Sue died on Monday

Sue is, or rather was, my baby sister and only sibling. Statistically expected to survive me by a good dozen years, the fates decreed that she got her turn first.

Ever since she was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer in May last year the outcome has been inevitable, but what a fight she put up. I know now what a battle with cancer looks like. More like a full scale war really with major battles on the way, some of which she won. Medical science (chemo and radiation), an iron will (“I’m living with cancer, not dying from it”) and a constitution any ox would be proud of contributed to her post-diagnosis stay in this world being about double what we had a right to expect.

During what turned out to be our last conversation, Sue asked me if I’d deliver the eulogy at her funeral (a one-time banker, she didn’t like leaving things to chance). When that’s done, I’ll post it or a précis at least, this is much more about my personal reaction.

Even though some pre-grieving had been done, nothing prepares you for the moment. The ‘phone rang just after eight in the morning. No-one in Beirut calls that early, especially on the house ‘phone. The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand out before I picked up the receiver; Sue’s husband’s tone told the story before the words tumbled madly out, no more than confirming what was already known.

I’ve written elsewhere in this blog about dealing with grief. Part of mine is to communicate, so I phoned steadily for about three hours. Then I began to organise myself to go across to England and I realised that something odd had happened to my memory. I would start purposefully across a room, only to realise half-way across that I’d completely forgotten what I’d set off to do. Of course my memory was fully occupied with playing memories of Sue, not worrying about keys, clothes or even credit cards.

I got here yesterday morning. My brother-in-law rang. My mobile announced “Sue calling”. He wanted to explain the funeral arrangements, which were stated and absorbed in a matter-of-fact way but I can’t bring myself to delete her name from my mobile yet, that’s far too final. The same thing with Skype.

During the last few difficult weeks, we’ve spoken most days. Fairly early on we came to an agreement. She didn’t want my last memories of her to be as she was at the end; “it’s grim” she said. And, as someone (she not I) with a strong belief in the next world, she didn’t want her last earthly memories of me to be of me looking at her physically diminished self. I had much the same opinion. Fortunately we’d spent a late summer weekend revisiting places of long ago family holidays with our parents in the South of England. That was an implicit goodbye.

What is truly important is to remember that she has been part of my life for over sixty years and a good part at that. Not only are there those shared childhood memories that only siblings can have but all the family events, the triumphs and disasters, the happy and sad, the commonplace and unusual as well as the births, marriages and deaths.

I know we should all “celebrate the life” “head for the future born on the strong wings of the past” and other fancy sound-bites, but I can’t help feeling that the world is now a lonelier, emptier place.

New Chancellor for Cambridge University

Cambridge University elected a new Chancellor this week, HRH Prince Philip having stood down after thirty-five years. The Chancellor is the figure-head of the University, awards honorary degrees, is the public relations voice of the institution and is the guardian of its public image. He gets to wear a really great coat (black silk, gold, a hat to go with it and so on) when representing the university; oh, and there’s a big stick that comes with the hat and coat. No wonder HRH looks so happy.

Except for a three year stint by Field-Marshall Jan Smuts, Princes, Dukes, Earls, Marquises & Lords have held the role in unbroken line since Cromwell’s time. Chancellors are elected by the Senate of the University, a largish and eclectic bunch of people including HRH Prince Charles (I think) and me (I know!). Since all that is required to belong to the senate is to possess the right sort of degree (not just any of the collection please note) from Cambridge, my only claim to connection with royalty is shared by tens of thousands of others, but I degrees, I mean digress … again.

Candidates for the job need to be proposed by a group of fifty senators. So, the senate creates a nominating sub-committee made up half and half of the great and the good and what might be termed ordinary members. Lots of thinking goes into choosing the right sort of chap (there hasn’t been a female chancellor yet) as the official candidate and that’s supposed to be pretty well that as the election hasn’t been contested since circa 1850. No election needed. Lord Sainsbury, head of the food retailing family, was approached, wanted the job and was nominated.

Every city and many towns boast their Sainsbury’s supermarket and its stores have even been mentioned in popular song Chas & Dave's "Rabbit". Indeed the retail chain are about to build one in Cambridge itself. Now building a supermarket is a really good way to upset local shop-keepers. Enter Abdul Arain, a Cambridge grocer who got the support of fifty senators and thus a nomination for himself, as a protest against the new supermarket.

But it didn’t stop there. A renowned lawyer joined in and then up popped Brian Blessed, a well-known actor with perhaps the most physically powerful voice in Britain and a capable climber (three attempts at Everest). He can sing too. His face book campaign projected him as committed, dedicated and an enthusiastic potential ambassador for the University. He is also one of the least politically correct people in the universe. This is the candidate I’ll go for.

OK, so how do I vote? While the campaigns have been fought over the internet, senators have to go to the University senate house and vote in person – that’s the way it’s been done since 1246 or thereabouts. Even that’s not enough though, you can only get in to vote if you are wearing the gown of the degree that qualifies you as a senator. “Would that be the first time you’ve worn a dress to a public occasion?” a friend asked. “It’s not that sort of a gown” I had to explain.

I am somewhat ashamed to say that I did not take a flight from Beirut, never mind the taxis and trains needed to get to Cambridge from Heathrow. And that’s perhaps why the Blessed Brian did not get in. So I’m going to make a public plea – pamper us next time. Tradition is a fine thing, but, like moderation, should not be taken to excess. I mean, there’s a railway station in Cambridge, a motorway specially built to get there. And quite soon there’ll be a modern Sainsbury’s supermarket, not to mention a Sainsbury’s Chancellor.

So voting on-line isn’t going to be such a big step. I’d even wear my gown to vote and upload the event to YouTube!