201. GMB

So many memories of my uncle George make me smile. But as the days pass I realise that, funny as he undoubtedly was, it is his kindness and wisdom that I keep in my heart.

I've been thinking about all the time I spent with him over the years. He was the writer and star of a major TV show, and must have been both distracted and tired. But he always welcomed me with literally open arms, and looked after me as assiduously as if he had nothing better to do.

Those days with George were a source of real happiness. He had a special talent for making a person feel many times greater than the sum of their parts. He had a smile for anybody and everybody, but he only actually TWINKLED if he thought you were fab. Plus, he thought that each member of his family had the capacity to achieve whatever they wanted, provided they were willing to work for it. So he taught me to screw up the paper and stamp on it, or throw the book across the room and in doing so remember who is in control. Not the material - the writer.

Many many memories, most of them good. But it only took one moment to bind me to him forever...

It's the day of my father's funeral. George comes to the house before the ceremony - I don't think we could have kept him away. He takes me through my reading, helping me find the right pauses and rhythm. He reminds me to breathe. He's gentle, kind, but clear. He knows that too many squeezes and twinkles will prompt tears, and they are not useful at this moment. We have to get through it.

At the doors of the church. I must have been rather pale. My mother has three children - and the small one was really only tiny – but only two hands. She takes the two boys in with her. And the moment has come. I've got to go in there. It's really happening. Without pause George takes my hand in his large, warm one. 'You come in with me, Georgie.' he says. 'We can do it together.'

He never really let go of my hand after that, or I his.

GMB. 1931-2011.
RIP