The first week of November may be the Melbourne Cup and springtime ... but it is also, for me, a time tinged with tears. Twelve years ago, on 4 November, my Ian died in my arms, here mid the green, green grass of Gerolstein. So those of you who knew him, do take a minute out to remember this wonderful man ...
Not many still alive will remember him as a bright young thing of the Sydney 1930s ...
I wonder who the others were. Rada Penfold Russell, I would imagine ... and ...?
Not many, either, will remember him as the very serious war correspondent of the Sydney Morning Herald, the youngest (and most wideawake) journalist at the Nuremberg trials ..
This is how I like to remember him. In the 1970s and 1980s, when we had become a couple ..
I still have that jersey. It's scheduled for the Sally Ann this week....
So many happy years in London, and then in France ...
Until we were forced, after Ian's first two strokes, to flee back to the English-speaking south: eventually to the beautiful surroundings of Gerolstein, Sefton, Canterbury ...
This photo was taken shortly before his death. Twelve years ago.
We are still here, Wendy and I. And Ian is too. In spirit and also ... well, I buried his little box of ashes in my garden, and Wendy planted some beautiful yellow irises to mark the spot. They flower in November ...
And life has moved on. His wheelchair ramp has become the habitat of others ..
And the view from his spot on his bedroom-suite deck has changed somewhat, courtesy of earthquakes and storms ...
I now sleep where he used to sleep ... until the day comes, I suppose, when it's my turn. But, in the meantime, we will remember him, not only in November but all of the time ...
I hope you who knew him will too.
Thank You for The Memory
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