Memento Mori

Thoughts of my own mortality creep closer every time an icon of my youth dies. The latest is Robin Gibb, gone too soon to join his twin Maurice in that great communal grave in the ground. (Sorry, no heaven for me.) In 1968, as a 15th birthday present, I was given a ticket to see The Bee Gees at the Royal Albert Hall. Back then, there were the twins, Barry and two other musicians who were not family members.

By the time they had their "second coming" with the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever, I was no longer listening to pop music, though I can still appreciate it was good of its kind. But my teens were enhanced by their early music. In 1967, Robin was a passenger on a train involved in what became known as the Hither Green Rail Crash. Forty-nine people died. Gibb was covered in oil but uninjured.

Scary for me and my friends - but not as much for Robin - a bunch of us were out and about that night and decided to follow the dozens of emergency vehicles to see what was going on. We were close to the site when the police diverted us, but had already realised the problem was on the railway line. Later, when I found out how serious it was, I felt a strong link to the tragedy, and this extended to my feelings about the star who was aboard. Thank goodness he survived and was able to continue to give to the world he inhabited, both with his talent, and with his time and largesse, campaigning for injured servicemen and women, and for a memorial to Bomber Command from WWII. Sadly, he will miss the opening of the memorial next month, but hs will be remembered along with those it honours.