Billy

Last week saw the funeral of one of my neighbours, Billy. Billy lived down the street. He was something of a walking, talking symbol of Shoreham. Billy had lots of physical problems, problems with speech, and had a child like manner. He walked with a stick and had frequent falls. His sight was pretty poor too. Generally speaking Billy had a whole lot of problems. But he genuinely didn't let this get him down. He inhabited this place like no other. If more than a couple of hours went by without you seeing him walking up or down the road, you couldn't help but think "I haven't seen Billy for a while."

He became ill as so many people do after a pretty serious fracture following a fall, and never really got better. Billy was the sort of person that you don't see out much anymore in other places. Usually such people are hidden away in "day centres" or moved around on "special buses". In towns and cities, those that care for them would worry about them being out and about on their own. Scared they'd get picked on, bullied or laughed at. Maybe even mugged or attacked. None of this happened to Billy. Billy brought out the caring in people in Shoreham. You'd say hello and get a muffled bronchial grunt of a hello back. If he had news he'd enthusiastically tell you it at break neck speed, whether or not you were managing to keep up. It always took a few minutes to tune in to Billy's speech pattern. The fact that he would insist on holding his fag in his mouth for the whole duration of the conversation didn't make it any easier.

People would pop in to check he was ok. Get him some stuff from the shop if he was running low. Try to calm him down if his major terror, the thunderstorm, was about to roll in. He had a bizarre collection of hats. None ever seemed appropriate to the season, day, or weather. Cowboy hat, baseball cap, toy policewoman's helmet, santa hat, red cowboy hat with white fur trim. I'd often see him in the distance as I walked up to the station. I'd spot a hat and spend the next 5 minutes as I approached him wondering what the hell he had on his head.

The church was absolutely packed for his funeral. We all knew him you see. Even those of us who didn't know each other knew Billy. He was the cement. The vicar got it spot on when he said he brought this village together because he gave us someone to care for. The phrase community care is a cliche. But we had it here. My friend Paul spoke at the funeral and caught the mood beautifully. "Billy was child-like, but not childish. He was nobody's fool". He had firm opinions. Loudly stated. Repeatedly. Shoreham is not quite the same without him. I sincerely hope that other people like Billy continue to get the sort of opportunity that he did here in Shoreham. To live in a beautiful place in peace and safety, with a collection of friends and acquaintances prepared to quietly care.