Steven Isserlis

The person in question, who has died at far too young an age, is Tessa Gaisman, the wonderful chairman of IMS. We are all reeling from the news; alas, it was expected – but by no means so soon. Tessa was extremely down-to-earth, no-nonsense; drama really wasn’t her thing, far less self-pity. So it was that most of us remained completely unaware of her illness until the past few months, even though her disease had , it now transpires, been diagnosed eight years ago. She absolutely refused to be seen as an ill person, carrying on with life as normal till the very end. Less than two weeks ago, she was still meeting people for dinner; then, suddenly, she was gone. Hard to believe – and we don’t want to believe it.

The title of chairman of an organisation doesn’t necessarily convey an idea of closeness to the members of that organisation. Indeed, many arts bodies are chaired by people who are, along with (in some cases) the members of the boards they chair, not particularly interested in the artistic or personal side of the organisation. They see their task as primarily keeping the finances on an even keel. That’s why orchestras, for instance, often fall out with their chairmen, who cannot see why the orchestra doesn’t play popular classics in every programme, why there are so many salaried members, etc. It can be a very uncomfortable mix.

Tessa was another thing altogether. Not only was she passionate about the music at Prussia Cove; she was also passionate about the musicians, both younger and older – and about the many other people involved in the running of the seminars. They in turn loved her, and spending time with her; many of the young musicians would end up staying at her family house in London after the courses, or during the tours that follow on from Open Chamber Music. She made them feel utterly at home, like part of the family. Warm-hearted, impossibly generous and delightfully witty, she made everyone around her feel better – even towards the end of her life.

From my own point of view: as well as being deeply fond of her as a person, I was, as the artistic director of IMS, deeply grateful that she was so understanding of any artistic project, no matter how ambitious, that came up. Not that she was in any way impractical – she knew that everything had to be paid for; but she would immediately latch on to the idea behind the scheme, and (so long as she approved of it in the first place) would do her utmost to make it happen. Together, she and our beloved administrator Rosie Yeatman could accomplish miracles. I remember only one occasion on which Tessa baulked, which was when I grandly announced, several years ago, that no participant should ever have to pay – as most had done up until then – for taking part in the September session of the seminar, Open Chamber Music. She tried to reason with me gently; but no – I put my pompous artistic director’s foot down with a firm hand, and insisted. I prevailed, too – with the result that the whole seminar slid dangerously into debt, and almost went bankrupt. We survived, however, and seemed to be back on an even keel surprisingly soon. I did slightly wonder how that had happened – but it was only much later that I found out (not through Tessa, of course) that Tessa and her husband Jonathan had felt obliged quietly to save us with an anonymous donation. Ahem.

Mention of Jonathan, Tessa’s lawyer husband, leads me to the wonderful Gaisman family, another much-loved fixture at IMS, the three children having been at the seminars from early childhood onwards. What a tribe! All so outstanding in their different ways – and all so loveable. One late-night feature of the seminars I shall miss terribly is the sight of Jonathan and Tessa bickering at the end of the evening. He – the sort of person who seemingly knows every piece of music ever written, can quote at will from an apparently endless array of literature and poetry in several languages, can discourse on the visual arts, on wine, on politics etc until the cows come home and go out again – would finally, having roundly (and charmingly) defeated anyone foolish enough to enter into an argument with him, decide that it was bed-time. ‘Come on Tessa old girl,’ he would announce. ‘Time to go.’ She might favour him with a brief glance, but would then turn back to the young musician or helper pouring his or her heart out to her. This would go on for some time, turning into quite an argument (in which one of them might be supported by their daughter Imogen, whose word carries a very special weight) until one of them prevailed, with either Tessa being dragged off, or Jonathan persuaded to sit down for another glass of wine. It was a pretty even match, I’d say, between perfectly contrasted equals – without a moment’s doubt that they were utterly devoted to each other. (As well as to the children, of course – and latterly, I’m sure, to the grandchildren, although all Tessa wrote to me when the first grandson was born was that he was ‘quite acceptable’. Not exactly one to gush…)

She will be painfully missed. Someone asked me yesterday for anecdotes about Tessa. Maybe others can come up with some, but I couldn’t, and can’t; she just wasn’t an anecdote person! She was simply Tessa, a part of the fabric of all our lives, quietly amused, endlessly thoughtful, and full of undemonstrative, deep affection for anyone lucky enough to get close to her. A truly good person. Farewell, Tessa – and thank you, thank you for everything.