Ian McGreevy (30 Apr 1964 - 14 Mar 2024)

So sorry ian. X

Oh Ian, I tried to get you to tell me if you were poorly last year but you never let on. Today I learn you're gone. I will treasure the times we spent together at Stonefield. My fondest memories are of you sitting in your room playing the guitar. Sleep well. I will miss you. Xxx

We didn't know each other for long but the laughs and giggles we shared in Customer Service made our windowless office days so much brighter! You will always be a shining star Ian.
God bless, sleep easy you lovely soul.

one of the most interesting, funny and down to earth people I ever had the pleasure of meeting, will miss our chats, till we meet again amigo.

Night night dearest friend. Our tines at Langside and fun times in our digs at Cathcart Road have and will always be the most precious of my good memories. Your kindness and care towards me stunned and amazed me. Both of you guys, Ian and Austin, helped me to become a better person and eventually a good mum because you restored my faith in the kindness of good decent gentle men. You, my dearest Ian, were the gentlest of gentlemen and it was my privilege to have known you as a great friend. My heartfelt sympathies lie with your family at this sad time Bless you lovely man. See you on the other side pal. X

So sorry to hear this sad news. I have very happy memories of our time at Holyrood and beyond. Thinking of you and your family.

Ian, how do I even begin?
I’m going to tell everyone the ‘Rain Song’ story, I think that describes our friendship best.

You were the head chef of The Belfry, I the newly appointed (20yr old) manager. I didn’t like your poached pear stuffed with blue cheese, you thought I knew, fe@k all, and told me so. You were a grumpy git (we’d laugh about this years later). But we bonded, somehow, over music...I told you I played guitar too. We got chatting about Zep, I mentioned I could play the Rain Song. Your response “No you can’t, it’s far too difficult for you!!” I brought my guitar in next shift, excited to show you it. You refused to listen 😂. “I’m too busy!”

Many years passed, we bumped into each other again at Pollock House. You’d let me and little Flo in for free, we’d sometimes have tea in your freezing cottage. I’d give you a lift sometimes, I’d bump into you south side often, you were staying at your sisters . Then you moved west end, again we’d bump into each other often. The last thing you made me was your Christmas Chutney, you chased me down Dumbarton Rd to give me it!

I didn’t know you emotionally until we became pals on FB. We would msg each other words of encouragement. I saw a side to you that moved me, your love of language and of heart touched me. We became good heartfelt friends, you called me Ms Refulgent. You were so generous of spirit and no matter what, remained invested kind thoughtful and warm. I had no idea you were ill until January. You were suitably Ian, and vague about your prognosis. I came to see you at the Beatson. You said bring your guitar.

I played the Rain Song for you then, after many moons and suns and lifetimes had passed. We both cried a little, no words required. Such a beautiful moment. You insisted on walking me to the main door after my visit. Even although you were weak.

In the elevator, without need for words or announcement you slipped your hand in mine. For the first time ever, it communicated much more than either of us could have said. We walked hand in hand to the main door, and that was the last time I saw you. I sobbed in the car like a baby because I knew. You see, some people just touch your life don’t they. I felt it all, in that moment…the happy sadness of the human condition. How truly blessed I was to have known you.

What a beautiful soul you were, and are…out there bemoaning your right to pear and blue cheese, kissing the wind and being kind to the hills. Rest easy fella ❤️. How lucky was I to call you friend x

It always brought me joy when we discussed food and our kitchen adventures. You always made me laugh and I will always think of you fondly and what an impact you made to people’s lives.

Ian it was great knowing you. I will miss your bonhomie, our fishing trips and Friday nights in 3Js. We'll all be singing the Garbanzo Beans Blues. You fought so hard, so nobly for so long and were an inspiration to me.