Words by Laurel Lindström
We’ve lost a wonderful colleague and friend, the author Geoff Gudgion, to a devastating disease that took a mere few weeks to claim him. So how do we say we miss you? How do we say we’re so sorry to his family, when we don’t know them? How do we accept that we didn’t really know you, Geoff? We are missing you, but only that part of you that you shared with us.
I can share what we do know, and maybe that small sliver reflects Geoff more broadly. Geoff was always impeccably dressed, with a subtle blend of playfulness and dignity. At Authors’ Club events he sometimes looked like he was on his way to a wedding or to meet royalty, such was his bearing and carriage.
Geoff wrote ghost stories, historical fantasy, novellas and short stories. His writing world was peppered with the supernatural and fantastic characters such as Adelais, his cross-dressing warrior nun, winning him a solid and reliable market of happy readers and enviable sales.
We met at my first fiction publisher’s office, where we had been invited for a sort of workshop about social media. I was early and over-excited. The books lining the walls, the little kitchen area, the serious faces of the people going to and fro, talking in low tones about books and writing. The smell of books and print, and the door leading to what were surely hallowed spaces beyond the lobby. We would soon be part of that sacred space, having conversations about writing.
And in swans Geoff. So tall, so straight and confident; in control. I thought he must be something military, and later found out that he had been in the Royal Navy for many years. He sat down next to me, urbane and super-cool. Geoff was not a debut author, which for me gave him considerable writerly authority. We chatted about how we each came to be with the publisher, what we expected in the workshop, what our books were about. And walking back to the tube he said he’d love to be part of the Authors’ Club. That was the beginning of what might otherwise have been nothing more than a brief moment of shared experience. I am very glad it wasn’t.
Geoff soon joined the Authors’ Club Executive Committee and took on the Treasurer’s duties. He was supportive of writers as much as readers. Besides doing the financial work superbly, Geoff was a committed reader for the Best First Novel Award, and attended pretty much all the Authors’ Club monthly lunches. At our James Bond dinner in 2023 to celebrate Casino Royale’s seventieth birthday, he channelled Bond to perfection. Immaculate in black tie, complete with white dress scarf – 007 personified – Geoff swanned about, Martini in hand, working the room and in command.
But these little moments at Authors’ Club events were all we really have of the man. The rest of his life belonged to his family and many friends and colleagues. We knew he was his wife’s carer and support. We knew he had a son in Australia who came to visit. We knew he organised a local meet-and-greet event with the late thriller writer Frederick Forsyth. We knew he was a keen horseman, and we knew of his 17-year-old warmblood Ida’s gifted performance in the dressage arena. He loved telling tales of her brilliance and misdemeanours, such as her habit of jumping out of arenas to bog off somewhere more interesting, giving the impression that he was less cross than thrilled. An unexpected jaunt through the woods is far more interesting than halting at X or cantering a 15 metre circle. Geoff struggled with this because he had one leg longer than the other. A special shoe compensated for this on the ground. But wasn’t much good when he was riding, so he had to sit very straight to stop the circle becoming a spiral. What a strange thing to know about a man.
Geoff was also a keen shot and chef. Annoying pigeons on his front lawn were regularly dispatched, especially when he was expecting people for lunch. To my look of horror, Geoff told me his guests enjoyed home-made pigeon pie in burgundy gravy, served with mashed potatoes and peas.
Fragments, little pieces of a life. We have these, and the sense that we might have meant something to the man. We might have added a dimension to his world that he valued and enjoyed. He gave us so much of his grace and charm, his wit, insightfulness and patience. A military man to the end, even in such terrible and sudden ill-health. He was charming, stoic, diplomatic and above all kind. I am glad to have shared a small sliver of his world.
When last we met at the Authors’ Club, we drank to Geoff’s memory with wine number 007 from the National Liberal Club list. It’s Pommery Brut Royale BV, described as ‘harmonious and never grows tiresome’. Much like Geoff really – a champagne of a man.