That's It, That's Unlucky: The Ultimate Dave
Last week was a difficult
week given that my dear friend Mark Rutter's funeral was on the Monday. This
week has proved to be even harder, for reasons that I will describe shortly.
Over 600 people attended
Mark's service, which is a testament to Mark's popularity amongst all sorts of
people. My speech seemed to go down well
enough and I managed not to choke but I did burst into tears shortly after
returning to my seat. My fellow pall
bearers and I managed to not drop the coffin, so things went as well as they
could have done for what was always going to be a very difficult day,
especially for all of Mark's family. The
burial was by far the hardest part of the day and it was utterly heartbreaking
seeing Mark's two little boys throw flowers on their father's coffin. There were no dry eyes.
It was a relief to get to
join the multitudes of mourners at the Park Tavern for a drink and given that
mostly everyone was standing outside in the hot weather the occasion had the
look of a wedding, not a funeral. There
were that many people that I knew in attendance, many of whom I had not seen
for a little while, and given the numbers I did not even get the opportunity to
speak to them all. The fabled
Kingswinford Hoaxer revealed himself to me (his identity not his private parts)
but I promised to not disclose his identity to others. For years I thought Mark
was the Hoaxer but he always denied it when I quizzed him on it, so now I
finally know the truth.
I know that the first
time I attend Villa Park without Rutter that it is going to be a difficult
experience to say the least but when my good friend Dave Baldock (known to all as Davie B [Lowlife's Alfie
C]) and I went to the stadium the other Saturday to sort out our season tickets
he said that he would be there with me and that was a very comforting thought
and one that I was clinging onto. Once
we had transacted our business Dave suggested we go for a pint so we repaired
to the Coombeswood Cricket Club to enjoy the sunshine, the cricket and the
wonderful view of Clent and the Malverns.
I explained to Dave that I
was only going to have two pints in order to keep myself in respectable fettle,
given that I was going to Pete Rhodes's surprise 50th birthday party
later that evening. Given that Dave had
a rare day to himself I surmised that he would have preferred that I could have
spent the afternoon with him but he understood my position and was enjoying
sitting in the sun with me, us talking like excited schoolboys at the prospect
of the forthcoming football season.
Once I had consumed my
second pint it was time for me to go, which was I disappointed about as it was
a perfect English summer's afternoon given the delightful scenery, the sound of
leather on willow, the lovely ale and the clement weather and of course, most
importantly, the wonderful company of Dave which is always highly enjoyable and
highly entertaining and jocular. Usually
when Dave and I meet, before we have even had chance to properly say hello we
are in fits of laughter at each other and we do not even have to speak to get
into this tittering state; I am not in the minority in this regard and Dave has
this frolicsome effect on many people.
I suggested to Dave that
he might want to hang around the club as our mutual friend Martin usually pops there
for a drink on a Saturday, so he could join him. Dave explained that in fact he was happy to go
home and sit quietly in his garden on his own, enjoying the sunshine and
supping a few relaxing beers; I thought at the time that is a sure sign of a
man who is at peace with himself and is happy with his lot in life.
On Tuesday last I was
running up Furnace Hill, where I live, and Dave was driving down it. On seeing me Dave produced his trademark
Cheshire cat grin and he shouted out of his car window, “Hey Blondie” (being
his nickname for me) in the style of Tuco in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,
which is the comedic way he addresses me. Off Dave rolled down the hill and I continued
to run up it and it was no more than an innocuous passing, an acknowledgement
of two friends, but later in the week it took on a far greater significance.
The weather was a little
cooler than it had been last Saturday but I was enjoying being out in the fresh
air watching my boy Kenny play football. My mobile phone rang and to my surprise it was
Abigail, a friend of mine and the wife of Tim, a mutual friend of Davie B and I
and one of Jo's (Davie B's wife) best friends. Abigail had the unenviable task
of breaking to me the most shocking, overwhelming and unforeseen news that I
have ever had the misfortune of hearing. Abigail explained that following what was a
suspected heart attack Davie B had suddenly and tragically died. I cannot adequately articulate how I felt on
hearing this news but I was simply stunned. Speechless. I didn't know what to say but of course I came
out with stupid questions, such as “are you sure?” I felt
for Abigail, having to tell me the dreadful, woeful news.
When I had finished the
phone conversation with Abigail other than disbelief, my over riding emotion
was one of panic, though I am not sure why. Because of Mark and Dave’s deaths being so
close together and both of them being young men in their 40’s, it was probably
panic that the world was going to end there and then. I felt an urgent and immediate need to go
somewhere, do something and see someone, but where, what and who I did not
know. I simply could not begin to
compute the horrendous news that I had just heard. I refused to believe that Dave had gone, “How
can it be?” I thought. I deemed it not
to be possible.
Today, being five days
after Dave’s death, the shock has started to subside a little and the realisation
that Dave is no longer here is slowly starting to sink in. Disbelief is gradually eroding and
overwhelming sadness and grief is taking its place. Last night my son Kenny (who loved Dave and
indeed Dave loved Kenny, as he just adored children) was talking about Dave in
fond terms and asking me what a heart attack is, which I did my best to
explain. Kenny finished up by saying, “Dad,
he was a real loony”. Kenny used the
word “loony” as a term of endearment as like most of us, Kenny viewed Dave as a
madcap, jovial character.
When Dave, my son Kenny
and I were in the car on the way to Villa Park Dave would always ask Kenny if
he has any jokes and Kenny would always oblige with gags that he had picked up
on the school playground or that he had learnt from his joke book. Regardless of the quality or standard of the
joke Dave would whoop with laughter and jauntily exclaim, “Oh yes, that's it
Ken! That's it! The Ultimate Ken, the Ken of Kens!! It's the way he tells 'em!
He'll be on the stage will Ken! Ooohhh yes, Kenteke, El Blondino, heeee's a
corker, that's it!!!!”
The car would be in
absolute hysterics, not only at the jokes but more so at Dave's gushing
hyperbole towards them. And that summed
Dave up, quite simply he was just great fun to be with. Amongst
other things, I will miss that car trip with Dave to Villa
Park with us full of the joys of spring and optimism about the
outcome of the game, us discussing the week that we’ve had, chatting but mostly
laughing and giggling about anything and everything.
Dave seemed to have a
unique communication system all of his own which included graphic hand gestures
and signals, grunts and assorted noises and a set of stock phrases and sayings,
including his catchphrase of, “that’s it, that’s unlucky”, which seems to be
more poignant than ever now in the sad circumstances. But where Dave really came into his own was
his ability to pluck the right remark or saying out of the air at the right
time which invariably lead to riotous laughter; Dave had a great gift for this
and with a sparse economy of words he could get everybody laughing, he didn’t
have to say much but what he did say was delivered with considerable comedy
effect.
Dave invented the most
outlandish nicknames for people and it only struck me today that the pseudonyms
that I usually use for Lowlife are
probably borne out of Dave’s nickname tradition. Amongst other things Dave called his bosom
buddy Dave Frost El Pistolero or the Gunslinger and he called his close friend
Martin the Cutter, as his surname is Woodman.
Only Dave could christen someone with the unforgettable moniker Albino
Duxbury, the name he devised for my elder brother Warwick.
Above I wrote about Dave’s
love for my son Kenny but of course the children he loved the most were his two
little ones Charlie and Hannah, who in addition to his wife Jo, he simply
adored. Dave and Jo seemed perfect
together and good for each other and you could not wish to meet a kinder
hearted woman. More than anything Dave was a family man, his family
being his first priority, his love and his world. Outside of his family Dave did not need, or
want, much else.
With Dave gone, there is
a great chasm in my heart and in my world and it feels very much like things won’t
be the same again as he was unique and nobody can replace him. I cannot begin to imagine the hurt and pain
that Jo, his children and the rest of his family are suffering after this cataclysmically
traumatic episode in their lives.
I will miss Dave so much
mainly because he was gold dust as his company, which I looked forward to very
much, was a guarantee of fun and frolics and his individual and idiosyncratic
sense of humour always lead to much amusement and laughter. So when I remember Dave more than anything I
can hear the sound of his laughter, and my laughter with him, and despite all the
awful anguish, heartache and grief of his passing every time I think of him he
still continues to make me smile.
Postscript
I know that in
this edition that I switched half way through the piece from referring to Dave in
the present tense to the past tense but I thought this grammatical inconsistently
was essential for the story that I was writing.
In addition to
the passing of my friends Mark and Dave, my sincere and heartfelt condolences
go out to my friend Steve Davies, who I used to play football with an Enville
Athletic FC, on the tragic passing of his partner Kerry, who died last week after
being diagnosed with cancer only weeks ago.
Steve is a pleasanter chap as you
are likely to meet and I sincerely hope he can in time slowly start to piece
his life together for the sake of himself and his children and family.
The bad news
seems never ending at the moment and I hate to be the prophet of doom, but
things are what they are and regrettably I am powerless to change them.
© Dominic
Horton, July 2013.
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