top of page
  • Writer's pictureDavid Mathews

Cecile Joan Charrot

A friend died last week. We hadn't seen her for years, which might seem remiss on our part, but these things happen. She was still a friend. Joan, we always called her, but it turns out she was Cecile Joan.

There's something refreshing about learning a new fact about someone, even a slight thing like a given name. As you play with the novel information, it brings the person to mind. What did Joan think of Cecile? I reckon it's a perfect name for someone who drove a red sports car and ran a couple of dachshunds, but Joan must have had a different take on it.

And there was Gordon, Joan's husband. We were colleagues and, in no time at all, friends. Gordon died decades ago, but I miss him to this day, for his warmth and sense of fun and all-round encouragement. Damn it, why do we have to lose good people?

But we do. I find myself recognising the qualities of those we miss in others we now meet. Maybe you think that's just too sentimental. Well, tough.

50 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page