Lee Robinson: 1974-2007

I’ve known a few expats pass away during my time in Cambodia, but the range, volume and sincerity of tributes expressed following the death of my close friend Lee Robinson last week has rarely been matched.

I wondered a couple of nights ago after his very well attended funeral and the wake that followed just what Lee would have made of all it and nearly found myself phoning him to find out. He would probably have laughed uproariously and then cracked a self depreciating joke.

The thing about Lee, as one of his chums Dickon wrote in the forum, is that he was loved by all and loathed by no one. Despite the fact that his mates would often quarrel (like expats do) Lee would always manage to somehow stay out of it and sit on the sidelines. In that way, as Dickon told me, ‘He was like Switzerland without the negatives.’ For me, his mere presence would bring light and joy to a room and time and time again I?d find myself in a bar and I or someone else would say, ‘Where?s Lee?’ (if he wasn?t already with us) and then someone would call him and five minutes later he’d be hopping off the back of a motorbike taxi (he was far too scatty to ever drive himself as he’d painfully found out over time) and have us all bursting out into laughter by launching headlong into an implausible story which normally involved something awful yet hilarious having happened to him five minutes before.

Lee stories abound. There was the time he ran into the Peace Pub shouting for a large gin and tonic, drinking about three of them at a furious pace and then telling us, ashen faced, that he’d just (almost but not quite) been mugged by a gang of crazed Khmer transvestites. Then there was the time just a few weeks ago when a few of us were at another bar and I said to a friend, ‘Lee’s been upstairs in the toilet for a while. Do you think he’s OK?’ and with perfect timing, we heard of the unmistakeable sound of a man crashing headlong down a set of stairs. We turned around to see a crumpled Lee leap up from the floor like a stuntman and take a bow as if he’d planned it just to get a laugh. Another time, he vanished to Thailand with $1000 in his pocket and the intention of taking a well earned holiday. We next saw him back in Phnom Penh three days later looking much the worse for wear and managing to make a joke out of the fact that he?d been thumped by a crazed tourist within seconds of arriving and then found out that all his dollars were 1996 issue and unspendable in Thailand leaving him effectively penniless: he’d had to get the public bus all the way back and sleep rough in bus shelters from Bangkok to Phnom Penh.

Amidst all this seeming chaos though, Lee had found his true vocation and a way of channelling his immense energy in Cambodia – he loved teaching English to kids and excelled at it. He was the model teacher and as his friend Dickon pointed out, ”For someone who never appeared interested in having kids, ironically he loved teaching them.” He’d joke about his students being ‘little ankle biters’ but he was arguably the most talented and dedicated ESL teacher of Grade 2-4 kids in Phnom Penh and took a quiet but fierce pride in his work and preparation. His students adored him and it’s some consolation to us that he made their lives better and they’ll always remember him for it. His employers were very fortunate to have him and may well find Lee irreplaceable.

I’ll also remember Lee to be such a life force, he was very up and funny but underneath it all he was quietly the most generous of men. I asked him a few weeks ago to be the best man at my Khmer wedding and knowing what a rough gig this is (we’d both done it before for others) involving getting up at the crack of dawn and being on your feet ’til late evening, I expected him to at least think about such a rotten request and then get back to me later. Instead, and as quick as a flash and looking me straight in the eye, he said, ”It?ll be an honour.” and then repeated himself adding just how much he?d be honoured to do it. That was typical of Lee – being asked to do a major favour and then turning things round to make me think that I was doing him the favour by asking.

From what his friends could gather, Lee didn’t have an especially happy childhood in the UK and following a spell in the army and in the hotel industry, he’d come to Cambodia as a young man to find himself. He worked in Battambang for a while (making many friends) and his ex boss there, who has the deepest respect for Lee, told me that he arrived as a boy and left as a man. It was in Phnom Penh, though, that he found even more friends (who adored him), a job he loved doing and became happy, relaxed, settled and enormously contented with his life.

He loved the oddities and quirks that you find in Cambodia and was never going to leave. He didn?t, but I can’t help but feel that 32 was much to young an age to be taken.

It was like being hit by a train when I found out that he?d gone and I know that quite a few other people feel the same way. As his friend Dickon said, and I quote, ”He died far too young. I don”t think there is any consolation at all with this. However, we did have a chat once. He was asking advice about saving money. We had a long chat about it and he basically said that he didn’t really want to get old anyway, he”d much rather burn bright than fade away. He left a big impression and in the mind of his friends, he won”t fade away.”

Rest in Peace, Lee. You won’t fade away.

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”I don’t remember exactly when I met Lee but I remember very well the fun times we had together. We traveled a lot together and I’m so glad that I took so many pictures of our travels. We had a lot of fun in many different places. Lee lived to have fun and enjoy life. He was a great guy who made friends easily. And I”m proud to say that Lee was my best friend.

So when you think about Lee, smile. I”m sure he was smiling the last time you talked to him.”

Tim Holland