Steve was one of my brother's 'gang', all witty and laconic and slightly daunting.  But Steve was always more approachable than them and never cruel to me, the annoying younger sister of his mate.  We got to know each other and then 'went out' as we used to say in those days.  He was excellent company, humorous and thoughtful, observant and engaging.

A particular memory was when I house-sat for a friend's family in Beckenham, and Steve came and stayed.  My friend's father had a fabulous collection of very old records, one of which Steve pulled out to show me: look, it says it's unbreakable!  I think you can imagine what he did next, and you'd be right.  he did, and it wasn't.  I still have the two pieces of it in a keepsake case upstairs! (it seemed best to get the evidence away from the scene of the crime...)

Steve came down to Exeter to visit when I was at University, and I - being young and foolish - didn't quite have the guts to say I had started seeing someone else.  Years later, I realised I had been careless of a lovely person's feelings without, at the time, quite noticing.

I was glad when Steve got back in touch last year.  A chance to be kinder and to hear that familiar wit and wry take on the world.  I was shocked and saddened to hear how much pain he had been through, but impressed at the efforts he had made to move forward.  He spoke with such immense pride about his children, and of his deep love for his wife.

40 years on from when we had hung out together, we spoke on the phone.  I encouraged Steve to write it all down, he was such a fine story-teller and had so many experiences that others could learn from.  He replied online after we spoke, saying "Was real pleasure to 'chat' to you earlier today ... your comment as to my literary potential well appreciated ... Some peeps (I care about) have said similar in past... Reason don't write is fear. Fear I will be good.  I trust your judgement, and accept it graciously as a compliment. Like all 'insecure' people I crave compliments .. well I got one..ta.
....love S xx ... 'til next time.. 

There wasn't a next time.

In November I put a poem online which I hoped might get a response from Steve. It didn't.  It reflects the summer when we spent lots of time together, Lingfield being close to Dormansland.  Here it is: with love, happy memories and deep condolences:

The thing about you, Pip,
said the man who ran
the fish and chip van
in Lingfield, my lunchtime/afternoon
job pre The Bell in Old Oxted
back when you could smoke in pubs
(between the fish, hot fat and nicotine
it was a particularly smelly summer)
The thing is, he said
however busy we get
you always keep up
and never look flustered.
 
He didn’t see me at 10pm
collecting glasses
from my brother’s friends
(Mark would stay in the pub
down the hill - no-one wants
to be seen with their little sis)
and Steve aka 'Bob' Charlton
paying me a compliment
and me
getting flustered.