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When the Sherlock Holmes Society of London was founded in 1951, Mr. Roberts (as he then was) was invited to be its first President, an office he filled until his death in 1966. Although it was a courtesy position, as President Sir Sydney took the chair when he could. His wit and his joy in parody were evident whenever he presided at the Annual Dinner, in January. And when the dinner was over, he would, unceremoniously, visit “Sherlock Holmes” for a half of bitter, like any undergraduate, before catching the late train back to Cambridge.
He named a railway locomotive “Sherlock Holmes” in1953, breaking a bottle of Beaune over the nameplates donated by the Society and, with obvious boyish pleasure, then travelled on the footplate for the inaugural journey.
Sir Sydney’s writings on the Canon were limited; but what he did write was choice, in the selection of subject matter, subtle wit, carefully chosen adjective, perceptive comprehension, and in stern insistence upon regard for data. Fanciful notions, built upon speculation, ever attracted his scorn. These rare gifts were to be found in all his writings, from his review of Knoxius’ studies to his fugitive contributions in The Sherlock Holmes Journal and in The Oxford Magazine and they shone in his biography of Dr. Watson, a slim volume that experts have pronounced to be the last word on the subject.
Sir Sydney served as Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge University 1949 – 1951, during which time he put on record that Holmes was an Oxonian. And the Society benefited from his position as Fellow and Master of Pembroke College, Cambridge, twice as he stood host to the Society’s whole day excursions to Cambridge in 1956 and 1964. He presided at luncheon in the Hall of his College, and by extending this invitation gave a real, practical fillip to the Society’s tradition of investigating cases at the scene of their commission.
On one of our visits to Cambridge, he took us to view his College chapel. As a group of us walked along the cloister, we saw the names of college members who had fallen in the war. Jabbing a finger at one name, the Master said suddenly, proudly, “My son!” and hurried us on. There are sadnesses in life, but we can be proud that our first President was always happy in our circle of fellow-Holmesians, fellow- Bohemians.
This summary is based on the obituary written by Colin Prestige which appeared in the SHJ 8/1 Winter1966
