Dick van Galen Last - Remembered!

A friendship cherished

It is the nature of friendship and the things that you remember of people who have contributed to recognising the beauty of knowing and sharing their lives. It seems like an age, for it is 13 years to the day that my dear friend Dick van Galen Last passed on.

A tall and skinny Dutchman, wise in experience, affable in temperament, a polyglot and gatherer of people from all the corners of the earth. An erudite archivist that specialised in world war history, especially where the imperialists and colonisers enlisted the colonies in the wars.

It was a chance meeting in Paris in 1997 that began our friendship and from then we maintained contact, he in Amsterdam whilst I was resident in London. When I moved to the Netherlands in 2000, he was my host and he helped me settle down as I found my feet.

He was a wonderful cook and we regularly had soirees at his home in the North of Amsterdam. In so many ways, he was such a great help, someone I could call on for advice and other things. For his 50^th birthday, we met up at Café Beaubourg in Paris for brunch. There are so many memories to recall.

A meeting vivid

We last saw each other when he came to visit me, a week after I was discharged from the hospital on Friday, the 16^th of October 2009. We were to go for a meal, but I was too frail to go out, we just sat and chatted in my living room over tea and biscuits.

There was the occasional phone call, even as he was rushing to finish his PhD thesis. Just after Christmas, he first informed me that he had been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, we shared the same oncologist, and we even thought our chemotherapy schedules would land us in the same treatment room.

A few weeks later in the New Year, he defended his PhD, witnessed by friends who said they could see strength and spirit ebb out of him during his viva voce. I could not attend as it was just two days after my penultimate chemotherapy session, I just did not have the strength.

A death announced

Then, it was the Wednesday morning on the 3^rd of February 2010 that I received a phone call, the caller ID for Dick gave me the thought to congratulate him on his PhD defence, but it was Ousmane, his lodger on the phone, Ousmane came to clean my apartment every fortnight. He was bearing news, rather shocking news, Dick had passed on the day before.

I am glad Ousmane took one decision in consideration of Dick, he refused that Dick be taken to the morgue, and so, Dick was dressed up and laid on his bed for all of us his friends to visit and pay our respects, even as funeral arrangements were made and friends were coming in from other countries to attend the obsequies.

He was interred on the 8^th of February, just 2 days short of his 58^th birthday after a well-attended service. I could not attend the interment itself because I needed to attend what eventually became my last session of chemotherapy. Even with the apparent passage of time, the thoughts still feel fresh and raw. In all, I remember quite fondly, my one true Dutch friend, Dick van Galen Last. Rest in peace.

Some memories

Blog - Dick

Blog - Dick: As he lay

Blog - Seeing Dick Off

Blog - Remembering Dick van Galen Last

Blog - There was only one Dick

Blog - Dick van Galen Last - A Decade On

Thought Picnic: Time in motion

The mystery of time

Time is a continuum of sometimes unfathomable multi-dimensional ramifications. Time in its passing and what it archives into the annals of memory, time in its present and the moments we are given to cherish, time in its congruence demanding correctness for our modernity not to descend into chaos, and time in its coming; the future we cannot predict further than a second from hence that we plan for, sometimes anticipate and use expectation and hope to arrive at.

It comes to mind that from the past, 11 years ago, I lost a dear friend, Dick van Galen Last, the passage of time does not make the sense of loss less felt. Beyond the acceptance that he is gone, there are recollections of friendship and things we did together.

Sometimes I wonder if we could indeed turn back time if there is anything we would have done so differently for other outcomes. It is wishful but best left as is, an alternate universe can be anything, the same, worse or better, sticking to what you know is not so much the absence of adventure but a calculated risk erring on the side of safety.

The time is now

In the present, you are occupied with thoughts stretching into the recesses of time in all directions, you might catch yourself daydreaming. Realities cascading on themselves in the mind that you are left in awe at the capacity of the mind to imagine and project.

Out of this are issues of life and maybe death, you never know, but each breath is a blessing of the living and the joy of living. Then you think of the current pandemic that takes essential breath away, there is much suffering to escape from, and this is the time to be free from it.

Correcting for the time

For correctness, I remember an essential piece of information that would have been quite pertinent that I ignored. When I was trying to fix my network yesterday, my NETGEAR Nighthawk X6 R8000 router was stuck in the past, it was not synchronising with the current time, I was reading my birthday the 21^st of December 2020 on its clock. The stock firmware just could not communicate with any time source.

Blog - Technical: A whole weekend networking

Whilst the router appeared to work with this underlying discrepancy on the older hub, on the new hub it might have presented an issue as it was synchronised with a correct and external time source indicating over a month ahead of my router.

Time and time again

There are many systems that will fail to communicate or operate if time is not synchronised and there are slim tolerances for time differences especially when it comes to the Global Positioning System (GPS) which uses satellites. Authentication systems also rely upon synchronised time, the absence of which might suggest a cyberattack, an unauthorised intrusion or a security breach.

Installing the 3^rd-party firmware on my router immediately allowed it to synchronise with a European time source and it might have been the fundamental issue all along, but we had a fully working solution at the end of the day. The future is ahead, each second creeping relentlessly into a place that at once becomes the present and then the past. Further ahead we build for a place to be different, beautiful, and happy, hopefully with someone who makes it all memorable and matter.

For friends and things we can't forget

A yesterday like today

It feels like yesterday, but it was 10 years ago today, a cold wintry Monday in Amsterdam where I had two things to do. First, it was the funeral of Dick van Galen Last, my dear friend who had passed on 6 days before and then I was booked in for my 7^th session of chemotherapy in the afternoon.

Blog - Seeing Dick Off

The funeral service, which was well attended, vibrant and redolent of the amazingly outgoing personality that Dick was. I then followed the procession to the place of internment but never got to witness the committal to earth as I had to leave for the hospital.

Back to chemo

At the hospital, the cold had in natural preservation conceals all my veins that it was impossible to find a point into which to insert a cannula for my session of chemotherapy. Washing and soaking my hands in warm water could not tease them out. Eventually, the cannula was placed so high up on my arm close to where a phlebotomy would be done.

The 8^th of February 2010 did become more significant as when I when in for the blood test preceding the 8^th session of chemotherapy, I noticed a 10^th session had already been scheduled. My chemotherapy sessions were on a Monday, 21 days apart, however, in the Friday before the next session, I have a blood test to determine the efficacy of the treatment and what further courses should be taken.

My voice considered

I did not know that the more you tolerated chemotherapy; they had a tendency to heap on the sessions rather than reduce them. We had gone from a session to two, then four and now eight. The eighth was to be on the 1^st of March 2010.

On seeing one scheduled after that date, I began a discussion with my consultant. I was hoping to get on with my life after the 1^st of March and I did not think I had the mental capacity to accommodate another session of chemotherapy. At the back of my mind, I remembered a nurse telling me that some patients have endured up to 14 sessions of my kind of chemotherapy.

My consultant listened and opined that he had been thinking about the situation too, my immunity was so shot up, he needed to see it begin to rebuild itself. He promised to have a word with the oncologist. Afterwards, I received notice that my 7^th session of chemotherapy taken on the 8^th of February would be my last. I was in clover.

Life goes on

The prognosis after that was, I needed at least 6 months of recuperation after the ordeal of my treatment. I, however, did not have that luxury. I sent out an email to my LinkedIn contacts explaining my situation. I started work on the 22^nd of March, but the week after seeing how exhausting the activity was, just because of my lack of strength, we agreed that I could have the Wednesdays off.

Yes, it seems like a long time ago, it is one to celebrate for the memories of that time and the passage of time to this day.

It was another year before I returned to St Barbara Cemetery to visit Dick’s grave, for the good friends we’ve lost, there remains more than a memory and a fondness for the times we shared. They are never forgotten.

Dick van Galen Last - A Decade On

In the circle of life

A week ago, I sank into sudden indisposition that resulted in hospitalisation, I am now back home in recovery and regaining my strength back.

In that short week, a lot has happened and much of it forgettable, but that is one subject I want to cover. It was exactly a decade ago that my phone rang with the Caller-ID of my friend, who I was unable to chat for a couple of weeks and too incapacitated to attend his PhD viva voce due to the effects of chemotherapy.

However, he was not the one on the line, but his lodger Ousmane Ndoye, who for the past decade then made a fortnightly visit to my apartment to clean it up and set things right. I was left reeling at the news he had to share. Dick and I had spoken just after Christmas of his non-Hodgkin lymphoma diagnosis, we shared the same consultant and oncologist. I remember saying to him, we might meet up at a chemotherapy session at the hospital.

In the presence of death

Alas, it never happened. The next time I saw Dick after that conversation was in his bed, dressed up and lying there mostly at the insistence of Ousmane that Dick had spent enough time in hospitals. Dick’s many friends had the unique opportunity to visit him in his room to pay respects before he was interred 5 days later.

Dick van Galen Last died on the 2^nd of February 2010 just 8 days short of his 58^th birthday. I had known him for 14 years, we met in Paris in 1996 and when I moved to the Netherlands in 2010, he was the one who welcomed me and gave me board for the first month before I settled in and found my own place.

In hope and remembrance

Dick was many things to many people; on the 8^th of February 2010 when he was interred at the St Barbara Cemetery, there were over 300 attendees who came to celebrate his life and send him off. I could not wait until he was committed to earth because it had to attend what became my last session of chemotherapy.

We last met for a few hours at my place on the 16^th of October 2009, just a week after my 18-day stay in hospital when I was diagnosed with cancer. To many, he was a friend, a helper, a raconteur, a polyglot, and an academic, the legacy of some of his research was republished with editing in Black Shame (2016).

Even after a decade, for this great and true friend, confidante, ever full of life and encouragement, outgoing, benevolent and always generous with his time and means, are the fondest memories.

Dick, rest in peace, always – you’re never forgotten.

Thought Picnic: The memories of times, places, events and people

The memories of another day

16 annual Sundays ago on February the 10^th in 2002, we gathered for brunch at my favourite Paris haunt, Café Beaubourg to celebrate the 50^th birthday of my dear friend Dick van Galen Last. We were both residents of Amsterdam, but we had met in Paris some 4 years before, when I still lived in England and kept contact through when I moved to the Netherlands in 2000, when he was my most friendly support in helping me settle down in my first month.

We had a tradition of meeting every few months for dinner, usually, at his place where he entertained an eclectic crowd, Dick was a global citizen with friends from all corners of the earth.

Dick would have been 66 today, but he passed on, on the 2^nd of February 2010, just days short of his 58^th birthday.

To memories of events that last

February presents to me in many ways, the end and the renewal, 2002 was a celebration of life and the joy of friendship, a few years after, I had two nephews born on the same day, two years apart, young boys coming into adolescence I need to make more than an acquaintance with.

On the 8^th of February 2010, I had two events to attend, the morning was at a chapel where some crowd numbering hundreds on one of the coldest February mornings in Amsterdam gathered to bid Dick farewell, I could not make it to the reception after the internment.

For memories to recall in the future

Then, I hurried to the hospital for my penultimate session of chemotherapy with a nursing team who were just as shocked as I was at Dick’s demise, we shared the same consultant and oncologist. That session of chemotherapy when we finally found a vein to stick a needle in, turned out to be my last and the road ahead of me after that became one of recovery and recuperation.

The memories are keen and they are fond, to friends and lovers gone before, you are never forgotten. Let February bring life and happiness again.

There was only one Dick

Time and tide

As one grows old with the passage of that thing that never stops called time, the memories come and go of things that have gone before.

For me, there is much else to ponder for my mental capacity to remember and recollect, the recall of dates and events from the auspicious to the inauspicious that I hopes that this does not become as ritualistic as it could be defining and debilitating of the security of reason and the reasonable.

Yet, one must be reminded of those who have crossed our paths and made significant contributions of friendship, of love, of joy, of comfort and of much else that gives life true and enduring meaning.

Memories of one

It is in this vein that I remember a very dear friend, who six years ago died quite peacefully at home having lost a battle against cancer.

I was called the day after he died and I was fortunate to see him lain in his bed, in his own home, dressed very smartly as if preparing for a very formal outing, almost lifelike but not breathing, his journey, his pains, his labours and his concerns meaning no more to him, for he had gone to another place.

A goodbye forever

As I stood by his bed, I wept silently and whispered a goodbye to him, I had to return again to see him before we buried him five days later on what would have been his 58^th birthday.

Nothing could have prepared all of us his friends from far and near for his passing, but we all gathered on that cold Monday morning to celebrate his amazing, giving, loving, considerate and gregarious life before he was committed to earth.

For each and every one of us whose life was touched by the grace and favour of Dick van Galen Last, we remember him fondly, he is sorely missed, but never forgotten.

Adieu Dick, rust goed.

Remembering Dick van Galen Last

A fine Dutch gentleman, and remembering him is a testament to the kind of man he was, as I have written before and will never tire of writing again, he is sorely missed.

Dick van Galen Last would have been 62 today, 4 years and 8 days after he passed on and 4 years and 2 days after we buried him.

I still remember that last day I saw him alive, he came to visit me just a week after I was discharged from hospital. I was too weak to go out for a meal, so we just talked over a pot of Earl Grey tea and some biscuits.

This was a little over two months before we had another chat on the phone where he informed me he had a health crisis, and we were sharing the same consultant. We even joked that we might meet up in the chemotherapy room one of these days.

Just three weeks on, he defended his PhD thesis; I could not attend as it was days after a chemotherapy session, I had no strength to do much, but vegetate at home. I heard that as he spoke, you could hear the strength drain out of him, but it was a spirited and commendable effort.

13 days after that amazing effort, Dick was gone and I learnt of his passing the day after. Tears in my eyes, literally sobbing all the way from my home to his, we, his friends had the opportunity to see him for the very last time, in his bed, formally dressed, with a cravat and as serene as if he was going to open his eyes at any moment.

I stood by him and whispered, “Goodbye, dear friend.”

I sometimes wonder if he was awarded his PhD posthumously, he did devote a good few years to that project travelling around the world doing research or looking for moments of tranquillity to complete the work. It was indeed determination in failing health that drove him to do what many might have put aside for another time.

When we gathered to see him off, there were hundreds filling that little chapel on that brisk and cold February morning, many paid tribute but I could not tarry for either the internment or the reception, I left after the service for what became my last session of chemotherapy.

My almost 13 year sojourn in the Netherlands began with Dick picking me up at the airport, lodging me for the first month and many other encounters of supper with his numerous multinational friends.

As interpreter, he would switch between English, Dutch, French, Spanish or German with the ease of a Babel Fish, he was such a person, thespian, cultured, refined, open-minded, loving, caring and much more.

To all of us who knew Dick, we all knew that when he died, a man indeed, of high integrity, a bon vivant whose joie de vivre remains as an example to all of us in the pursuit of happiness was gone.

Dear Dick, you may be gone, 4 years now, but you are never forgotten.

Library Thing – Dick van Galen Last

Thought Picnic: A Brunch of Long Memories

The seat of the mind

My life is full of memories of people, of places and of events. I find myself sitting just beside Georges Pompidou Centre at Café Beaubourg like I have many times before done when in Paris.

Strangely, for the many times I have come to this café for brunch, I have never visited or entered the famous centre, rather, I have just sat at the window on the first floor and watched life and lives in motion below and ahead of me.

I have once had sat for a caricature portrait of myself in front of the centre accentuating my oval-shaped head pointed at the top in its balding glory and my glasses all atop a finger-thick neck and even skinnier body. In my many moves, I think I might have lost it.

Sadly, Café Beaubourg in all its trendy setting has failed to keep up with the times with the absence of wireless internet connectivity that is standard fare for literally any café worth its salt.

Dick

This is also quite poignant because I am reminded of when just over 10 years ago we were here to celebrate Dick’s 50^th birthday, my treat to him was a sumptuous brunch at the café.

I met Dick in Paris over 14 years ago, we were tourists in Paris, he from Amsterdam and I from London and we maintained a friendship after that meeting that he lodged me for the first month of my move to Amsterdam just over 12 years ago.

Now, I hold in my heart, the loss of many so caring and dear for we lost Dick in February 2010 but I know that the dead are never dead if they are fondly remembered by those they touched.

More profoundly, the biggest lesson of all is to live life well, touching people and affecting them in every good way for you will be assured a more enduring epitaph before a stone told in memories, dreams, stories and smiles that follow a thought of that thing you did that made others laugh.

To Dick.

Thought Picnic: The Chronicles of the Dead

Plans for journeys

As I got up this morning, I felt I needed to get out if the weather was fine enough and fine a place to meditate. Over the last few months, I have done serious mileage on my bicycle, the round-trip to church on Sundays is about 26 kilometres, maybe more, but it rarely bothers me, there are days that I have done close to 40 kilometres.

However, today, my ride to Zandvoort would have been 28 kilometres but in my quest to follow signposts for bicycle paths that lead to dead-ends, detours and strange places, I probably did close to 40 kilometres on my way out before I finally reached my destination.

A promise fulfilled

Before I left Amsterdam, I found I would be riding past the Saint Barbara Cemetery, I was last there on the 8^th of February 2010 when I attended the burial service of my dear friend Dick van Galen Last, had an idea of where he was buried but never saw the burial or the burial plot itself because it would have been too emotional for me and I had to get to hospital for what turned out to be my last chemotherapy session.

So, I stopped by to pay my respects and I just could not find the location. I made for the cemetery office to ask about the location of the burial plot and they produced what one might call the register of the dead.

Cemetery management

Nothing was computerised, his name appeared in cursive handwriting in the book, with his age; he died 8 days short of his 58^th birthday and the coordinates of where he was buried was noted.

The clerk who also doubles as a craftsman and many other things around the cemetery then checked the layout of cemetery on a map and after donning on some heavy-duty boots, lead me to the grave site.

As we walked up on of the avenues, he hand-pulled a ground moving digger, probably used to dig graves, just big enough to ride in but also small enough to be manoeuvred by a strong man too.

The first location we got to did not have the grave, I suspect certain graves have prominent headstones and then cards behind the headstone to indicate others sharing the allotment.

At his grave

Eventually, after about a 5-minute search, he found Dick’s grave, a nice marble headstone with his name and the account of dates as each person’s portion of the expanse of eternity gets carved into stone at graveyards – the date of birth and the date of death – the history of great men is not written in cemeteries, rather it is in the memories of those who return and in books far away.

I do not know how long I spent at Dick’s grave but as I muttered my thanks for his being my friend the words of Jesus came to my mouth – I am the resurrection – at which point I knew that death is simply part of the journey of the soul in the unlimited and unfathomable extents of eternity.

Thinking beyond ourselves

Time is an amazing thing, even stars we see in the night sky might well have long disappeared but if they are thousands or millions of light-years away, we will never know if they are still out there however their light travelling to us through the amazing universe signifies there was a source for the light we now see.

So do all those grave stones with the bones beneath the earth, the people laid there once walked the surface of the earth with passions and failings like you and I have.

As I left the cemetery, I thanked the clerk who was busy trimming the hedges, you then realise even the dead need caring for or else the cemetery will become a jungle and the thickets we’ll have to cut through to see our loved ones would have just reflected very badly on the living.

Dick: A year on

He prepared for a journey

A year of Wednesdays ago, I received a call that I thought was coming from friend; it was from a friend about a friend.

That morning, he woke up, asked his housemate to prepare a cup of tea, and then asked for a bag to be packed as if going for a journey.

When the bag was packed, he was offered another cup of tea and whilst that was being made, my friend went on that journey never to return again.

The things that keep him here

Is there a day that passes without that memory of him, we met a few times over each year for meals at his place with other friends he had met on many of his journeys or just went out for meals together.

The phone rings on some evening and we chat about what we are both up to and arrange to meet in the not too distant future; when he made time, he was completely involved, very helpful and tremendous support.

You just had that feeling that when it came to the crunch he was just a phone call away and never a disappointment – that is how I knew him.

It has been a year now, for a memory like mine that is so keen and almost photographic at things I have seen, I can scarcely recreate the image of how I last saw him. I very well remember the way he called my name but it is a very faint sound in my head.

As we waved goodbye

A week later, we saw him off, about 300 of us on a very cold February morning just hours before I was to receive what became the last of my chemotherapy session.

It was a moving ceremony befitting a man of many talents, many friends, many laughs and many memories.

A year on, he is remembered fondly, whilst missing the things we did together, those things are part of the story of a man much liked, they belong to the narrative that makes him special.

This is to Dick, in memory of the wonderful life he lived and how his friendship is treasured by all those who knew him. Thank you for being a friend.

Thought Picnic: Deleted but not forgotten

Spring-cleaning the mobile phone

I picked up my mobile phone with a feeling of social interaction and awakening, scanned the contacts list and decided to call a few friends I had not spoken to in a quite a while.

Most of the calls went to their answering services apart from two others than were disconnected numbers, those I deleted and dual entries were cleaned up.

In the process, I came across another two numbers, ones I could call but was sure I would never get the expected person ever answering again.

With a tinge of sadness, I removed those contacts from my contact list and then wondered where they could be remembered and my memories of them kept in some place for posterity sake.

I devoted blogs to them and sometimes in deep introspection or times of feeling vulnerable I realise they were taken away in similar circumstances that I have been blessed and fortunate to survive.

They are remembered fondly as friends and very much missed, but I also believe as they have been my supporters in times passed that they would have loved me to live life to the full because they in their own adversity before me were full of life, full of humour and brightened my outlook.

They are not forgotten and even though they are no more on my phone, I still want to thank Dick and Chris for being my friends. Thank you.

A hermit in Amsterdam

The other day, just before I woke up, I was dreaming I had a guest, he rang my bell – we have a main entrance video call system, I observed who it was and heard him say – Hello Akin; I let him in but I do not remember opening the door to my apartment to him.

All the while I was thinking it was Dick, but I do not remember seeing anyone looking like him and thankfully the voice I heard on the entry-phone was not as distinct as his.

However, somewhere within me, I was glad I had a guest – I didn’t, I somehow live like a hermit whose connection to the world is maintained by the Internet, telephony and television.

This morning again, I thought about calling up someone to visit and then I realised I did not really have anyone to call, the person I would have called had long gone, a memory only – he remains.

Then you wonder …

Seeing Dick Off

The events for today

I had to prepare for two events today and made them fit in without either running into the other, Dick, my friend, was to be buried in the morning and I was having chemotherapy in the afternoon.

My preparations were for both but that for the hospital was not as elaborate, taking a flask of tea around for hours would not be that nice.

I arrived at the Saint Barbara Cemetery and signed in my name, I was recognised by a few people but this was a big crowd, probably 300, maybe more, of all ages and races to bid Dick a final farewell.

We all gathered in the chapel and there was just about enough room to stand, the chapel was filled and brimming when the pallbearers arrived with Dick’s body.

The service

For 65 minutes we heard lots of music, some classical, some contemporary and even a few from Francophone Africa, probably Senegal, his tastes were broad and varied all signifying the types of music Dick loved.

In that time too, many speeches were given by friends and colleagues all through Dick’s life, I was lost in the whole thing, my language ability was demonstrably so poor that I did not catch the humorous bits, but it was all well and good that we all had the opportunity to see him off.

After the funeral service which was the speeches and the music he was taken to the cemetery to be buried and though I walked up close to where he was finally committed to earth, I did not go to the grave, I was conscious of the fact that I had to make away for my hospital appointment and also aware that I might be able to handle the emotions of dust-to-dust.

Farewell

So, once the closest relations had paid their respects and started to walk out of the cemetery, I left too not being able to attend the reception which was soon after the ceremony.

One summer day, I will go in search of the resting place in remembrance of my wonderful and dear friend. Goodbye Dick, farewell.

Dick: As he lay

The visit

Even more memories come rushing back as I think about Dick my friend who just passed on, he was there when I moved to my new apartment and a number of times offered help to go shopping at furniture and equipment stores because he had a big car.

As soon as I heard the news, I wrote my tribute blog and made for his home, Ous had said he would be there all day, so I thought it was the least I could do.

I had planned to take the tram and the bus, the bus however could not run because there was an accident in the tunnel, so I took the ferry to the north bank of the IJ river and got another bus from there – I tried hard to remember how this particular bus ran and just about got off at the right bus stop.

As he lay

I got in the door, took off my ruck sack and hat, shook Ous’ hand and went upstairs to see Dick.

He was laid in his bed, silent, serene, peaceful and still, he had died in his bed and really did not want to see anymore of hospitals so Ous persuaded the authorities to let him lie in his bed until his burial.

Still, he was, the blanket halfway up, dressed in a jacket with a nicely tied cravat, arms by his side and hands placed just over his abdomen on the blanket – a most respectable poise.

I had not seen a dead person since July 1977, I was not too sure of myself as I wept and sobbed, I paused and whispered some words to my friend, I stepped out and was comforted by Ous as he closed the door.

I composed myself and went back in to see Dick for the last time, I stood at the foot of the bed, looked at him and then left the room – a man had died.

To honour the man

He will be buried on Monday and all of us who knew him will be gathered to give him a wonderful send-off, in all the sadness we will celebrate his wonderful life. Dick spoke so many languages he so easily switched between them amongst his company of international friends; I am told a good few of them will be there.

The visit was for about an hour when other friends came to say their condolences, I hugged Ous thanking him for caring for Dick and being a good friend – the young man must have been overwhelmed with grief, he had just made tea for Dick and packed him a bag as if he was going on a journey and Dick left just as he went to make a second cup of tea.

Dick

My phone rang, I did not get to it in time before it switched to a missed call, a familiar number, I thought it was my friend, I had been thinking of him for days, if not weeks.

I immediately rigged up my Skype and called the home number, his lodger answered, he used to clean my apartment and he told me the news – it did not sink in at first, when it did, I cried and cried.

We met in Paris some 14 years ago and became friends, he always kept contact, a well travelled man who was a World War II expert, friendly, affable, reserved and understanding.

When I moved to Amsterdam, he was at the airport to collect me and he lodged me for the first month of my stay whilst I found my feet – he was always like that, ever able, ever helpful, ever concerned, ever involved and quite practical.

We met up for social events and meals a few times a year where I met other friends of his he had met somewhere on his many travels, they were always pleasant evenings.

We last met the weekend after I left hospital, he was to take me for dinner at Castells the steak restaurant – I just did not have the strength so we had tea at my place and talked – we last had a meal at Castells in July where we reminisced about friends long gone and experiences shared

On his 50th birthday in 2002 we all met up in Paris and my treat for him was brunch at Café Beaubourg, the wonderful life expressed in enduring friendships and fun.

Late in December 2009, he called to say he had been diagnosed with a type of lymphatic cancer they were still trying to determine, he was being put on a very strong chemotherapy regime, I commiserated and we thought one of our appointments at the hospital might clash and we meet up at the chemotherapy room since we shared the same consultant.

We never did, on the 21st of January, he was to defend his PhD thesis, he had called me the week before about it and said he would call later about invitations and so on, that was when I last heard from him.

That Thursday came and went, I was still delirious from the chemotherapy I took the Monday before, I should have called to find out how it went but I procrastinated, I thought I would do it soon but did not, so when the call came in this morning, I thought maybe I was going to get an update.

The chemotherapy was too much for him, he already had been very ill and this new treatment did not help – he died yesterday.

That was really my one true Dutch friend – gone.

Dick, thank you for being a good, loving, concerned and affectionate friend – I will not forget you – may your gentle and kind soul rest in perfect peace – you will be sorely missed, really sorely missed, my dear friend – Goodbye!