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October 19
Writing a farewell note is not so easy as it may seem. I know because I’ve done it so many times! However, on this occasion it is not so difficult yet it is totally correct. I am describing an English man, a true gentleman who died here on the Costa Blanca a few days ago at the age of 91.
I met Ernest Quinton quite by chance five or six years ago at a casual meeting in Altea where a group of ‘Brits’ were in conclave.
I am not a garrulous conversationalist so I was not particularly enamoured to the group but Ernest drew up a chair beside me and we became friends.
Although we had dissimilar interests we got together. We had both worked in London, me in the newspaper game and Ernest using his talent as an antique specialist.
Apart from the West End location all we had in common was age. Now here we were in Spain, both in our nineties and with our ‘she who must be obeyed’ regularly chatted over coffee.
we enjoyed our nostalgic reunions. Whereas my sport was tennis and I remained a newspaper buff Ernest’s interest was in yachting and enjoyed visiting the Altea boat displays.
On the other end of the scale almost every Friday or Saturday I was quizzed on the Costa Blanca News content.
Sadly a few days ago Ernest succumbed to age and died.
Ernest was one of the most interesting “ex-pat” folk I have ever met.
Malcolm Smith
