did when he was 21, and was so encouraging and kind to me.
Friends and colleagues such as Alfred Powell and Fred Griggs commented on his warmth, sincerity and ability to notice and enjoy the good in everything.
As he grew older Gimson became more and more uncomfortable in big cities. After his death, the architect and engraver Fred Griggs remembered how once:
‘…when we had a long wait in Manchester, we spent the time over a tea-table in a corner (to which he had hurriedly dragged me, as if we were pursued) and surprised the waitress by shyly asking if we could be given ‘something made in the country.’
His last visit to London was a short one, during the illness that proved fatal. We had taken him up to see a specialist from whom a hopeful verdict would have meant a longer stay and an operation; when we had to return the same afternoon to Paddington, he alone could smile – because he was not to stay in London, but could return to the country and his home for the last few days.’