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Remembering the dead:

The life and death of Diane Brimble

by Simon Longstaff

How should I hope to be remembered when my life is done? Should I hope for a generous account in which my better self is revealed while darker aspects remain obscured? Or would I be honoured better if all was told? And of those who might speak of me; what should their obligation be – to my memory, to my remaining loved ones, to the wider world of the living?

Such questions have been prompted by the tragic circumstances of Diane Brimble – whose life story is now being contested; with rival versions of her character and conduct being laid bare in public.

I would like to say that there are easy answers to the questions that I have posed – but there are not. Suppose it is proposed that we should prefer the interests of the living. Then what are we to do when those interests do not coincide? Those named as ‘persons of interest’ at the inquest into Ms Brimble’s death would probably say that justice will only be served if their conduct is judged in light of all of the facts – including those concerning her past.

But what of Ms Brimble’s family and friends? Are they not entitled to remember her as they knew her to be – their knowledge circumscribed by what she chose to reveal of herself?

While a few people might live their lives as an entirely open book, most of us edit the narrative as it unfolds. We do so for a number of reasons, some of which are entirely selfish, some of which are genuinely for the sake of others. We might conceal certain information for fear of embarrassment. But equally, we might do so for fear of the hurt that we might do to others. There are times when our lives are just too messy to be revealed completely. On these occasions, a private moment might be needed to sort things out – to establish a little order in our own minds before involving others.

More generally, society accepts that some matters are of such importance as to justify a presumption in favour of privacy and confidentiality. Typically, such matters include those relating to the protection of our bodies, souls and liberty. Without proper assurances of privacy and confidentiality, people needing medical, legal or spiritual advice will not seek the help they need – not only a risk to the individual but in many cases, to society at large. So, I am sure that when Ms Brimble sought medical advice in the lead up to her ill-fated cruise, she did so on the basis that her doctor would respect her privacy.

I imagine that if Ms Brimble had died in her bed, free from any controversy, we would know nothing of her medical history. Indeed, by custom and practice we honour the dead by highlighting their accomplishments. I would think it unseemly to deliver a eulogy designed to damage the memory of the recently departed. Even the worst of us can expect a kind word at their funeral – if not for their sake, then for that of their grieving friends and relatives.

But for all that, there may be times when nothing less than the truth will do – even if it is hard to bear. Even the dead have an interest in justice being served – even if it involves re-writing the previously accepted story of their lives. That is because each of us leaves behind a legacy in the character of society that we have helped to fashion.

There are few greater legacies than a just society based on the rule of law. In such a society, a guilty person may occasionally go free – a price we pay to preserve the liberties of the many. In such a society, the confidences of the dead may be broken and a life’s story rewritten – with distressing consequences for some. Far from the evidence of Ms Brimble’s doctor being an assault on her memory, it is an expression of the kind of society that she helped to sustain – a society that has not forgotten her and even now, seeks to find the truth of her death.

Those who tell what they know of Ms Brimble’s life do her no harm. But let that truth be reported, as a whole, with respect and compassion.

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