Towards the end of , as medical specialists explained to me that no further treatment was possible and that, therefore, my bowel cancer would probably be terminal, I started to seriously reflect on my life.
And I realised that it has been rather compartmentalised, a series of chapters, some bearing little or no relation to others. Few of my current circle of friends, for instance, are familiar with my background, my family, my various careers or those people who have influenced me over the decades. Likewise, I would not expect friends, colleagues or acquaintances from years ago to know what has happened in the intervening years. I sincerely hope that recipients of the music award that I expect to have been established posthumously at the Royal College of Music in the name of Ged Clapson and Blair Wilson will search out this online resource and discover a little more about me and the man who brought such happiness and love into my life; and it will help them to understand my motivation for supporting their studies at the RCM.
And, should anyone choose to say or write a few words about me following my death, I hope this might provide them with a reasonably complete picture. I am not pretending it is complete: others may have completely different recollections. It is also inevitably selective: there are episodes which I have either deliberately forgotten or the memory has chosen to suppress. I will not even pretend it is totally accurate: it is my interpretation of events and the mind has the habit of playing tricks in our later years.
If you lived through any of these events with me, feel free to add any blank scenes or perspectives. And if you are visiting as a stranger, welcome! Here, for what it's worth, is my personal account of my life The child who is born on the Sabbath day. Is bonnie and blithe and good and gay. It was also the day that Charles named after my father Gerard Clapson made his first appearance in the world. Apparently, my mother — a staunch Catholic — had no idea when they chose my middle name that St Gerard Majella was the patron saint of expectant mothers.
But it was the one I came to be identified by, to differentiate between my father and me. Besides, I always tried to avoid the name Charles it sounded so snooty when I was growing up , but in my later years, I have resigned myself to the fact that my birth certificate clearly states that I am Charles Gerard.
