It’s been two years and a day since we lost the King of the Village, Ben Hiscox, following a tragic football accident. Last night, the Beaufort in Stoke Gifford was ram-packed with his fellow villagers to celebrate the life of our Ben and to raise a glass in his name. In my case, it was rather more than a single glass but I can assure readers that every sip of Hop House 13 lager – a mere £4.20 a pint – was dedicated to that great man. Believe me, I had a lot of sips, hence the somewhat lumbering tone of today’s Blog offering. And, more importantly, a new world record was set. Never have more village idiots been in the same place at one time.
Ben’s parents, the mighty Clive and Gloria Hiscox were at the top of the bill, alongside their beautiful daughter Rachel. Ben’s former partner Zoe, a girl with the biggest heart on the planet, made the trek from her new home in South Wales to share the tears and smiles which were abundant in huge numbers, but this time the smiles won through.
We were only going to stay for a short while but ended up staying for most of the evening. The Friday crowd in the Beaufort varies from hour to hour with firstly the office bods from nearby Aviva, then villagers after work, the younger element for pre drinking and later the old codgers who prop up the bar until last orders at midnight. All of these folk were present, but last night were heavily outnumbered by the Hiscox Massive.
Two years is such a long time and yet it is nothing. I don’t know if time is a healer or not. The pain of losing a loved one, especially one so young, will never leave those who are left behind. There will always be tears and maybe despair too. Life’s great unfairness cannot be readily understood until we realise that we are all only here as a result of the accident of our birth and there is no grand design for any of us. And even then that realisation gives no comfort. Perhaps the one thing time allows is the ability to recall a person’s legacy and the spirit they represented and what a spirit Ben Hiscox left us with. And is increasingly acceptable to smile at what he was and what he left behind. In fact, Clive Hiscox has insisted on that from the start and his persistence as paid off. Soon we will all be able to read a biography of Ben written by his dad. I can’t wait.
I can now freely laugh at the Bristol Post headlines and stories relating to the exploits, not of Ben Hiscox, but of the oft repeated misprint Dennis Cox, the free scoring striker with Bristol Manor Farm and Stoke Gifford United. The name Dennis Cox appeared so many times it became Ben’s nickname, on and off the pitch. Someone with a puerile, childish sense of humour (me), always found it so funny. Happily I still do.
I wish the Hiscox family the peace they so deserve and I am happy that last night’s gathering showed the no one has forgotten the King of the Village and our love, for Ben and all his family, will never be extinguished.
