Bob Dron, 1955-2023

Bob and Jon Dron, circa 1965
Me, my brother Bob, and my rabbit (I think its name was Easter Bunny) in our garden in Hamble, I guess around 1964 or thereabouts. I don’t know why Bob is standing in a basket.

My beautiful, witty, talented brother Bob died unexpectedly in his sleep a week ago today. He was 67. I still cannot find the words to express the loss. From the day I was born Bob was always there, and he remains a huge part of me. He was variously my role model, my confidante, my advisor (seldom a wise one), my entertainer, my friend, my co-conspirator, my collaborator, my flatmate, my burden, my rock, my protector, my teacher.  As a child, almost everything Bob ever did I had to do too, and anything Bob had I had to have too. There was barely a moment that mattered that didn’t have Bob in it. A thousand different vignettes play out in my mind every day, a thousand trivial and momentous moments, a thousand times he changed my life.

Bob walked gently on the world, often drifting a little to its side and sometimes not quite in it. That world is an emptier, sadder place without him.

A picture of a guitar as the seat of a swing, by Bob Dron
Swing Guitar, by Bob Dron, circa 1984. I started to play the guitar because of Bob. We used to jam a lot together and for a couple of years in the early 1980s we formed a duo, playing a weekly gig in a wine bar in Brighton, near to where we shared a flat. He drew this for my birthday because he never had any money to buy me anything. I still have that guitar.