Colonialist, I’ll miss you

I want to take a brief moment to mark the passing of a blogger from South Africa who went by the name of Colonialist. He had been battling cancer and THIS post informed his readers and followers the fight ended a few weeks ago.

Readers might have seen his comments on many of my blog posts.

His name was Leslie Hyla Winton Noble and he lived an energetic life, dedicated to his family, writing, music, poetry, and involvement with the community.

As a published author, his books had won awards and were well regarded. They had been considered for a film adaptation here in the US, but the project fell through because of proposed changes he did not agree with. They are children books and if anyone who reads this is interested in them, there are links for them on his site.

A man of integrity in his personal, public, and professional life, what impressed me most was his unbounded dedication to his children and grandchildren. As involved as he was in their lives, I’m sure he left a large void and I offer my heartfelt and deep condolences and share my own sorrow for his passing.  

Our blog interactions began at Legends Undying, way back in February of 2013 and continued until December of last year. My notifications tell me there are 408 interactions but many of those involved multiple comments, so, yes, Colonialist and I shared many public and private conversations and he was the remaining of two editors I would have had no qualms in hiring if I ever pulled the trigger on self-publishing.I respected and admired the person that he was.

Last year, we exchanged emails regarding the prospect of publishing one of my books under his publishing label. I was still considering the option when his health took a turn for the worst.

The last time we exchanged emails was at Christmas, an all-too-brief exchange of greetings, and when my latest email went unanswered, I feared the worst.

I’ve said this before about two other people I knew only through the blog, considered friends,  and whose untimely passing still weigh in my mind . . . I wish I would have met you in person, Leslie. I wish we could have shared a conversation, a laugh, and shaken hands.

I offer the song I always mentally cue up in such circumstances and promise that I will remember you . . .


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