I guess it’s a sign of getting older, when someone I’ve known all my life is reduced to a name on a memorial bench on the seafront at Hove. The parents told me about it, and now I’ve seen it for myself. But not sat there: it was occupied when I passed it.
Philip was one of my family’s oldest friends until his death a couple of years ago. A colourful character, as might perhaps be expected of a jew who escaped Germany to England as a boy in the 1930s, losing all his family, but retaining a strong accent all his life. His twin daughters are my age: I wouldn’t say we grew up together (it was more in parallel but in very different environments) but the family are probably my oldest acquaintances outside my own family.
Requiescat in Pace.