Oralio. A. Salmon- a loss words cannot express

One minute, I'm enjoying my usual low key Friday night: 7.30pm and suckling on cue to property programmes, good food, some wine or cider with my laptop on and books strewn around me on the sofa. The next it's 8pm, the phone is on its second ring when my mum answers. I don't pay attention, assuming it's relatives in Jamaica who were due to call back. All my friends would call my mobile. Only when mother let out a stomach churning shriek, do I immediately jump up. Did she say 'Uncs'? I thought I heard her say the name of my Uncle Sammy. No. It couldn't be that call. I want to dismiss the feeling, but I recognise this call. The phone becomes a placid distributor of irrevocably bad news. This call was to say that someone had died. In all my 29 years, I did not expect to hear that call, at this time, for our dear beloved Uncs.

It's now Tuesday, and I won't pretend to be writing this with my usual glee. But having spent the day trawling through the possessions of a private man, I felt the need to mark this moment, this sad passing, and reflect on the generosity and cherished spirit of a unique man.

Oralio Alberto Salmon was a man of faith and the Law, more of a calling than mere profession. Such dual strengths also made him a gifted orator, known for delivering a sermon or eulogy with a vigor and tenacity that flickered the imagination and had his audience hanging on every word. He committed his passion and belief to defending the rights of the under served citizen with legal representation and assistance in the best way he could. No issue too big or too small; "Ori" would help. My mum, brother and I today unearthed so many letters and correspondence argued on behalf of tenants, fellow workers and those in the wider South West London community. The ongoing progress of an injustice or other was often mentioned on his visits, not to mention his central role as chief arbiter in dealing with any legal problems for the family both in the UK and in Jamaica. He enjoyed the debate, the intellectual challenge of approaching a decision from a new angle.

He was well loved and fondly regarded in his apartment block of 20 years, with neighbours expressing their sorrow that he is gone: 'he was like an uncle to me', 'such a sweet man', 'he was my best friend' being common quotes. As for the surrounding area? He loved Brixton. The hustle and bustle suited him, the extensive tube and bus network cursing through London, the mix of nationalities, religions and races all grounded by a sense of old fashioned inner city London community (which maybe outsiders never understand). Belonging, but still an individual.

Oralio was a man of people. In fact, I really think he enjoyed the contradictions of people and how we live. Maybe he saw parts of himself in others, but whatever the explanation, he was also guided by a strong and unswerving faith in God. He remained curious about life and its various stages, about achieving goals and even more so about his faith. Uncs always encouraged any kids he knew to try their best and pursue their dreams, even when those kids became adults. His visits were reassuring, if too sparse, and was like a cultural exchange of care packages from the maternal side of the family (us, led by his sister) and the paternal (him): we'd cook fried fish, and fill his bags with clothing, toiletry and food top ups, while he delighted the children in brother and I with D&G soda pops, the softest hard dough bread (it's a Caribbean thing! For the uninitiated https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmpL7tUpRf2op5P1uOu2v5_Rqiu6TlLVldx1HD_zZQLTFw7sTwhMuq0JU6g_uaWtnTlJBJmQtdbMiyzu-5ln7XFpN9RdOuQMdOfvEyTZCFqi7I8M3KXHyus9VxA-QxYnSrejDhRR0fxE/s320/ItemHardoBread.jpg), Captain Morgan rum and other yummy foods)

It's impossible to describe the impact of my uncle, my mothers brother and one of six sons to Alma and Norman Salmon. He was 71 years young, a sprightly man and neigh on sprint-walker until illness shortened his pace. He was known by many a nickname, but whichever term is used, his family and friends will remember the wry knowing chuckle, the Phileas Fogg 'tache, his love of good radio talkies and the English language that had long enchanted him through the books he read, his penchant for a good rum or a Guinness, his utter stubbornness countered by his never ending kindness and sweet nature and his ability to produce pithy proverbs that seem to sum up the moment just so, none more than these last words on every visit 'Uncle Sammy Loves You'.

Rest in Peace, dear uncle

Oralio A Salmon- 8.09.37- 5.08.09