His friend died at 7.30 am on Saturday night. His daughter rang to tell him on Sunday morning. I heard her, weeping as she spoke. I cried too. He didn’t. It’s hard losing a parent, there are no words for it. We speak of him, the memories, for him at least, are rich. I knew him better later when he came to live here. A rogue, a chancer, a sometime charmer, a misogynist, a lover of Oriental women, mostly girls, a gambler on the never never, he usually landed on his feet. Not this time. I wish you a speedy journey, rest in peace.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.