Kim — Two South of Granada

There is an 8 year age gap between my brother Kim and I; 10 years between me and my eldest brother, Tony.

8 years is a wide gap when you are young, and my early years were spent with my parents while my brothers were shipped off to boarding school. Any memories of my infant years were just passed down by parents through old photographs and it was not until I was 8 or 9 before I got to know Kim.

We had moved to Northern Ireland with my father’s posting with the RAF, and I was to be sent to the preparatory school not far from our home. It was during this time that my memories became my own. I remember clearly the summer before I was due to start boarding at Cabin Hill in the September. Kim was home from school and for some reason we formed a connection beyond simply being brothers. Kim introduced me to the Jennings books written by Richmal Crompton, and we shared anecdotes from the various stories of prep school life, so vividly brought to life in the books. I’m not sure real life at prep school was as filled with japes and pranks as portrayed in the books, but the stories of Jennings and Venables went some way towards softening the blow of starting at a new school, and being away from home.

It was as a result of this summer together, in Northern Ireland, that Kim became more than a brother; he became a best friend and ally. From that time, Kim was relentless fun and excitement and became a central part in my memories: his walking off the end of a boat at night, while night-fishing; buying me a pair of fetching baby wellingtons for my 9th (?) birthday and watching me dissolve into tears - for some reason, my nickname at that time was Welly. Kim had nicknames for everyone. When I started at Cabin Hill, Kim was always interested to know what I got up to at school, expecting Jennings-like tales of derring-do, no doubt, but the mere fact that he showed any interest in my life meant the world to me. At school, things that were deemed to be good, were referred to as being wick, and Kim’s nickname for me became ‘Wick’; a name that prevails today, some 50 years later.

Everything was a game - together, we lined up mattresses along the walls of one of our bedrooms at home to practice Kung-fu; we sang along to Dana’s song, “All Kinds of Everything” changing the lyrics to include silly, rude words. We formed an attachment to the TV animated programme, Noggin the Nog, and shared stories about Noggin and his side-kick Thor Nogson. Those school holidays became such an exciting time, and I couldn’t wait for Kim and Tony to visit.

When I was 13, Kim met Lynn, the daughter of one of Dad’s RAF colleagues. Lynn’s parents lived in a neighbouring village and both Kim and Lynn were 21 when they were introduced to each other. Our Mum and Lynn’s Mum had this fleeting idea that the couple were a contemporary Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara, and once they met that was it. Our parents had bought our home in Suffolk by this time; I remained at boarding school in Northern Ireland and my parents never really knew that I didn’t have the greatest time there. The school holidays, after 12 weeks away from home each term, were hugely significant. Living so far from school meant I had no friends in Suffolk, and Kim and Lynn more than filled that gap.

During the summer and Easter holidays, I would flit back and forth to Kim and Lynn’s flat in Newmarket; from those early days, Lynn has always been a sister to me, not just someone who happens to be my brother’s girlfriend and wife. The couple took me under their wing, and we’d take excursions to wildlife parks or National Trust properties, and we’d have the best picnics. As a teenager, I was an enthusiastic cook and as I got older I was recruited to try and teach Kim and Lynn how to cook - cooking was not high on their agenda, but eating was. They entrusted me to paint a mural on the wall of their Newmarket flat - a vivid jungle scene with enormous red flowers. Whoever eventually bought that flat must have thought that they’d purchased some crazed drug den.

Kim and Lynn left Newmarket to buy a dishevelled house in Cambridge, and set about doing it up with very little money and the dubious help of our irascible father. There are so many stories about their unorthodox approaches to life, and I found being in their company to be endlessly life-affirming. When their visits to our Suffolk home was expected, I would sit looking out of the window from where I could see the road that they would drive down, and at the sight of whatever second-hand car they had at the time, I would run out onto the verge to welcome them. We had unforgettable Christmasses, and all my school holidays, spending time with Kim and Lynn, were essential diversions away from the trials and tribulations of school. Lynn was and still is deliciously conspiratorial, and Kim found it mildly amusing to listen in to our endless streams of chat and invective!

Adulthood came for us all, but Kim never lost his child-like enthusiasm, his sense of humour and his ability to be all things to so many people. My babies came along first, and then Kim and Lynn had their son and daughter. There are 2 years between each child, and this helped to forge a bond between the cousins. There were times when we didn’t see as much of each other as we would have liked; life tends to throw in challenges along the way, but that bond of friendship from my childhood was always there. Just as I did, my children loved being in Kim’s company and he was as much fun with them as he had been with me. He was, needless to say, a fabulous father.

I use the past tense because Kim died last year, on 27th April.

He was diagnosed with mesothelioma shortly after we moved to Spain and he tackled the illness as he tackled everything. He hated mawkishness, so would not tolerate any sympathy. Mesothelioma is a form of cancer that takes many years to manifest itself, and Kim believed that he was exposed to the asbestos that causes the cancer when he was working on a building site; demolishing a hospital wing, ironically. I was probably aged around 8 or 9 at that time. It has not been lost on me that, for the entire time that I knew and loved Kim, the fibres that caused his illness so many years later were present in his lungs.

I can’t yet come to terms with the fact that Kim is not still here, as he formed such a large part of our family lives; his vitality was infectious and his love for his own family is eternal. Whenever I video chat to Lynn, Mattie and Charlie, I always expect to see Kim’s face appear on the screen, or to hear his voice in the background with some thrown-away insult or quip. It was ever thus - Lynn and I would gossip for ages, and Kim would resign himself to doing something useful in the background, knowing that he’d rarely get a word in edgeways.

My one consolation is that Kim will be happy knowing that I have only great memories of spending time with him and his family. I have memories that are now mine alone from those days of childhood when I found a kindred spirit in my brother, and we joyously kicked the hell out a mattress propped up against the bedroom wall.