THIS Saturday will be the third anniversary of the death of one of the most caring, generous, modest and publicity shy, men I’ve ever met.

Ivan Heath was less than three years from his centenary when his life, and contribution to the lives of countless others, came to an end.

I write about him now because the other day I was in conversation with a successful businessman and we got round to the considerable problem of Southend’s homeless.

This chap, who has contributed to civic and business life for years, said his sympathy for those who sleep in shop and office doorways was waning because “they bring it on themselves as drunks or drug addicts”.

I was saddened and thought of Ivan Heath and how he would feel. He was a major benefactor for HARP, the charity that cares for the homeless.

But he never, ever, sought or wanted any publicity.

I know this because I knew Ivan from when we and his wife Vera met through mutual friends.

Back then I knew that Ivan and Vera sadly were never blessed with children of their own. He had owned and ran local printers Perivan Press, employing lots of skilled workers.

He knew that I was loosely linked to a local charity and, to my surprise, he asked me to make sure I let him know where and when the trust’s volunteers would hold their next public meeting as he wished to attend – and so he did.

Just as the chairman asked if there was any other business, Ivan whispered that he wished to say something. I asked that my guest be allowed to speak.

Ivan walked to the front and spoke into the chairman’s ear. What he said, briefly, brought a look of surprise and disbelief to the chairman’s face. As Ivan returned to his seat, the chairman said: “We have just been pledged a very substantial sum to continue our work and to expand its efforts.

The gentleman wishes complete anonymity, but please join me in showing your appreciation.”

Ivan was utterly and genuinely overcome with embarrassment. He rose, nodded and we left the hall and I took him home.

He firmly told me he wished for no publicity and that his anonymity must be assured.

He was a man of his word. The charity did indeed receive a large sum. So did other causes, as time passed, as I began to learn, though I still had to keep my own silence.

Another time Ivan insisted my wife and I must be his guests for a day out with him to the Royal Air Force Club in London’s Piccadilly.

He wanted us to see, before his own days ended, a stained glass window commemorating the Battle of Britain. He’d had it designed, made and installed at a cost of several thousands.

He would definitely not agree with those who say that the homeless are all drunks or druggies.

He would have agreed such individuals should not abuse and foul others’ properties, as some do, but he would surely say that life’s wheel of fortune turns so very badly and sadly for some of life’s saddest losers.