![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4Ag36XG8mu8lO8zpFjL-VFwncNEvbMl8-PbWMAxAVepC9mgEnwO7jS_jMOclRuz2xY1-ULsD0hx6pmQUoSsT6S2hOCAbWyeWCQ5Tg9QBTskS68wwl3smt-BbXGkAF3aslWxRM6wPmOU/s320/Ingrid+Pitt.jpg)
I met Ingrid Pitt – briefly – at a collector’s fair in the early 90s. She would have been in her mid-fifties. She was still strikingly beautiful. She was generous in the time she spent talking to her fans; there was nothing rarefied or pretentious about her. She signed a photograph for me (I’ll attempt to scan and post it to the blog tomorrow) and I came away feeling that I’d met someone of quality. Someone with real presence and dignity, but worn lightly as only those who have lived a survivor’s life are capable of.
i.m. Ingrid Pitt (21 November 1937 – 23 November 2010)
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