Patrick Meadows and Stephanie Shepard Memorial Site
Here’s a link to the Samuel Coleridge-Taylor Foundation, specifically the obituary that Lionel wrote: https://sctf.org.uk/2017/05/14/r-i-p-patrick-meadows-1934-2017/ The article is dated 14 May 2017, six years ago today. (The photo is from the article.) My niece discovered it when searching for pictures of her grandfather.
A letter to Patrick, written one year after his death, but not shared on the website until much later.
I have found myself of late with a sort of refrain in my head, often repeated aloud (when I am alone) “My heart” is the refrain, always seeing her in the garden, in the countryside, in the car.
This long recording (almost 20 minutes) from 9 November 2012 is too large to upload to this web site, but here is an imperfect transcription. UPDATE on 17 Nov 2022: I was able to use a different approach to upload the audio, so you can hear his voice once more, telling this story. The recording […]
Today is Patrick’s birthday. He would have been 88 years old, a nice round number full of curves and circles, an Oldsmobile number, a number never reached. Even as I prepare to bury my brother – more accurately, eulogize him, for he’s to be cremated and scattered – I think of my dad. (This brother […]
Jeff A recently found these three paintings on e-Bay and reached out to me through the comments section of the Brian McMinn posting. He wrote, “They were listed as “mystery artist” and in my research I concluded they are by Brian — I hope I’m right. Your post and the obituary by Charles Darwent are […]
Lionel posted this recently as a comment to Patrick’s 87th Birthday but I want to give it more prominence, so here it is separately. Just an update to my last contribution, really: Kaleidoscope Chamber Collective have just released a CD on Chandos of the three early Coleridge-Taylor chamber works which Patrick type-set. Very appropriately, the […]
Today is Patrick’s 87th birthday. Last night, I watched again the Memorial Service in Deia, listened again to him describing how the point of his life was to meet Stephanie, and watched again a short video shot near the place he died, to reflect again on the beauty of the setting where he chose to […]
The episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation I saw last night involved the loss of a father. Since today is the fourth anniversary of Patrick’s death, I found the coincidence curious. I have been meaning to write on this day, about that event, but as usual words failed to materialize. I was talking with […]
That dog at the corner. I always forget he is there, just about eye level, waiting to bark right into my ear, scaring the pants off me every time. Today as I started off on my walk, for once I remembered he would be there and I picked up a branch left by the crew […]
He does so much nit-picking he has been diagnosed with floccillation of the brain. Pat and Mike strode in step down the cobbled lanes of the hamlet. “Why does it have to be like it is?” Pat mused out loud. “Garbage on the streets. Garbage on the air waves. Garbage in outer space. Garbage in […]
Nobody said everything, or anything, for that matter, but we all tried. Fred, Zen, Robert, Milo, Barbara, Tony, Ruthven, Barry, Eivin, Alastair. Certain encounters change the course of one’s life. You might not recognize that until much later, but eventually, upon reflection, it becomes obvious. Such was that moment in the faculty room of the […]
Phil Anders, now entering his eighties, often wondered whether his name had predestined him to the life he had led. Of course he was already in his late teens when he recognized the implications, but since then he had lived up to the meaning of the word philander. PatrickPatrick Meadows 1934 – 2017. patrick-meadows.com
Stephanie and I made a little world and we lived in it. A long goodbye. My life is in tatters. Yours has ended. So sorry. This short poem is from a collection Patrick called Scattered Notes.odt dated from 2014 to 2016. I’ll continue to add other segments as time allows. PatrickPatrick Meadows 1934 – 2017. […]
Thursday I am pointlessly staring at my tea, now only a stain at the bottom of the mug. So I glance at my reflection in the glass door of the dish cupboard opposite the table where I am sitting already quite a while. Reflected is the window behind me, through which I see that the […]