Robin Andrew Smith was ‘the first of the gang to die’. I’m the youngest – on both sides of my family – of a number of boy cousins. And I’m 56, and it’s no time in life to lose someone of my generation. Not yet. But Robin has died – at the are of 60. It’s too early – way too early – and taken us all by surprise.
Read more: Memories of my cousin, Robin SmithBeing the youngest, I (literally) looked up to my cousins in my youth. All of my dad’s and mum’s family were just a symbol of excitement – often on school holidays – and people I wanted to be with. It was exhilerating, and something I looked forward to hugely.
Robin was, when I was young, a particularly special cousin to me. I was getting on for four years his junior, and whilst that made me hugely behing him, we also shared ‘young brother’ status. There were quite a few school half-terms in the 80s where I’d go and stay – solo – with Robin (and my Autie Sylvia, Uncle Derek, and oler cousin Michael, but in my youth, it was simply ‘going to Robin’s’). It was SO EXCITING for young me. Our holiday routine of board games, playing in the garden, eating sweets and sucking pork scratchings, it all just sounds so dull somehow but was just BLISS to me at that age.
My brother Phil and cousine Adrian were much nearer to Robin in age, and enjoyed a few more delights with him than I did back in the day, but that was a gap I could never do anything about.
It definitely wasn’t, of course, just a youth of Robin and myself based memories. Our relationship weaved its way into a complexity of inter-cousin playdom – but I just remember bring SO EXCITED to go and see him.
As the years wore on, we grew less close. My life and Robin’s became so different. Robin’s career as an estate agent and my own life seemed never destined to touch one another. My own family came along and started to quickly gather its own priority, and Robin went into his middle age with no family of his own and becoming increasingly esconsed as a dedicated stay-at-home son who became a carer for his own parents. We were leagues apart in recent years, and only the odd ‘surprise’ pop-in to see him catered for our actual face to face time, aside from the routine drudgery of family funerals.
But we wer held togather – particularly Ardian, Phil, Robin and I, in the last few years, by our WhatsApp group. Never had we been so close in decades, and I enjoyed a closeness – centered on the past and its memories – that we might never have had otherwise.
Robin’s death was a huge shock to us all. Definitely not a healthy man, Robin’s sedentry lifestyle had grown legs in the era he’d looked after his parents, and his own health had taken a back seat. An infection from a leg injury that would normally had healed itself became a huge obstacle for Robin’s weakened heart, and his death – masked by his own optimism (that he’d be okay again soon) knocked us all for six.
Thank you Robin – for persistantly reminding me of the past and of all those golden days. I have plenty ahead, and will remain ever optimistic about those. But if my expectations are wrong, then we still have the past and those fabulous memories.
Below: Memories from Phil
My cousin, Robin Andrew Smith
My cousin, Robin Andrew Smith, was born on the 9th of May 1966, just 74 days before me. His mum, Sylvia, was my dad’s sister and we spent much of our early years sharing family time and growing up together. An early family silent movie from Spring 1967 depicts us both as babies alongside together. We stayed connected right up to the end of his life, and here is a personal sketch on my life alongside Robin.
When we were small boys, I recall the excitement of visiting Robin‘s house, or waiting for him to arrive at our house, when the families would get-together, which was often. Sometimes we would meet our grandma’s house in Silverdale. It was always special and exciting waiting to meet up.
We had a memorable childhood doing all the fun things that young boys do. When he came to my house at Slackhead, we built dens around Fairy Steps, we went walks and exploring in the woods. We rode bicycles around the garden and the back lane and notably on one occasion Robin tumbled onto the gravel driveway and cut the palm of his hand, gaining a deep blue scar that he would keep with him all his life. Up until recently we both used to laugh in amusement when we recalled the moment after the tumble his mother brought the horror-struck little Robin into our family bathroom to wash his injured hand, whilst I was busy sat on the toilet craning my neck to look on in cousinly amusement and interest.
When we visited his house in Walsall, we arranged a bicycle ‘scramble’ in the Orchard of the bottom of his garden, inviting the wider family to come and watch us pedalling the twisty-turny route through the trees and between the steel posts of the old swing. We made a program which we ‘sold’ to our parents. We both liked lawnmowers and mowing and playing cricket and playing on the swing at our grandma‘s house with our other cousins, and my brother David. I remember sharing the excitement of watching snowfall, “Ali-Ally aster Snow Snow faster” was his boyish chant followed by heated snow fights outside his house. Trips to the Arboretum at Sutton Coldfield were often combined with the exciting Sutton Baths.
Sometimes Robin and his family would visit us when we went on caravanning holidays, and I remember playing swingball at Cromer. Like many things Robin did, he would really ‘get into’ things and fully immerse himself and something, a proud winner and a frustrated loser.
As we grew older, I started to visit Robin’s house for stays in the school holidays. We camped in his garden and on one occasion the roof of the tent collapsed in the middle of the night, it seemed quite an adventure back then.
When we became young adults, I rented a place of my own at Levens and Robin often came to stay for weekends, proudly arriving in one of his new company cars. A couple of specials stand out in my mind, a fancy Ford Capri and a similarly special Mazda (I forget the model but I do remember it was blue and quite sporty). Robin was proud of his company cars, there was a sense that he had really ‘made it’ as trophies of his progression as an estate agent.
Robin was indeed a successful Estate Agent and our finest hour was, in his early 20s, Robin won a special award from his employer, being one of the highest sellers in his organisation. The prize was an all-inclusive holiday of a lifetime to Singapore and Malaysia. He was incredibly proud of this award, and I was privileged to be asked to go with him. At the time I was a relatively poor student compared to my fully employed Estate Agent cousin, so it was especially exciting to get the opportunity to travel in such luxury with Robin. We had a great time, Robin was on fine form. After, Robin joined me my girlfriend and some friends of our cohort to go skiing in Marileva, northern Italy. Robin took to skiing very well, I remember ice crystals accumulating on his ginger-blonde beard and the small amusement it generated; we enjoyed ourselves eating pizza and drinking beers.
As life moved into our 30s, we did not spend as much time together, as I met Anne and got married and brought up a family, but we did stay in touch. I had moved to Devon and was often driving up or down the country, so when I passed by Junction 9 of the M6, I would sometimes call in for a cup of tea and some bacon and eggs. He came to my wedding in Devon in 1999 and to my 40th birthday party in 1996.
Robin was a good musician and a great lover of music, particularly jazz, although he did appreciate most genres and critically, we enjoyed the music together too. In concert we saw Buddy Rich, Oscar Peterson, ZZ Top and Buddy Guy, a diverse spread, but always rooted in blues. When he was a boy, he would play the piano, organ and a violin by ear with ease. Robin learned by ear naturally and with apparent ease. But most of all was his love and appreciation of listening to jazz music, particularly bebop and big band swing pre 1970s, with an almost obsessive focus with certain instrumentalists, Oscar Peterson and mostly Buddy Rich being the top of the list. Robin loved deep accomplishment and musicianship and would celebrate key moments of their numbers by repeated playing of certain bars, and repeating, again. And again.
During the Covid19 lockdown our mutual cousin Adrian set up a small WhatsApp group where Robin was a highly active participant. This rejuvenated our connection, with the wider cousins, my brother Dave and Adrian, swapping banter, quips and memories. This became a terrific way to stay connected, whilst our lives threaded different pathways.
Robin had a profound sense of nostalgia in his later life, reflecting deeply with vivid memories of our early childhood and early days always with affection and amusement, remembering the smallest details and recounting them to us. We would gain new enlightenment and laughter at some of the early amusements and Robin would repeatedly recount these. He cherished these memories with relish and reflected happiness.
Robin was a golfer and proud of the ‘hole in one’ he reached at Walsall Golf Club. Apart from our early bike riding, swingball and the skiing, we never shared physical sports together, but we did enjoy sharing news about the motorcycle TT and the cricket, both being topics of focus and discussion between us. One of his last exchanges to me was frustration with the captaincy of Ben Stokes in the cricket citing “nightclub trouble again”, and admiration for the motorcyclist John McGuinness at the Isle of Man, “amazing for his age”, he commented in June.
Robin never left his parental home and lived in the one house all his life, quite ironic for an Estate Agent. He was happy with what he had and cherished the home comforts and obviously loved being around his late parents. He spent many of his latter years nursing his elderly Mum.
My last correspondence with him was to invite him to my 60th birthday celebration on 22nd July, which he graciously declined citing struggles with his mobility. Sadly, only a few days later he was gone. Although I knew Robin was struggling with ill health, it was a terrible shock when I received the phone call to tell me the news.
I feel sad that now due to a pre-booked holiday I cannot attend his funeral, and I hope that writing and reading this short memoir may may help the mourning.
I reflect on happy memories and good cheer, and a life guided with deep personal conviction and, I believe, contentment and happiness.
Farewell, my cousin Robin. Although you have gone now, I smile at the good times and these memories remain here.
A perspective by Robin’s cousin, Philip M. Haygarth. 8th August 2026