More than two years have passed since Robin Gibb of the Bee Gees died at age 62, succumbing to kidney failure after a courageous battle with cancer.
Yet, within the grand 13th-century manor he shared with his wife Dwina in Thame, Oxfordshire, little has changed.
The walls remain adorned with numerous silver-framed photographs of Robin alongside his brothers — Maurice, his twin, who passed away at 53 in 2003 from a heart attack; Barry, the sole surviving Bee Gee; and their youngest brother Andy, who died at 30 in 1988 from a heart condition worsened by cocaine addiction.
Dwina and Robin at their 1st wedding anniversary, when they held a Gypsy Party
Adorning the walls alongside exquisite oil paintings are rows of gold and silver records commemorating over 200 million albums sold.
Photographs capture the Bee Gees alongside nearly every iconic celebrity of the past five decades. In the corner of the expansive timbered sitting room stands a full suit of armor, accompanied by a bust of Winston Churchill—one of Robin’s revered heroes.
“There’s no need to change a thing,” Dwina says softly. “Why would I? I want to feel Robin’s presence still here. I’ve kept every photograph up, just as it was. What’s the point of making changes? Robin was an integral part of this house. I don’t understand why some people remove photos after a loved one passes, saying they can’t live with those reminders around them. To me, that’s unimaginable if you truly loved someone.
After Robin died, we immersed ourselves in memories of him—watching videos, films, anything that featured him—to hold onto those precious moments. His legacy is extraordinary, and I feel immense pride to have been by his side during the creation of so many of those iconic songs.
Yet, recently, one significant change has brought light and happiness back into the somber rooms of this grand home: the arrival of baby Maxwell-Robin Gibb, born to Robin and Dwina’s son, Robin-John—known as RJ—aged 31, and his partner Megan.
The family joyfully celebrated Maxwell’s first birthday on July 16. “The baby has brought immense joy,” Dwina reflects. “We were in a very dark place after Robin left. All of Robin’s wit, humor, love, music, and eccentricity seemed to vanish overnight. There was an emptiness. But then, Maxwell’s birth, just 14 months after Robin’s passing, gave us something beautiful to look forward to.”
“Until then, it was incredibly lonely. No matter how many people were around, I still felt isolated. Losing your partner brings a profound shift in consciousness, something anyone who has experienced such a loss understands. Filling the void Robin left has been especially hard in the evenings.
When everyone else was asleep, if he wasn’t composing, Robin and I would talk for hours. I miss that—I miss my companion. Or I’d lie in bed while he worked, the house filled with his music.
I could hear the piano in the middle of the night, his voice like an angel singing a beautiful new song, or the keyboards as he developed a new piece. I’ve always loved that creative energy. It’s infectious and makes you want to create too. There’s something truly magical about it.
Then suddenly, it was all gone. It took time to realize just how much. Robin had such a presence—he was as much a comedian as a musician. There was never a dull moment; you never knew what might happen next.
The arrival of the baby has truly been a blessing. When you are deep in grief, suddenly you have to pull yourself together because there is a new life to care for. Babies are such delightful, scrunchy little things. You want to make them smile, laugh, and give them a joyful childhood. A new chapter has begun here, and I am embracing my role as a grandmother—though I suspect when he’s older, he’ll call me Nana Dwina.”
Dwina adds, “I do wish Robin had known there was a baby on the way before he died. He loved children and would have been thrilled to know a new life was coming into the family. But that news came after he passed.
So it was a wonderful surprise. Maxwell does little things just like Robin did—the way he sits with his thumb over his third finger. He has acute hearing too, just like Robin could hear a fax machine from three floors away.”
Dwina has fully embraced her babysitting duties whenever RJ and Megan, who live in the gatehouse of the mansion, want to go out. “Yes, I love it. I had Maxwell all day yesterday—it was pure delight. We have a big playpen here because he’s learning to walk.”
To help cope with her grief, Dwina—an artist and writer—returned to completing her first play, Last Confessions of a Scallywag. It’s a farce set in Ireland about a man on his deathbed, trying to make peace with everyone he has offended, and to meet his maker with a clear conscience.
So he does the most heartless thing a scallywag can do—he tells the truth to friends, neighbors, and loved ones. Satisfied with the chaos he creates, he prepares to die… but then he doesn’t.
Currently running at The Mill at Sonning Theatre in Berkshire, Dwina, originally from Northern Ireland, shares the inspiration behind it.
“I had an uncle who was on his deathbed for about 20 years, so the play was partly inspired by him. It blends wit and wisdom, and I love the twists and turns of farce. Robin loved farce too—we used to see all the Brian Rix comedies in the West End.
He enjoyed slapstick of any kind. Sometimes he’d dress up as different characters and make short films of himself. He greatly admired Chaplin, Groucho Marx, and The Goons. Living with him was like living with genius and madness at the same time.”
Writing the play was a cathartic experience for Dwina. “It helped me get through everything. It also reminded me of holidays Robin and I spent in Donegal. We had such good times there. Once, at the Donegal Festival, they had a wife-carrying competition. I told Robin, ‘We’re not entering.’ I joked, ‘If we did, I should be carrying you!’”
Last Confessions of a Scallywag will have its first reading at a New York theatre later this year, and Dwina is already working on two more plays, both comedies.
Robin had countless affairs but Dwina insists that their marriage was always a very free one
One of the recurring themes in the farce is womanizing. The only time Dwina’s marriage was truly challenged came when it was revealed that Robin had maintained an eight-year affair with their live-in housekeeper, Claire Yang, then 34, which resulted in the birth of a daughter, Snow, now five years old.
Robin had instructed the executors of his £26 million estate to ensure Snow was well provided for. Claire Yang was allowed to keep the £850,000 home Robin purchased for her in Amersham, Buckinghamshire. On this sensitive topic, Dwina states calmly, “She and Snow have been taken care of.”
Understandably, Dwina was upset at the time. When asked how she coped with this difficult period, she replies simply, “I’ve never been a jealous person — my philosophy has always been live and let live. Creative people often live differently from conventional couples. I don’t have many answers to that.”
“Creative and artistic people may embrace a certain freedom,” she continues. “We always had that in our marriage, but we both knew we deeply loved each other.”
Dwina highlights a special bond she shared with Robin—they were born on the same day, 22 December, though she in 1952 and he in 1949. “The strength of our relationship was our dedication to each other. No matter what life threw at us, we knew we’d remain united. No matter what happened or who tried to interfere.”
In addition to RJ and Snow, Robin had two children from his first marriage: Spencer, 42, a musician, and Melissa, 40, a translator. Their mother, Molly Hullis, a former secretary for The Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein in the 1960s, divorced Robin in 1980. Robin married Dwina five years later.
Dwina explains, “I met Robin after his divorce, so it was never about taking him away from anyone. Molly has sent me some lovely letters and even traveled from Cyprus, where she now lives, to visit Robin’s grave. We’ve maintained contact, which feels right. That’s how Robin would have wanted it. When Spencer and Melissa were teenagers, they spent time living with us in America while RJ was a baby.”
RJ has inherited his father’s musical talents—he writes songs, sings, and plays multiple instruments, scattered around the studio in the family home. He has compiled a new album of Robin’s final songs titled 50 St Catherine’s Drive—named after the address of Robin’s childhood home in Douglas, Isle of Man—which is scheduled for release on 29 September.
Robin with Dwina in the garden of their Oxfordshire home
The album’s final track, Sydney, is a demo—the last song Robin ever recorded. He had planned to complete it with Barry for a joint album but was too unwell to do so. Dwina described the track as “poignant, wistful, beautiful, and unfinished. He cried when he wrote it, and I wept when I heard it.”
With his other three children financially provided for, Robin left Dwina their home—a former monastery recorded in the Domesday Book, once visited by Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, nestled within 100 acres of stunning grounds. The estate will eventually pass to RJ.
When asked whether Robin might have lived longer had he taken things easier, Dwina replies, “No, he was very ill, though he fought fiercely to the end. In those last two years, he became a workaholic, as if determined to squeeze every moment out of life and not waste a single one.”
“He was committed to his charity work, his final concerts, his last projects. He was actively campaigning to reform copyright laws across different countries to protect young songwriters, artists, and authors from exploitation. He genuinely wanted to accomplish everything. There was an unmistakable urgency in all he did. Work energized him—it made him feel alive. Had he been the type to give up and rest, he likely would have passed away much sooner.”
Dwina plans to write a book about her life with Robin. “I want to capture the remarkable man he was—as an artist, a writer in his own right, and, of course, a gifted composer. He was incredibly multi-talented and will live on forever through those unforgettable songs and his unmistakable voice.”
She expresses deep sympathy for Robin’s mother, Barbara, 93, who now lives in Miami near Barry. “I can only imagine how she must feel. She has lost three of her sons. No parent expects to outlive their children. It must be devastating. Robin’s death was a tremendous blow to her, especially since she lived with us in Miami for many years and was very close to him. And poor Barry—how difficult the dark days must be without his brothers, who were such a central part of his life.”
Barry recently acknowledged occasional friction between the brothers, but Dwina downplays their differences. “No matter what disagreements they may have had, they shared a special, unbreakable bond.”