Jan Marshall Author of A Curious State of Affairs (UK & USA) remembers her dear friend, to whom her novel is dedicated.

Gilly Plaskett- Broad  18th July 1944 – 7th March 1992.

Maiden name: Gillian Christine Talbot, then Gillian Christine King, then Gillian Christine Plaskett, finally adopting the name of the special man in her life, Jeremy (Jem) – and becoming known as Gilly Plaskett-Broad.

If you are lucky, I mean really lucky – you may one day meet a person who you instantly recognise will be a life time friend, and the feeling will be mutual. This is the sort of friendship that appears only once in a lifetime and is unique, special and unforgetable. It was so with Gilly and me – except this is a friendship that goes beyond a life time and continues beyond her death.

Gilly died of Cancer – malignant melanoma to be exact (that metastasized to the bone). I think she died because of the incompetence of the system – and the lack of care and concern from the doctors – she thought that too. I think she’d survive today if the same thing happened – because ironically, as you get older you are more determined to fight your corner and refuse to accept the (wrong) diagnosis from incompetent uncaring doctors – who realise far too late what you actually have. But I don’t want to go in to that today, because this is a celebration of her life. Happy Birthday Gilly. Wherever you are. I miss you.

Gilly and I had a friendship that spanned a couple of decades. We had supported each other through unhappy marriages, separation, divorce, bringing up children, coping alone, financial struggles, serious illness and dead end jobs - and many useless – as well as some good romantic relationships (thank you Jem for making those last years so very happy for Gilly). We’ve wept together at the sheer hopelessness of it all, on many occasions. Those kind of shared experiences create a bond that no-one and nothing can break. Not even death can break it. 

Our friendship wasn’t all about misery and hardship though – not at all. We shared a love of poetry, fiction, books, art, feminism (in the really early days of this enduring movement) and were both fascinated by the psychology of people – what made them do what they did and act the way they acted. We spent hours trying to understand the people whom we had no choice but to interelate with in our lives. We would discuss and analyse – and try to make sense of the crazy unfairness of life: like an ex-husband who refused to change a light bulb that you couldn’t reach, but he could reach, (when you didn’t have a ladder to use) in his own child’s bedroom – or a boss who told untrue things about you to other people - and even though you wanted to walk away from the job, you couldn’t because you were so reliant on (no, desperate for) the money. We also both had crappy cars and continually worried about them breaking down – which they continually did! We loved to people watch together and Gilly had a wonderful sharp wit about her – she could crease me up with her humour; we laughed just as much as we cried.

We also had a mutual love of animals – particularly cats and  dogs. We both had various cats (including my cat, Henry, who appears in the novel) and Gilly had dogs as well as cats – we spent hours walking through the bluebell woods together, with her dogs. On our birthdays, every single year, we would have lunch together. She would pay on my birthday – and vice versa. These were such happy carefree occasions. I can remember them in amazing detail and full eidetic colour – at least I have that now. Memories are forever.

Much has happened since Gilly died – I remarried, our children are all married, we both now have grandchildren, I’ve survived cancer, mutual friends have died – and too many other things too numerous to mention, (I have a super car now – she’s be pleased about that). There hasn’t been a single important event that I haven’t wished with all my heart that she could be there to see. Maybe she does see them all, from wherever she is now. I do hope so.

Once – not long before Gilly died (when she knew she was terminally ill) she asked me if I thought I’d always remember her – I won’t tell you what I replied – you can guess. “To live in the hearts of those you love is not to die.”

Below are a few pictures from my memory box – they are very precious . I’ve included the only photograph I have of us together – it’s not a great photo – or very flattering – but it’s the only one I have. You see, I would take photos of her – and she would take photos of me and for some reason I don’t think anyone else ever took photos of us together.

There are many references (adapted to fit the story) to Gilly in the novel. Letters we sent to each other and small details that only I would know about – so it was appropriate to dedicate it to my dear friend – in more ways than one. Thank you Gilly for a friendship quite out of the ordinary. I miss you.

Gilly on her wedding day (first time round) – I love this picture because she has that wonderful look of innocence of one who is optimistic, and has yet to learn of the traumas that life can bring. A beautiful moment captured in time:

Below: Another favourite photo; this is soooo Gilly, pensive and thoughtful. I remember this very day – having coffee and chatting about the state of the world together. Notice the little dog on the shelf – the one lying down? He sits on my dresser now (a treasured possession) given to me by Jem (Gilly’s adored partner, who is still a close friend now and always will be) after her death. Jem was best man (in more ways than one) at my wedding to my lovely husband – fortunately Gilly met my new partner before she died since he and I met in 1991, and she died a year later. She gave me the seal of approval – in fact she wrote to me near the end of her life, instructing me to marry him – so she could RIP knowing I was with someone special and wouldn’t feel alone anymore.

Below: Gilly with her beloved dogs – Bumpy (left)  and Carly (right) in our favourite bluebell woods. I always took the camera (nothing has changed here then) and snapped many photos of Gilly, the dogs and the bluebells.

Below: The only photo I have of us together (me left, Gilly right). It’s grainy and unflattering but I just adore it. A copy sits on my desk as I type this.

Below: This is the last photo of Gilly – taken just a week before she died. You’d never guess looking at her lovely smile. She struggled to that chair on crutches (with a broken hip that couldn’t be repaired because it was too cancer ridden) and smiled for prosperity, because she’d asked me to take some photographs for family and friends to remember her by. She was so brave – her whole dying process and death was carried out in a way that made it easier for eveyone who loved her to handle; that was the kind of person she was.

Gilly - I don’t need the photos but I am so glad I have them now. Happy Birthday dear friend. You were (are) a phenomenal woman.

PS: If anyone has any photos of Gilly they would like to e-mail to me, please do. Put a message in the comments and I will contact you.

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