Ben Hiscox is, not was, 34 today. Whilst he is not a physical presence in the village his spirit lives on as strongly as ever.
It is three short years since Ben died in a tragic accident whilst playing for his beloved Stoke Gifford United and yet it seems like yesterday when I last saw him in the Beaufort, cigarette behind ear, betting slip in hand, pint in other hand and friends usually collapsing in laughter all around him. Or in Ben Bennett’s case, falling asleep.
It feels like yesterday when I watched him turn out at Elm Park for the Gifford third team. As he stormed past, playing in an unaccustomed right back position, I asked where it had all gone wrong, how he had dropped to such a low level. I am afraid his reply is not suitable for a family website but as you can imagine, everyone had a good laugh at him, but mainly me.
As with everything else, I can barely keep up with the passing of the years and since 2015 they seemed to have blurred into one. And yet, through it all, the conversation returns to that well known misprint Dennis Cox, the maddest man in the village and also the loveliest.
Pretty well every day I walk or drive past Ben’s bench on our village green and I look at the tree just behind it, always immaculately maintained, usually resplendent with fresh flowers and, from time to time, a can of Fosters, just to remind us all what a terrible taste he had in beer.
I am supposed to be having a ‘dry’ night tonight but I cannot allow this more bitter than sweet occasion pass me by.
It pleases me that his lovely family still see signs of Ben during their daily lives. I think we all do, even those who lack a spiritual bent. His passing could have torn the heart out of a family and indeed our village, but his overriding sense of goodness, his love of life, his love of people meant that neither would ever happen. We are not stronger without him, but we have gained huge strength from what he left behind. We will not let him down.
When I want a laugh, I open the book Ben’s dad Clive wrote about him, Our Ben and us. I am then transported back to another day of laughter, fun and – how should I put this? – plenty of mickey-taking. And one of the reasons Clive wrote the book was to make us feel good. In that, he succeeded admirably.
On Sunday, in the middle of summer for goodness sake, Stoke Gifford are ‘entertaining’, as they say, Little Stoke in the annual memorial game and afterwards we will adjourn to the clubhouse, to raise a glass to Ben and to be grateful for the memories he gave us. I grew close to Ben’s family after the tragedy, which would not have been my preferred way of doing so, but nonetheless I am honoured and privileged to be a very small part of their world.
Tonight, on the day of Ben’s birthday, guess what is happening mid afternoon? The sun is coming out to play, as it always does when we get together to remember Ben and to celebrate his life. Coincidence it may be, but tonight the sun is shining once more for Ben Hiscox. Happy birthday, lad!
