Frances Robinson (1943-2017)

Contribution at Funeral Service

Tena koe kotoa. My name is Brian Easton. I live across the road from the Robinsons. Over the last few months I have often looked at their house with its lonely hall light and thought how it was so lived in by a family full of love and how they were struggling with France’s condition.

In the nature of neighbours, one is most likely to bump into them on the street. Always a cheerful smile; a friendly discussion if you are not in a hurry, especially about the boys as they scattered around the world. Of course, one saw them in other places including in the home where, on occasions, we plotted or celebrated the street’s interests or had dinner together – with Frances benignly presiding over the vigorous table discussions. Or, especially, bumping into them in musical events around town.

In truth, I find it very hard to talk about, or think about, Frances without thinking of David at the same time. It is going to be even harder to think of him now without that faithful, gentle, smiling companion of all those years I have known them. So, as much as I will miss her – the street will miss her – and her boys – now fine young men – will miss her, my thoughts are most with David. Kia ora.