Memorials

Last weekend, I was privileged to be asked to play at the memorial service of an 86-year old gentleman, Dr Geoffrey Irvine, whose guest cottage I, and many of my SIL colleagues, have enjoyed staying in over the years. Geoffrey passed away a few weeks ago, having been airlifted to Nairobi because of pneumonia. He grew up in the highlands of Kenya, his parents having been sent out as missionaries by the Church of Scotland nearly 100 years ago, and then served there with his wife, both of them as doctors. He was truly a gentle man who took a delight in life. I always remember talking with him one time. “I used to dream of a place to retire with a few trees and some water”, he said. “And look what God has given me!”, as he pointed to the view from his garden of acacia trees, and through them, glimpses of the blue of the lake with the pink fringe of flamingoes; the occasional giraffe, zebra, or gazelle passing by; mountains beyond; and the humph-humph-humph of wallowing hippo. It was against this backdrop that the memorial service was held, marquees having been erected on the lawn. I didn’t get to experience it myself, but I’m told that the sound of a Mozart duet emanating from my flute and Julie’s violin, with that view behind us was quite something.

This was the second outdoor memorial service I’d been to (and played at) in the last 3 months, the first being for my dear friend Jane, who passed away in February after a battle with cancer. Both occasions were marked with an abundance of beautiful flowers (a benefit of being in a country where flower farms are big business), and people testifying to the faith of these saints, and the impact their lives had had on many.