My late youngest brother Martin died three days after our father died, which was a big blow to our family, having a double funeral.
Martin had started up a Freight Forwarding business with my old school friend Paul Nolan and they were based near Feltham, by Heathrow airport, London.
I had returned from Bahrain on a visit and Martin tapped me up to pay for his Yamaha service and I went down with him to collect his motorcycle. He was a good rider and had complete control over his bike, so he had the Giddins “genes” in him for riding motorcycles.
My late Uncle Charles was in the RAF motor cycle team after the war and his son, John did a lot of scrambling which I used to go and watch.
Later that evening, Martin was driving home to his new wife of a few months passing along the dual carriageway near Chequers, the official country residence of the British Prime Minister, when a man wandered in front of a lady driving a BMW 320. The lady managed to miss the man but Martin was briefly blinded whilst he was overtaking her car at about 55 mph and he had no chance to avoid the man and hit him head on.
It turned out the man was drugged up out of his mind just wandering on the unlit road. Martin hit the kerb and although he had a riding suit of leathers and crash helmet on, he died 20 minutes later in hospital from massive head injuries.