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| Version 1 | Version 2 |
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| Michele Hanson: kind, clever, eccentric and sweary | Michele Hanson: kind, clever, eccentric and sweary |
| (about 3 hours later) | |
| Michele Hanson’s sudden death (she would have had no time for eggshelly words like “passing”) has been a profound shock to all her colleagues at the Guardian, her readers and, most of all, those who loved her. Since the news broke on Saturday, many readers who did not have the privilege to know her well have said that they felt as though they did. “She was VIVID”, one acquaintance of hers wrote to me, and that was the exact word for her. | Michele Hanson’s sudden death (she would have had no time for eggshelly words like “passing”) has been a profound shock to all her colleagues at the Guardian, her readers and, most of all, those who loved her. Since the news broke on Saturday, many readers who did not have the privilege to know her well have said that they felt as though they did. “She was VIVID”, one acquaintance of hers wrote to me, and that was the exact word for her. |
| As a person, she was all of the things that you would hope to be called after you were gone: kind, clever and funny, clearly devoted to her loved ones, not to mention the dogs she adored. She was also eccentric, fun, sweary and had no patience for dreks (a Yiddish with a loose translation of shits). | As a person, she was all of the things that you would hope to be called after you were gone: kind, clever and funny, clearly devoted to her loved ones, not to mention the dogs she adored. She was also eccentric, fun, sweary and had no patience for dreks (a Yiddish with a loose translation of shits). |
| As a writer, her voice jumped from the page, commanding that you paid attention to it. Despite this, it was never peremptory or condescending. Her writing was warm, confiding, shot through with a compassion for the disadvantaged and the vulnerable that showed, too, off the page. | As a writer, her voice jumped from the page, commanding that you paid attention to it. Despite this, it was never peremptory or condescending. Her writing was warm, confiding, shot through with a compassion for the disadvantaged and the vulnerable that showed, too, off the page. |
| It is because of this that Michele was one of the newspaper’s most popular columnists. Not all writers are lucky enough to be in possession of a voice so singular, but she had it, and readers responded accordingly. They were always writing in to praise her columns on friendship, ageing, politics and everything in-between, with many remembering her from the days of her Treasure columns, which were devoted to her daughter Amy, of whom she was so very proud. | It is because of this that Michele was one of the newspaper’s most popular columnists. Not all writers are lucky enough to be in possession of a voice so singular, but she had it, and readers responded accordingly. They were always writing in to praise her columns on friendship, ageing, politics and everything in-between, with many remembering her from the days of her Treasure columns, which were devoted to her daughter Amy, of whom she was so very proud. |
| I would often forward these emails to her and, when I worked on the letters desk, I would try and get these into print as often as possible. I liked being her secret ally, bigging her up from behind the scenes, especially as she sometimes seemed unaware of her talent and popularity, and occasionally anxious about her position. She needn’t have worried. | I would often forward these emails to her and, when I worked on the letters desk, I would try and get these into print as often as possible. I liked being her secret ally, bigging her up from behind the scenes, especially as she sometimes seemed unaware of her talent and popularity, and occasionally anxious about her position. She needn’t have worried. |
| It is ironic that, in Michele’s final piece of writing for this paper, she wrote in her typically forthright style on the topic of fearing a long, drawn-out death in a care home. “Only last week, while visiting my solicitor to organise power of attorney in case I am suddenly incapacitated or lose my marbles, I told him that I’d rather hurl myself from my perch and drop dead than live in a care home.” A blessing arising from her death is that she did not have to face that future, though of course we all wish that she were still here. | It is ironic that, in Michele’s final piece of writing for this paper, she wrote in her typically forthright style on the topic of fearing a long, drawn-out death in a care home. “Only last week, while visiting my solicitor to organise power of attorney in case I am suddenly incapacitated or lose my marbles, I told him that I’d rather hurl myself from my perch and drop dead than live in a care home.” A blessing arising from her death is that she did not have to face that future, though of course we all wish that she were still here. |
| On a more personal note, Michele was a friend and neighbour to me, as well as a colleague. We would often bump into each other and chat as she walked her dogs or would meet for tea, smoking sneaky fags in her garden under the auspices of her dispensing horticulture advice. | On a more personal note, Michele was a friend and neighbour to me, as well as a colleague. We would often bump into each other and chat as she walked her dogs or would meet for tea, smoking sneaky fags in her garden under the auspices of her dispensing horticulture advice. |
| Having admired a fine burro’s tail plant at her house, she came round with cuttings. When I drank far too much at the Christmas party a couple of years ago, she took me home. Last December, knowing that I had recently been mugged, she insisted on driving me. That’s what she was like: generous, caring. When I saw her, she was in a very happy mood, thrilled at her new, rebranded column, full of ideas. | Having admired a fine burro’s tail plant at her house, she came round with cuttings. When I drank far too much at the Christmas party a couple of years ago, she took me home. Last December, knowing that I had recently been mugged, she insisted on driving me. That’s what she was like: generous, caring. When I saw her, she was in a very happy mood, thrilled at her new, rebranded column, full of ideas. |
| It is so sad that we will never get to read them. As a newish friend, I wish very much that I had had the fortune of knowing her longer. But I am also glad for the chance of knowing her at all. I am sure those who knew her through her writing feel the same. | It is so sad that we will never get to read them. As a newish friend, I wish very much that I had had the fortune of knowing her longer. But I am also glad for the chance of knowing her at all. I am sure those who knew her through her writing feel the same. |
| A JustGiving page has been launched in her memory. | |
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