I first met Gina in early eighties London,

at a particularly raucous, Quested Christmas luncheon.

While petite in stature, Gina's presence filled the room.

Her laughter and energy always in full bloom.

 

When the ski circus hit town,

Gina was always around,

making sure everyone was fine,

pouring them another wine.

 

A summer’s evening in Kenmare.

Gina dancing, with not a care.

Young and free, 

just happy to be.

 

Sunny days on Palatina.

Snowy ones when we would see her

cruising Brevent’s easy blues,

as the sun set golden hues.

 

And then one day, everything changed.

In the skip of a few heartbeats,

Gina as we knew her, was gone.

A new one was born.

 

Treatments and therapies,

Gina endured them all.

When it felt like too much do,

William would help her through.

 

Traces of the old Gina were there.

She still loved Chamonix’s mountain air.

Long walks in the forest near the lake

and her inner spirit would awake.

 

She loved books, especially dog stories,

revelling in their challenges and glories,

or walking around Setley pond,

a place of which she was so fond .

 

From the birds in her garden

 to Mont Blanc’s majestic peaks,

Gina’s spirit dances on…