Ben’s bench is on our village green. Ben Hiscox is a Stoke Gifford village legend. His photo hangs in the Beaufort Arms and he’s still there, in spirit, with all his old friends. He was next to them tonight. They were raucous, like villagers are, and Ben, it has to be said, was the loudest and most raucous of them all.
Ben’s bench is well used. I have driven by late at night, with young scallywags supping from their cans bought with dodgy ID, no doubt. I never did that, oh no. I’ll bet Ben didn’t either. A model of innocence, our Ben. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
Ben would have liked a bench like his. Very handy to sit down and complete that betting slip, strike up that next fag, to be wearing three-quarters when it was probably not quite warm enough to wear three-quarters. Stephens, Paddon, Barts, Talbot would be there too, the lifeblood of the village in the heart of the village.
All that moves the flowers behind Ben’s bench, in front of Ben’s tree, is the wind. People said there would always be some idiot who messed with the bench, messed with the tree, messed with the flowers. To date, the only person who messed with the tree was Ben himself, directing a paper lantern on the anniversary of his passing, that almost destroyed it. Very funny, Ben! I bet you thought that was VERY funny. You weren’t the only one.
Everything else changes in our area, but the village stays the same. Perhaps people sit on some of the other benches and seats but I only ever see them at one.
Tonight, a couple of lads sat on Ben’s bench, knocking back a few bottles of cider. This was allowed because Ben’s sun was shining on them approvingly. If Ben’s sun is shining, then all is well in the world. Evenings on the village green are special because when Ben’s sun breaks through the clouds, his bench enjoys the final rays of the day.
I came to this village some 24 years ago and I never will leave it. It has given me far more than I have given back and what it has given me is a new world of wonderful people who have become friends, in many instances very close friends.
How the Hiscox family must be proud of their son and his legacy of love and laughter. Don’t think that the memory is fading because it never will. Of course, life goes on for those who must remain, but the empty place in our hearts and minds is there on that bench, Ben’s bench.
It’s not an empty bench. It’s being used all the time by all sorts of people and that’s more appropriate than ever. All sorts of people knew and loved Ben and they all know and love him today.
Seeing the bench makes me feel good, especially when people are using it. And making you feel good was what, is what, Ben Hiscox is all about.
