Winston

It’s awhile now since Winston died. He was quite old, very arthritic (had been for years) and when his time got closer he found it difficult to breathe. A sad ending for such a lovely chap. When I first met Winston he was with the love of his life, Heather at the famous Salamanca Market in Hobart.  He looked very regal in his black jacket and strides topped off with a crisp white shirt. The addition of a black bow tie really set Winston apart from all the other market goers.  He was the type that got noticed, not just because he was so well dressed but also in his demeanor.

At that time Winston would have been a middle-aged gentleman. He had a few grey hairs beginning to sprout around his ears and eyebrows but all in all he was in pretty good shape for his age.  When Heather introduced us, I was drawn to him immediately and knew that we would be friends. He had the kind of face that made you smile, a face that exuded warmth and character. He didn’t need words. When he looked at Heather his adoring eyes said how much he cared. Unfortunately, I didn’t see Winston that much over the years due to the geographical location.

My brother John was also the love of Heather’s life. Together the three of them had a great relationship and got on well.  John knew his place and always respected Winston. When they went for drives in Heather’s car, Winston always sat in the front passenger seat and John sat in the back seat. On rare occasions John would sit in the front if he got in the car before Winston. There were no arguments because there would always be a stop en route. John was always the one to get out of the car and run a quick errand such as pick up a parcel from the post office, run into a shop for the milk and bread, fill the car up with petrol, take the clothes into the cleaners, that sort of thing. That’s when Winston made his move to the front seat. There were never any arguments; that’s just how it was.

When John told me that Winston had passed away I felt very sad. Everyone did. John said Heather had a nervous breakdown. She went to bed crying. She woke up crying. She never stopped crying for over a week. I understood completely.

Winston will never be forgotten. There is a hotel in Hobart named in his honour.