A life derailed


A life derailed

I was completely knocked for six this afternoon when Fliss told me that our friend Chris Guscott had died while on holiday with his wife, Rose.

Chris was a wonderful man – eccentric and enthusiastic in equal measure, and with a sharp wit and intelligence that always made me want to listen when he spoke – even when it was in Portuguese.

His love for trains and railways was just one of the things that made him a great character. He’d come home from a hard day at work, grab his dinner, and plonk himself down on the sofa to eat it while he studiously thumbed through a magazine about trains. The rest of the family would mock him about that, but I quietly thought it was brilliant.

On the shelves of the spare room were a variety of scale models – all waiting for a track to run on, back when we visited in July, just like they had been when we visited two years previously. I know this because I’d examined each one closely during both visits, hoping one day to see them in a scene similar to those depicted in the train magazines littered around the house.

I guess some things you just never get round to doing.

Although I only met him twice, Chris welcomed us into his home with open arms when we visited, and I’m glad we got to introduce him to Elisha during the summer. I’m going to miss Chris dearly, and my sympathies go out to Rose and the family for their loss.

Adeus, my friend.