Edward James Willin

As a retired military man, I am no stranger to loss. But Jim’s passing feels different—more raw, more visceral. Sharing these words is both an honour and a cathartic process. It helps me come to terms, and I hope it might help some of you too. Jim loves a story. His style always reminds me of Ronnie Corbett and although I won’t attempt the impression today, Instead, let me tell you mine & Jims. 1 Corps Troops Workshop, Bielefeld, Germany August 1987. I walked into the orderly room as a young and inexperienced lance corporal. Behind the counter was the company clerk, Corporal James Willin—or rather, to be completely accurate, a large forehead with a tuft of blond hair poking over the countertop. He introduced himself as Corporal Willin, processed my arrival, and as the senior soldier took me under his arm in those early days—teaching me the ropes, and trying, not always successfully, to keep me out of trouble. Most soldiers in Germany back then followed the same pattern: drink, fight, dance, soldier—repeat. Jim was different. He enjoyed the camaraderie, but he was thoughtful, steady, and never afraid to follow his own path. Even down to his “rope in, rope out” dancing technique. Cars brought us together, and quickly our friendship became something more. One leave, I invited him home for a few days. Two weeks later, he was still there—fully adopted into my family, my mum treating him as another son. She really loved him. On our very first night out with my mum, the Jack Daniels flowed, and Jim’s disregard for convention took over. By the end of the evening, he was wearing the waitress’s French maid outfit—heels and all. From that point on, Jim wasn’t just a friend. He was my brother. • Brothers in arms—running the Berlin Marathon in 1988. (he beat me!) • Brothers in cars—though his were always better than mine. • Brothers in motorbikes—though I spent a lot of time extracting his bike from sticky situations where his short legs were a disadvantage. I’ll never forget a rally in France where, after a few more Jack Daniels, he decided to introduce the locals to the Army concept of a “naked bar.” Only Jim could get away with that. • Brothers in Jack Daniels. JD is our drink of choice. and anyone who drinks with Jim knows one thing: he is terrible at it. Cheers, Jim. Life rolled on. I married and Jim was my best man I divorced and Jim stood beside me. When our mum died, Jim was there. Always without drama, no fuss, just there, holding steady. Telling terrible jokes. Then Jim met Janice—and suddenly I had a sister. With my partner Sheena, the four of us have many happy, crazy memories, and I’ll leave the ladies to share their side of the “When Jim met Janice” chapter later at the bar. One of the greatest honours of my life was being Jim’s best man when he married Janice. Recalling the best mans speech, the tragedy is not lost on me today I stand here with the saddest duty of all but I suppose today, I should be nice to him. So—how do you sum up Jim? On occasions like this, we hear words like loyal, caring, honest. But with Jim, those aren’t just words. His life itself was the proof. And I’ll end with this. When I speak of Jim, I speak in the present tense. Because Jim is still Jim. He is here—in our stories, in our laughter, and in the love he gave so freely, and well……Just being Jim.