Emma was sparky, and drew you in to her being, however perilous a place that sometime was. I saw comparatively little of her torments, mainly second hand, but real enough for all that. Though she has gone, we all live on through the memories of those we have touched – and I will always recall that full-on ZAP! that she generated, as well as the dramas she produced at various stages.
In memory, I have selected an extract from Milton’s poem Lycidas (also enclosed in full) which, in these less gendered times, reflects both the spirit of this sad occasion and the time of year:
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forc’d fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear
Compels me to disturb your season due;
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his wat’ry bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
I haven’t located any photos with Emma, but here are two she might have liked.