Dr. Helen W. Gambill (Jones) passed away peacefully on February 6, 2024; she was 88 years old.

Helen was born in Bridgend, Wales, above the pharmacy run by her mother, one of the country's first female pharmacists. Helen's father was an entrepreneur who traded livestock, trained racehorses, operated a mobile greyhound race track, and started a taxi and limousine service.

World War II punctuated Helen's childhood. She recalled the air raid sirens, the huddled and cramped community of the bomb shelters, food rationing, and the nearby POW camp holding German officers. Her requests for chocolate or gum from American GIs never produced results and she made due with bits of bullion cubes instead.

Helen developed into a good student, and her results carried her to the Medical College of Wales where she earned her MD degree. During her final year there, she met an American who was managing slag and scrap operations at a regional steel mill. Helen had a boyfriend at the time, but Malcolm was undeterred. Helen's local beau owned an MG convertible; so did Malcolm. But unlike his rival, Malcolm let Helen drive his car. That made all the difference.

Soon after her graduation from medical school, Helen and Malcolm were married. Their union lasted 59 years, till Malcolm's passing in 2021. Malcolm's work assignments took the growing family from its start in Wales to Brazil, Venezuela, Argentina, back to Wales, Mexico and finally, Pennsylvania.

Helen worked in medical clinics while in South America and later as a physician's assistant and university professor in western Pennsylvania. Helen also served on numerous boards, including Planned Parenthood of Central Pennsylvania and Homeland Center, a continuing care community in Harrisburg, PA.

The regular relocations and international business travel with Malcolm helped to contribute to Helen's far-flung network of dear and loyal friends. She was compassionate, with a ready smile and a quick wit. She loved a good cup of tea, or gin and tonic, and a long chat. She was a charmer and drew people of all ages and backgrounds to her.

Hiraeth is a Welsh word with no direct English translation. It has been likened "to a homesickness tinged with grief and sadness over the lost or departed, especially in the context of Wales and Welsh culture. It is a mixture of longing, yearning and nostalgia..." [Wikipedia]

Helen felt this strongly, and her beloved Wales was always front of mind. There she was happiest. With each return to her homeland a weight seemed to lift, the hiraeth temporarily put to rest. There her smile was brightest. She laughed more often, louder and longer. She practically beamed. She was home. Now, in spirit and in light, she has returned home again, this time to stay.

Helen is survived by her three children, Jonathan, Sally and Zander; two daughters-in-law; a son-in-law and six adoring grandchildren. Helen is also survived by her beloved sister, Suzanne Reardon Smith of Cardiff, Wales; her niece, Zahra Reardon Smith; and her nephew, Dylan Reardon Smith.

The family would like to thank the staff and caregivers at Bethany Village (Mechanicsburg, PA), Village Crossing (Frederick, MD) and Frederick Health Hospice (Frederick, MD).

Please consider a contribution in Helen's memory to Planned Parenthood Keystone, the Central Pennsylvania Food Bank or the charity of your choice.

Please take a minute to view the photos of Helen and to upload and share your own. You can also leave a written remembrance. Use the "Memory Wall" and "Photos & Videos" tabs at the top of this page. Thank you.

No public services are yet planned.

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"We give back to you, O God, those whom you gave to us. You did not lose them when you gave them to us, and we do not lose them by their return to you. Your dear Son has taught us that life is eternal, and love cannot die. So death is only a horizon, and a horizon is only the limit of our sight."

- William Penn, from a prayer found amongst Helen's papers.

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Do not go gentle into that good night

- Dylan Thomas 1914-1953

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my mother, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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To read her husband, Malcolm Gambill's , written remembrances and to view his photos please click this link:

Malcolm Gambill's Book of Memories Page