It was a typical Gwen evening at one of her favourite restaurants. There is no signage visible from the street. You walk towards a brightly-lit middle-class dwelling, but instead of ringing the bell you take three steps to the left and find a dark and dank wooden structure left over from the Showa Era.
The food, needless to say, was superlative and the gathering unusual, including a well-respected American historian of Japan, a British Archaeologist and one of Japan’s best-known female international bureaucrats, now retired from the frontline. After the meal, the “nijikai” took place in a music bar where we caught up with some Nikkei staff, including one individual who plays the blues harp like Little Walter.
I have enjoyed many such evenings with my friend Gwen over the years but this one is especially precious because it was the last time I saw her.
When people pass away it is customary to declare that they will be missed. In Gwen’s case, the space that she has now vacated is enormous and cannot be filled. I’ve never met any one else who had such a large and diverse number of friends and acquaintances, from winners of the Nobel Prize for Economics to apprentice cooks, from best-selling writers to anti-government activists in Myanmar.
Her Japanese language skills were far from top grade but she had no difficulty in communicating and creating lasting relationships in the language. Club Gwen had a huge membership.
Gwen’s parents were both journalists and she followed the family tradition. She also encouraged me to write on a number of subjects, first for the FT and then for Nikkei Asia. Occasionally we would have a difference of opinion about a piece. She was almost always right. In fact, as I write these words now, I can hear her say, with a little impatience and in that inimitable Aussie twang “Peter, what is your point!”
Gwen genuinely liked people and was intrigued by them, which is why so many responded in return. But she was a good judge of character and could identify a creep very quickly.
She was a ball of energy, never seeming to sleep and constantly hopping on and off planes. Aware of her health issues, she was determined to pack in as much as possible. In that, she succeeded.
When I think of her now, what comes to the fore are her courage, her generosity and her humour. I will toast her memory in that rickety firetrap of a restaurant in Hiroo.