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True Friends
I wrote this in November 2000, just in time for Christmas. The text in the "Synopsis" section at the end is a paraphrase of the covering letter I sent out with the poem when I posted copies to friends.
True friendship - a rare art
No teaching can impart
Elusive to most though not others
Some folk think they've many
Whilst some don't have any
There are those believe all men are brothers
What makes a true friend?
You know in the end
"One in need" is youth's drumming that lingers
The one thing that you
Will be lucky to do
Is to count them all on one hand's fingers
You walk life never seeing
The fact that you're being
Yourself is all marked to your credit
The deeds you have done
Match the hearts you have won
Though no-one explicitly said it
Your joy when they've grown,
Hospitality shown
The day when you shared someone's grief
The touch or the word
With which you have stirred
A beaten man's lost self-belief
A shoulder to cry on,
A lift to rely on
When personal transport is lacking
Someone moving house
Hears not grumble or grouse
As you help with the lifting and packing
All this you have done
In a spirit of fun
Never once with a thought of repayment
But just for the crack,
For the slap of a back
And the drinking of draughts drawn by draymen
That you keep from their lives
And the smiles of their wives
For year upon year never sours
Friendship - it's not weighed
By the length of your stay
Good times are not measured in hours
And then, being burned,
To your friends you returned
When you need them the most there they are
To share with a smile,
Let you stay for a while
Or to help you to find your lost star
Not judgemental nor critics,
No deep metaphysics
But accepting and caring and strong
With a coffee or tea
Or the offer of me
You know, with True Friends, you belong!
The Barbary chicken
Was fine - finger lickin!
Ten-pin bowling was quite up to scratch
The beer that we drank,
Sunday tea, pool balls sank
Hushed words walking back from the Test Match
So I'd like to toast you,
For I've had to coast to
This point to see how I am blessed
With True Friends abounding,
The corner I'm rounding
No longer alone or depressed
A truth is revealed,
If ever concealed,
At the last with all said and all done
Though you might think it trite
Yet this saw has it right
To have a True Friend you must be one
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Synopsis
2000 was a traumatic year for me. Even before I left home in May, there was a lot of anguish and heart-searching as I built myself up to do what I had really known for some time was inevitable. The warmth of friendship I enjoyed both before and after that day was a huge help. It's no exaggeration to say that I would not have been able to keep it together at times, were it not for the love and affection freely given by my friends. So I wanted to do something to mark that, to honour it, and what better time to do that than at Christmas?
Some of my friends knew that I had started writing. It was something I had long wanted to do but been unable to for those many reasons with which we're all familiar - work, family and home commitments that conspire to rob us of our dreams. What they probably did not know is that as well as "ordinary" writing, I had also found myself writing poetry. I say "found myself" because it was as much of a surprise to me as it undoubtedly was to them!
In the months immediately after leaving home I had met again with groups of friends or couples that I had woefully neglected for different reasons in the preceding months or years. These meetings had a cumulative effect on me, but finally it was my getting together with Paul Sansome, one time "boss" but long-time friend of mine (since 1982) that started me writing the above poem. Paul left ICL a number of years previously and it had been almost 9 years since we last got together for a meal and a chat. At long last, we set a date - Sunday November 12th - and I spent a most enjoyable afternoon and evening with Paul, his wife Yvonne and their two children Sarah and Mathew.
Coming home that night, my mind filled with stories of the success of Paul's first book on change management, the publishing process and the day spent reminiscing over old times, all of my thoughts on friendship, recent and past events crystallised. I sat down to write this poem. It took two or three evenings. On the Friday of that week, never having seen the poem or even knowing that I was writing it, Paul suffered a fatal heart attack.
I was so grateful that I had the chance to talk with him again before he died. His untimely passing reminded me of a valuable lesson - the fragility of life. The fact that we never know the number of our days. That we must never leave unsaid the things that we should say to friends or loved ones, or leave undone the things we "always wanted" to do.
So here are my words to my friends. In the manner of poetry, it may be a little obscure, especially in the references to things known to one group of friends and not others, so I will endeavour to explain it in part. It tells the story of how we go through life never really knowing the positive effect we can have on others (because that is one of the things that we never tell our friends). We are always taught in our youth that "a friend in need is a friend indeed" - I remember thinking when I was younger that it meant a friend who wanted something was your best mate! It never occurred to me that it meant "a friend when one is oneself in need!" And of course there is the other old adage that your Mum may have told you - that you will be fortunate if you can count your true friends on the fingers of one hand.
"Your joy when they've grown" highlights the uplifting effect of a friend's success - whether it be the huge step they take to go it alone with their own business, successfully scaling their career ladder, or creating their best artwork ever. "The day when you shared someone's grief" is an explicit reference to my visit to Paul the day after his first wife died. When I told him I had left home, he offered to do anything he could to help: listen, talk, or do nothing, whatever I wished because, in his words, he would never forget how I'd helped him when he needed it most. It had not seemed like a big thing to me at the time, to call and offer condolences. Something "anyone" might do. But it was significant to him. There's another lesson in that: you should never pass up the chance to do what you can, when you can, even if it looks to you like a trivial thing. The poem makes the point that true friends do all these things without wanting anything in return, but just for the "crack" - for the good times they engender and the company.
I then turn it around and look at what happens when it is you that is in need, as I have been. Suddenly you realise that your friends are just as eager to do for you what you have in the past done for them. "...coffee or tea or the offer of me" is the traditional friendly "coffee, tea, or me?" request of a host. "The Barbary chicken" refers to the fine meal cooked for me by Pat on my most recent visit to Lambourn. "Sunday tea" is another allusion to the time spent with Paul that sparked this whole piece whilst the remainder of that verse describes some of the great times I have shared with my mates in Nottingham, especially the conversations I've had with Phil when walking back for coffee at his place after an evening in the Test Match.
Finally, the lesson that to have a true friend you must be one, is one that I do not need to remind any of my friends of - they are the truest friends a man could hope for. In honour of Paul, I selected a font called "TallPaul" when printing the poem (he was about 6 foot 4 as I recall), which coincidentally was quite hard to read, as was his own handwriting. I know he would have appreciated the gentle irony.