By Cristina Leston-Bandeira.
How does one write about someone who you never thought would not be here? How do you put on paper how much that person meant to you? Contrary to David, I’m terrible at writing; he would know what I want to say, without me having to say it.
For no particular reason or design, David Judge became a sort of mentor to me – and this happened without either of us thinking about it, but simply because he was such an extraordinary person and such a pleasure to work with. He was a major intellectual force in parliamentary studies, having looked at pretty much every angle well before many others, just not making much of a fuss about it, whilst also being a wonderful and kind person.
Representation, the incongruities of democratic representation, and theory would become his preferred focus, but he addressed pretty much everything else in parliamentary studies. From his seminal study on petitions in 1978 and his PhD on backbench specialisation in the UK Parliament, to his landmark The Parliamentary State, his series of books on the European Parliament, and our recent co-edited book on Reimagining Parliament, David had an eye to spot what really mattered. Also, he understood intuitively why it mattered to study different legislatures.
And yet, talking to him, you’d never get a sense of the giant scholar he was. He was never one for self-promotion and as much of a self-deprecating academic as there ever was, as illustrated by his responses to the ‘Urgent Questions’ feature of the PSA Parliaments specialist group.
The first time I met David was in Manheim in 1999 at an ECPR Joint Workshop he had put together with Gabriella Ilonszki (Corvinus University of Budapest). I was a young PhD student, away from my 2-year-old son, doing the stuff that we need to do as academics, presenting work at conferences; and very unsure that I had anything to say, especially in a workshop full of big names such as David and Michael Rush (another lovely man and huge in parliamentary studies, now also sadly gone). David obviously put me totally at ease, in a very discreet way, simply because he was kind and he understood what it meant to be unsure and to be away from your young child. Something that not many male academics understood in the late 1990s.
A few years went by, and David was less present in academic circles because he became Head of Department at Strathclyde University’s School of Government. I never worked at Strathclyde, but I know how dedicated he was to the role and how it took him away from the research and writing he so loved. He had the good sense to take early retirement and regain time for thinking and writing.
He should have been just enjoying his very well deserved retirement of course, but he kept answering the call to do more. He enjoyed the challenge of new ideas, whilst making the most of being away from academia as such. It was thanks to this that I had the privilege to work with him and co-author a couple of articles and co-edit a book. He also kept a close eye on what was happening and every so often would email me with ideas of things that needed pursuing.
To talk of David without mentioning his Lorraine, and Ben and Hannah, though, is not to mention David at all. David was so proud of his family. Every opportunity was good enough to mention Lorraine and her hope of travel and time away from work; the immense pride in his children, the repairs in Hannah’s flat, Ben’s wedding. They were all always just next to David.
The last time David and I met in person was at the Political Studies Association annual conference hosted by Strathclyde University, in 2024. Towards the end of the conference, a panel didn’t sound too appealing and David and I just sat in the corridor chatting; chatting about this and that, past colleagues, academia, family (always family), and yet again I thought what an incredible man he was. A foremost scholar in parliamentary studies whilst incredibly caring and generous.
Whenever I needed advice, whenever things were difficult, I always knew I could count with David’s support. He’d understand, he’d know what to say. One of the last things he told me was to slow down and retire early. You never know what’s ahead and, as Lorraine always reminded him, there is so much more out there than work. And yet, it is thanks to work that David leaves such a huge scholarly legacy. I shall miss him deeply; his generosity, his openness to ideas, his wise perspective over things, his reminder that what really matters are people; wouldn’t academia be so much better if we were all a bit more liked David Judge? Except that he would have been horrified to know I’ve written this;).
About the author
Cristina is a Professor of Politics at the University of Leeds.