Christopher Tolkien, Keeper of His Father's Legacy, Dies at 95
The son of JRR Tolkien was 95 years old. He passed away last night in a hospital of Provence, South Eastern France, where he lived.
Source in French, the local newspaper.
Christopher, the son of J.R.R. Tolkien, died in the Var at the age of 95.
Global Earthquake in the Kingdom of Heroic Fantasy! Christopher Tolkien disappeared during the night of Wednesday to Thursday at the Centre Hospitalier de la Dracénie (CHD) where he had just been admitted for health problems.
All his life, this erudite scholar had lived in the shadow of giants as well as small hobbits. The ransom of the glory of being the son of the British master, but also the story of an extraordinary literary transmission between a father and his son...
Discreet life in the Aupsoise countryside
He who blew out his 95 candles on November 21 in the Var may have had a planetary aura, but his life in the Aupsoise countryside was more than discreet.
In the village, if it was known that a figure linked to the Lord of the Rings and to Bilbo the Hobbit resided in the area, his presence in the public place had always been extremely rare. In his property, a place called Les Sablons, away from the village, on the road to Villecroze, he spent peaceful days. Surrounded since 1975 by his wife Baillie, in a setting of pines and olive trees.
By becoming the literary executor of his father John Ronald Reuel Tolkien (1892-1973), Christopher Tolkien had to expose himself many times. Notably when Peter Jackson's two trilogies came out, which he had little taste for, with a trial at the end...
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https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/16/books/christopher-tolkien-dead.html
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Day is ended, dim my eyes,
but journey long before me lies.
Farewell, friends! I hear the call.
The ship's beside the stony wall.
Foam is white and waves are grey;
beyond the sunset leads my way.
Foam is salt, the wind is free;
I hear the rising of the Sea.
Farewell, friends! The sails are set,
the wind is east, the moorings fret.
Shadows long before me lie,
beneath the ever-bending sky,
but islands lie behind the Sun
that I shall raise ere all is done;
lands there are to west of West,
where night is quiet and sleep is rest.
Guided by the Lonely Star,
beyond the utmost harbour-bar,
I'll find the heavens fair and free,
and beaches of the Starlit Sea.
Ship, my ship! I seek the West,
and fields and mountains ever blest.
Farewell to Middle-earth at last.
I see the Star above my mast!
TlalocW
