Goodbye, Mr Yeo

I never knew you had an English name, Edwin. You were always Mr. Yeo. Good old Mr. Yeo working quietly in your little corner of the museum, helpful and obliging, extending your help to me whenever I asked.

Some found you difficult; I had heard about certain incidences but as far as I was concerned, I never got into trouble with you despite what I do sometimes; like I'd come to you with stinky crabs asking if you could help me put them away. Or I'd come into the museum with specimens that I've labelled and identified, but have not catalogued. You'd help me sort that out, so all I had to do was to put them on your desk at work with a note written in my horrific writing. You didn't have to do all that for me, but you did it anyway. I'd apologize to you about the mess, about how those specimens stank to the high heavens and you laughed along and agreed, yes.. they didn't smell too good.

I was planning to go to you again this week. Do you remember I came in to the museum pushing a trolley full of crabs the other day? I told you I'd like to have them kept in a separate section from the main collection so I can look them up should the need arise. I was going to see you later today; to ask you where my crabs are, I need to choose a neotype from one of those jars of specimens.

I won't get the chance to ask you though.

Thank you for your help all these years. Goodbye, Mr. Yeo. Goodbye.