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Richard Abrams B77
"Well, Doc, give it to me straight. How long have I got?"
Very few people, imperilled by cancer, would have the wit or dignity to address such a question to their oncologist, but Richard Abrams (B77) – the child drawing an imaginary land ruled by steam trains, the teenager blithely cultivating marihuana plants in his parents’ suburban shrubbery, the adult wryly labelling himself “Ugly IT Developer” on LinkedIn – was never hampered by convention.
“Abe” studied philosophy and psychology at Stirling University, and later embarked on a tech career, specialising in supply chain systems, which led to lengthy postings in Belgium, Hungary and Russia, where he embraced each different culture with his customary blend of alacrity and amusement. A dedicated motorist, he regularly crisscrossed Germany in his Porsche (“the rule is that I have to boldly go where no Englishman has gone before”) delighting in all he surveyed and catching up with chums en route. Abe was a constant and affectionate friend, keeping in touch with a select bunch of OCs and travelling as far afield as Japan (where he was researching a novel) with them. He never married, but enjoyed several long-term relationships with women, who while his intellectual equal also shared his appetite for the vagaries of life.
The oncologist gave Abe “about 18 months”, which was out by one-third. Composed and humorous to the very last, Abe died in Southampton General Hospital on 16 January.
