A tribute to John Fingleton
An appreciation of the Taverners life of John ‘Fingers’ Fingleton by Felix Francis.
I joined the Lord’s Taverners back in the late 1990s and, as a ‘new boy’, I went to my first Taverner Christmas Lunch at the Hilton Hotel on Park Lane with some trepidation. I knew no one, but someone at head office clearly decided to sit me next to an ‘old hand’, someone who could show me the ropes. Or perhaps no one else wanted to be seated there!
Hence, I was introduced to John ‘Fingers’ Fingleton, a character who was larger-than-life in every way. His first question to me as I sat down next to him was “Have you lots of money?” “Some.” I replied. “Good,” he said with a laugh. “I’m conducting the auction, so I’ll take some of it off you!” And he did!
After that first lunch, we became friends, firm friends.
“Be wary of that man,” someone once warned me. “He’s the second rudest man in the world.” “Who’s the first?” I asked. “His elder brother,” came the reply. Then his brother died, so Fingers took over the mantle as number 1. And, yes, he could be rude, very rude. He was also stubborn and would never admit when he was in the wrong – which was often. However, despite this, our friendship flourished, and we spent many a Taverners event pleasantly in each other’s company, with me often cajoled by him into bidding in the auction.
During his time as a charity auctioneer, he raised more than £11million pounds for various good causes, but the Lord’s Taverners was always his favourite, never charging them for his services, as he did with all the others – it was how he made his living. I bought many items from under his hammer, including several bags of air, which he would auction when he felt there was still money in the room not yet spent on more appealing items.
Fingers was greatly honoured to be a member of the Lord’s Taverners.
Always one for wearing striped blazers in the colours of his many clubs – famously the MCC and Heartaches Cricket Club – he acquired several metres of cloth woven in the Taverners blue, green and red, and dispatched it to a friendly tailor in Hong Kong with strict instructions for the blazer to be ready in time for an upcoming cricket match at Windsor in the presence of Prince Philip, the Twelfth Man.
However, his delight at the prompt arrival of the package from afar turned to despair when he opened it. The tailor had made his blazer with the stripes running horizontally rather than the expected vertical. Unperturbed, Fingers wore it anyway and it became his trademark attire at all future Taverner events.
Fingers at Windsor Castle umpiring in his infamous horizontal striped Lord’s Taverners Blazer
He adored cricket, although more as a spectator or an umpire, rather than as a player. Over the years, he mentored many young cricketers, including Ben Duckett, a fellow old boy of Stowe School, who scored 149 for England in their famous Test match win over India at Headingly in June, on the very day that Fingers died.
He would have been so immensely proud of his protégé.
Fingers knew everyone who was worth knowing, from royalty and the rich and famous down to the Stowe School maintenance men, so it was no surprise to me that he was already a friend of my wife, Debbie, before I met her. He was even godfather to her daughter, and he would often stay at our home for Christmas.
Whenever I needed help or advice, I would call him first. He would proofread my novels, determined to find my errors – of which there would usually be many. And, in 2007, it was Fingers who saved my father’s life, finding him a hospital bed in London after a Miami clinic had given up on him.
Rude – yes. Irascible – definitely. Exasperating – always.
But he was also a hugely loyal and steadfast friend. And very funny.
I am missing him terribly, and I can’t really believe that he has gone.
When I last went to see him in hospital just two days before he departed this world, I told him that Debbie and I were going to Greece the following morning for a week.
Both he and I knew he wouldn’t survive that long.
He beckoned me to come close to him, and he spoke with difficulty.
“Don’t bother with a postcard.”
Sharp to the end, he never lost his sense of humour.
We are all the poorer for his passing.
John Anthony Fingleton: born 15 September 1948, died 24 June 2025