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He tries not to get the three confused. Antony Kwok 14 January 1954 - 5 October 2002 |
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Antony
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Home HIV and the Developing World Another World gay life on five continents God Would Be An Atheist Fiction Opinion Reviews martin@martinforeman.com 12 October 2002 World Copyright © Martin Foreman |
Nine weeks ago Antony, his partner Chris Annus and I met for a drink. Antony had a headache and was feeling tired - not surprising, given his dedication to his work. After only one drink, instead of the usual two, we went for a meal at his favourite Chinese restaurant. Antony ordered; the meal was always better and cheaper when he did so and compared to when either Chris or I went without him. Halfway through the discussion with the waitress, he snapped his fingers with annoyance. There was a word he couldn't remember, in Cantonese or English. A very simple word for a common food he wanted to order. In the end he gave up and ordered something else. Two days later, Chris called and told me that Antony was behaving strangely and giving illogical answers to questions. Could we take him to hospital? We ordered a taxi and took him to the Chelsea and Westminster. He was not sure what the date was or who was the Prime Minister. They admitted him there and then. Thus began an emotional roller coaster as symptoms were identified and treated - an unidentified mass on his brain, a biopsy, a diagnosis of a malignant tumour, radiotherapy, various drugs, an unexpected infection - and Antony's health and normally placid mood descended into anger and confusion. When it became clear that nothing could resolve the anguish, which was almost as physical as it was mental, he decided to stop treatment. It took three days for the drugs to work their way out of his system. By then it was clear that the tumour was spreading rapidly. His last days were calm as each day slept longer. For the last few days he was unconscious and Chris and his family stayed at his bedside until the end came. Antony was born in Hong Kong and came to London to study art in 1971. On graduating, he became a fashion designer, eventually establishing his own label. His clothes featured widely in magazines and in stores such as Harrods. But although he had great talent - his creations were at once classically stylish, colourful and sumptuously made - like many artists, he was not a great businessman. By the late 1980s he had lost too much money to continue designing. Unwilling to submit his talent to others, he left the business, but he did so without rancour. For a couple of years he turned his hand to cookery, less interested in running his own restaurant than in becoming a writer. Here too, his creations were unique, fusions of eastern and western styles that captivated judges in the competitions that he frequently entered and won. But here too, the painstaking effort he put into researching, trying out and writing each recipe meant that it would be many years before his first book was complete. At the point he realised that his talents were unlikely to make him rich, he heard that the National AIDS Helpline was looking for Cantonese speakers to answer the phones twice a week. Although he knew next to nothing about HIV - apart from the basic need to use a condom - he applied and got the job. Within a couple of weeks he had found his metier. He began working on the English phone lines, became a full-time employee and stayed with NAH until the London office was closed. He then found work in other agencies and over the next decade became an expert on the impact of HIV as it affected the many different communities in London. At the time of his death he was working for Health First, a health promotion agency working in Lambeth, Southwark and Lewisham. At about the same time he became involved in HIV, he started taking self-defence classes. Jiu-jitsu was his sport, and he achieved not a black belt, but a dan so high that he found it difficult to find a sensei of higher rank who could teach him. He had other interests of course: travel, theatre and film and above all a pleasure in being alive and, when necessary, in being lazy. He was a quiet, stable and private man, but he had a sense of humour and a sociability which won him dozens of friends over the years. He could be demanding, but he respected others, and in work or friendship he never demanded more than would give himself. Antony and I met in 1986 and lived together for over three years. Our break up was not easy, but it was typical of Antony that after a couple of years, when he had settled down, he sought me out and a friendship began that survived to the end. Five years ago he met Chris; their relationship was quiet and solid, with their qualities reflecting and complementing each other. Not one to become involved easily, Antony had only one other strong emotional involvement in his life: Grant, whom he knew in the earlier 1980s. The pictures on the right show the Antony I knew and loved. The older Antony was no less handsome - indeed age brought both his body and his face a strength of character. But whether it was the young or the older Antony they remembered, each of the over seventy people from the worlds of fashion, health, HIV and jiu-jitsu who joined his family at the funeral, know that they have lost someone special in their lives. |
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