Guest Writer Our latest alumni love story is an emotional one, as alumna Caro Millington leaves a heartfelt tribute to her late husband Michael Robinson: a story that spanned nearly 56 years together.
“Michael had a car (unusual for a student in those days), and rented a gate house near Naburn, on the road to Selby. I had a cat and lived in a bedsit in Holgate Road. The gatehouse – no electricity; gas lighting and an old range to cook on – was irresistible: the cat and I moved in on 25 January 1969. It was the second term of our second year. Michael was reading music. I was supposedly studying English, but spent most of the time co-editing Nouse. We frequented York Arts Centre together. We both managed to get degrees, albeit not very distinguished ones.
“We moved to London, where I became a trainee BBC journalist, and Michael played avant garde music with the Gentle Fire, a group largely composed of York graduates. While I learned about the laws of libel, Michael confused audiences with Stockhausen and Cage. We lived in a damp semi basement one room flat in Shepherd’s Bush. Michael spent time playing in Europe and Iran and even at the first Glastonbury. He had a moustache and sideburns. I had long hair with a centre parting. It was the ‘70s.
“In due course we moved into a house, and Michael entered the BBC and for the next 40 years was an investigative television and radio reporter there. We managed never to work in the same place. I was a producer and then a manager, and eventually that odd BBC creature, a Controller. Michael reported from all over the world – at least 38 countries – and eventually specialised in making arcane business and financial matters easy for the viewer and listener to understand. We communicated all the time that he was away: by letter, then by fax, by phone when possible and eventually – what a relief – by email.
“I left the BBC in 1999, and became Chair of an NHS Strategic Health Authority. Michael’s broadcasting career was briefly interrupted in 2000 when he got throat cancer, but good NHS care meant that the next 20 years saw some of his finest work. By this time I had left the corporate world behind and taken another degree, 40 years after the first, this time in Fine Art. I became a professional artist.
“We split our lives between Shepherds Bush and Glossop in Derbyshire. From there we could walk in the Peak District, and exchange stories and advice about our professional lives. We didn’t have children, but thoroughly enjoyed our nephews and nieces, great nephews and nieces and numerous god-children.
“We were immensely lucky that in all these years we remained interested in each other and the work we were both doing. We lived together for a month short of 56 years: Michael died just before Christmas in 2024. It was more than half a century of an uninterrupted love story. Thank you, York.”
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing your story.
Goodness me! So, you two rode the long and winding road together. Sorry to hear about Michael. He was a leader among us. He assembled a choir to perform the Faure Requiem in a church just off Micklegate. I also remember him with the University orchestra, doing a conducting project for his final, and trying to get that ahem, ahem rather average group (in those days) to perform Elgar’s Serenade for Strings. I was one of several people crammed into that car of his when we drove from York to the Albert Hall and back to see the Modern Jazz Quartet. I remember that was when things were kicking off for you two.
Lovely story. I was interested to hear that Gentle Fire continued in London; I was an early member myself.
A boxed CD of Gentle Fire (Explorations (1979-1973) was brought out a few years ago by Paradigm Discs. Good listen!