David Kershaw

Today I went to the funeral of one of my favourite lecturers, David Kershaw. It was brilliant to see so many people there who had clearly been touched by him.

You see, David was not only clever and knowledgeable but he was also supportive and inspiring. David helped me and looked out for me when I was in the grip of my eating disorder. When I fell into an episode of depression, he was there cheering me on and celebrating my little victories with me. He knew my father died suddenly just before I started university and always liked to make sure I was doing okay, and at certain times of the year when he knew I was more vulnerable than usual, he’d take the time out to listen to me and check on me almost like a surrogate father.
David was always there for any of the students who needed him. Anyone who asked for help received it with a smile.

I owe him a lot. I don’t think I would have completed university without his guidance. We all have our own memories of him and these are mine. He was loving and caring and witty and clever.

If there is a heaven, or an afterlife, or just another part of the universe I know there will be a queue of people just waiting to give him a hug. And waiting behind that queue will be a man who bares a passing resemblance to me, with hair of flame and silver and skin splattered with freckles, patiently waiting to shake his hand and thank him for looking after his little girl.

We all owe David a thank you.

So thank you David. Thank you for the grammar lessons. Thank you for the tap dancing. Thank you for the loyalty. Thank you for crossing the road with me. Thank you for the flat caps. Thank you for the pep talks. Thank you for stopping me commit libel. Thank you for encouraging us to think for ourselves. Thank you for the book recommendations. Thank you for the kind words. Thank you for the wit. Thank you for the knowledge and advice.
Thank you.
Rest in peace.

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