It’s just gone 1.30am here and in my jet lagged state of mind my sleep was broken by a phone call from my mother telling me that my uncle had lost his very short battle with heart and liver problems.
I know things were very touch and go as he was not in a very good way. I saw him last December and he seemed very healthy and active. Looking back over the last decade he was actually very fit for a man his age. Always cycling to the shops, running when he good, was a vegetarian, drank in moderation and quit smoking a long time ago. I’m not sure what caused his sudden decline in health, it could have been hereditary, and it could have been something else.
My earliest memories of mu uncle were through our love of boxing. He would tell me tales about the trips he would take to the Old Kent Road in London to watch Boxing in the Thomas A Beckitt pub. As a six year old I would watch boxing matches with him in Bristol and it was purely that reason that began my martial arts career.
Of course as the years went on and I grew older the visits would become less frequent. It was the death of his only son, aged 31, that made the visits become more frequent. On my dads side of the family I can count nine aunties and uncles but on my mothers side I can count only two. From memory I’ve lost more on my mother’s side than my fathers which is a strange equation considering the number of relatives.
The last real time I spent with my uncle was in 2004 in Portugal for two weeks. We would sit around the pool talking about London and I always remember he would talk in Cockney Rhyming Slang which I could never understand! There is no doubt that the death of his son hit him hard as one begins to feel responsible for the things that they never did when they were alive. But as with life we only know what’s best when it is gone. The last several times that I went to see him he would always make an effort to come down to his conservatory and have a beer with me, we would talk about our love of London and boxing and he would crack the usual jokes that I so often heard.
As we progress into middle age we tend to see less and less of the relatives that we did as children and I feel if anything that is the fault of us growing older rather than anything else. We become too “busy” and other things take precedence in our lives. Which in reality is utter bullshit.
I sit here, 7000 miles away, knowing that my family are going through a very difficult time. My aunty has lost a husband, my cousin has lost a father, and my mother has lost her brother in law.
I’m not Christian. I am Pagan, I don’t believe in Heaven but I do believe in the Summerland’s. I hope somewhere my Uncle Derek and my Cousin Scott are playing a game of cricket as we often used to do when I was a child.
In four weeks time my final moments in London will be spent down the Old Kent Road which is where my uncle would watch his boxing and was also the very first road I lived. Whilst I planned a few farewell drinks to toast the memories of my decade in London I will also be raising a few glasses to my Uncle and thank him for all he gave me in my life.
RIP Derek Hill. See you again. Thank you for the memories
A song that reminds me of your love of London!
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=alQiqTOkePE]
Goodbye Derek. Here is to life and love. Everyone reading this. Tell those who you love that you love them.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eiOHpWYlr9Q]
