Roger died on the evening of 9 November 2025, aged 88.

I first met him in October 1960. He was beginning his fourth year at the Bartlett; I was starting my first. Even then, he carried himself with an easy confidence - never arrogant, simply comfortable in his own skin. Charterhouse had not especially inspired him, but life at the Bartlett suited him far better.

His first job was with James Cubitt and Partners. Roger liked to say he got the position through sheer self-belief, but I suspect his ability, his natural courtesy and his striking appearance played their part. Over six feet tall, with classical features and a head of blonde hair that seemed made for Technicolor, he cut a remarkable figure. He knew he was good-looking but never made anything of it; it was simply part of who he was.

Eager to see the world, he asked to work abroad - and was soon posted to Singapore, Brunei and Kuala Lumpur, where he found himself running the Far East office almost immediately. Life there suited him: warm climates, big skies, responsibility early on. Returning to London must have felt a little flat after all that.

Determined to complete his architectural education, he returned to the Bartlett, and that is where our friendship truly began. Roger was lively, opinionated and impossible to ignore. Professor Corfiato once told him, “Pollard, your trees are nicely drawn but your architecture is bizarre.” It didn’t bother Roger in the least.

He had many friends - I was not the most sociable of the bunch - but he took me on, sure that we would work well together. He imagined the two of us side by side: him keeping spirits high, me keeping us on track. And although I liked to tease him about that arrangement, he worked every bit as hard as anyone in the practice.

Roger, John Edwards and I founded Pollard Thomas Edwards together. We were the practice's first three employees and remained close until John and Roger retired. Roger’s contribution was immense. He was an excellent critic - something honed during his time teaching at Kingston School of Architecture. His comments were always incisive, never harsh. I still remember him looking at the semi-listed stone terrace at Norland Road and saying, “Why don’t you move the whole block?” We did, and the project suddenly made sense. English Heritage even agreed.

He was also a completely natural public speaker. Clear, calm and good-humoured, he could hold the attention of a room with ease - something I have never been able to do. At a difficult meeting with Hammersmith Council in a long, narrow room with dreadful acoustics, I felt nothing but relief knowing Roger would speak for us. He was eloquent without effort; I would have needed pages of notes.

Roger was, above all else, kind. One evening at a birthday party, my son James - then seventeen - got embarrassingly drunk. Without a word, Roger hoisted him onto his shoulder and carried him to our office at Colebrooke Row, made him a makeshift bed and left him to sleep it off. No fuss, no judgement. That was Roger.

His appetites - culinary and otherwise - were legendary. Many at PTE still recall watching him at Pizza Express: he would order two pizzas, fold them together and finish the lot in a few giant bites. We joked he had no taste buds; he encouraged the myth. Ping-pong with Roger was equally unforgettable. He played with wild abandon, unleashing smashes accompanied by a triumphant howl that rarely landed in court - but always raised a smile.

Fishing, though, was his true passion. He read everything, bought the best equipment and travelled widely - from Alaska to Scotland - in search of the perfect catch. Above all places, he loved the River Dovey in North Wales, happily driving through the night just to spend a weekend there.

Roger had excellent taste. His homes reflected this: the modern house in Camden Mews; the Victorian villa in Canonbury; the elegant single-storey house in Wilberforce Road, Cambridge, with its extraordinary garden. Later, he downsized to a village outside Cambridge, and finally to Aberdeen Road in Accordia. Wherever he lived, he made it beautiful.

He always had a fine car - most memorably the 3-litre BMW sports models he adored. His generosity extended even to those: he lent them freely, even after I once managed to knock down a lamp post outside his front door.

Uncontrolled enthusiasm, tempered by genuine warmth, ran through everything he did. He brought lightness where I brought drive; perspective where I brought determination. Together, we made something neither of us could have created alone.

Roger was a lovely man - big-hearted, loyal, generous and full of life. I miss him deeply.

Bill Thomas, co-founder Pollard Thomas Edwards