Charles

 

 

Charles died earlier this year. 50 years of age, this talented and sensitive, single guy had just begun a career as a Secondary School science teacher. Outwardly, life was a catalogue of disappointments. Twice misreading signs of romance he flew hopefully but pointlessly, once to Australia, and once to Israel.

Careerwise, this holder of a Master’s in science, whom York Uni wanted to study for a PhD, thought so little of himself that he never applied for suitable jobs but ended up fixing computers and other IT stuff, or doing gardens. Asking him to fix your fridge, he would frown, implying it was impossible but, of course, he did it no bother and left you with the impression that it was a sheer miracle he had managed! Once, applying for an IT job in Dingwall, he was asked why he should be given the job, Charles, the supreme ‘underseller’, reflected and , no, indeed, they should probably offer the position to someone else. Charles could, of course, have done the job with his eyes shut!

‘Ascetic’, tall, thin as a rake and bearded, this one-time dux of Nairn Academy who was almost afraid of being ‘contaminated’ with material things worked for a while on a kibbutz in Israel. He once sold his attractive flat and ended up in a grotty caravan above Loch Ness. Then bedsits, more rented accommodation and, in between, living with his dad, in Auldearn.

All the while, he was producing cassettes of his own music: he played guitar, keyboard and flute; wrote all the lyrics. HHHis latest offering was a CD, produced more professionally, but still under his own ‘label’, Poor Music Ltd.

You might have already written him off, [if you have read this far], as one of life’s misfits; in a way, he was. But he was a true friend. He would visit us, unannounced, in Aberdeen, arriving after a day’s work in Inverness, reluctantly stay the night, then rise at 5 a.m. to drive back north and another day’s work.

But there was more to this man that will outlive his talents and compensate for his heartaches. He loved his Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. A couple of weeks ago, when the brain tumour was making coherent speech pretty hard, he was nevertheless able to pray with friends with almost faultless speech! What we most value stays with us to the end. For 25 years prayer and the Bible mattered to him, daily. For many, they become important only when there is nothing else left. For Charles, there was nothing else.

I expect Charles’ funeral to be big. And, as he looks down from heaven, he will be amazed to see the esteem in which this chronically self-depreciating man was held by all who knew him.