Charles & my father, Fred, at our Wedding - 1998
Awkward. Well, it can be, can't it? The first time you ever tell the other person that you love them? Especially when you've been wanting to tell them for ages, but never had the opportunity, or the courage?
Anyhow, last weekend, I finally managed to whisper the three words in question. I gave him a little kiss, just on the cheek, as well. I'm pretty certain I saw him smile back at me. Then again, it could well have been a trick of the sunlight, which was pouring in through the window of the room in the hospice.
My father-in-law, Charles, passed away on Tuesday, 12 months after we were told that nothing more could be done to cure the cancer that first reared its head the year he and I first met, in 1998. The last weeks were particularly rough, with the myriad indignities cancer will inflict. Charles bore it all with his usual dignity and patience, with his overriding concern for everyone else, everyone but himself.
Relationships with in-laws can be a mixed blessing. I should know: I've been twice blessed. But my relationship with Charles was most definitely a blessing. Charles was not just my father-in-law; he was my friend.
During his first brush with prostate cancer, Charles stayed with us in London where he was being zapped daily at the Royal Marsden Hospital in Chelsea. He and I walked Chippie and Cara on Clapham Common and had long chats where we discovered we had far more in common than our love for (and occasional exasperation with...) Tim, whom I was about to marry.
Charles and I bonded over many shared enthusiasms: for Second World War history, for the quirkier pieces which appeared on the Telegraph obituaries page and for properly chilled Provençal Rosé. I was very proud when he agreed to read my favourite passage from the Bible - Romans 12:9-18 - at our wedding. It was the beginning of a fulfilling, mutually affectionate, utterly uncomplicated relationship, sadly truncated this week. I will miss him immeasurably.
I'm hugely comforted by the knowledge that Charles had a wonderful life, well-lived, evident in the tributes flooding in this week from family and from his many other friends. He, like my own Dad, was one of those proper 20th century chaps who lived by an unspoken but, in its own way rather rigid, moral code. You could never imagine Charles even telling the whitest of lies, let alone hacking a phone.
In the last few months, he and I have had great fun, digging through boxes of family photographs and archives, where I learned more about Charles' quite extraordinary childhood. His father was General Sir Sydney Chevalier Kirkman GCB, KBE, MC (1895–1982), Montgomery's right-hand man at El Alamein and one of the towering military figures of his generation.
Chev, as he was known in the family, cannot have been the easiest of fathers, but Charles always spoke of him with due respect. His mother, Lady Erskine was clearly an extraordinary woman too - one of the first women to study medicine at Oxford and practice as a doctor.
Charles followed his father into the army and rose to the rank of Major in the Royal Artillery. However, I suspect that for Charles, life really did begin at 40, when he left the army behind, moved to Lymington on the Solent, where he was able to combine his passion for sailing with a job in a specialist yacht engineering company. He was the navigator and technician on a series of famous ocean racing yachts and took part in scores of international regattas, competing in nine classic Fastnet races across the Irish Sea.
One of the best things about my relationship with Charles was how rather unexpected our great friendship was? Somebody you might, ordinarily, never have met, or with whom you initially appear to have little in common? Someone with whom you may be rather thrown together, out of necessity, rather than choice?
You may not have that many, but I bet you've got a couple of unexpected friends. I know I've got a fair few and I have been thinking lately a lot about Patrick, my late brother Rory's partner, now sadly also passed on. Against all possible odds, we, too, became very close and when he died in 2009, I was quite heartbroken.
So, if the universe has thrown you an unexpected friend or two, don't forget to be thankful for them, to cherish them and to find quality time to spend with each other. And don't forget to tell them that you love them - before it is too late.
Charles Chevalier Kirkman 1933-2011 requiescat in pace +
