by Peter Hunter
My good friend Damien has died. It’s hit me very hard, even though it’s been a few years since I’ve seen him, with living in Jamaica and not being able to visit everyone every year on my trips back to the UK.
Damien was highly unusual, and I mean that in the best possible way. He loved things which aren’t popular or fashionable these days. He was passionate about folk music, sang folk songs, and played the whistle. He was an inveterate enjoyer of puns. He was an expert maker of onion bhajis.
But most of what I mean is that he had a love for people, and for justice, and especially justice for people who are in one way or another at the bottom of the societal pile, a deep humanity which is unusual these days (and maybe always has been). He was an old-fashioned socialist (which, especially in his case, I mean as a huge compliment), a union man all his adult life, and also a feminist, especially being vocal against domestic abuse of women.
None of that was in a facile virtue-signalling kind of way. Damien was always what-you-see-is-what-you-get. He genuinely cared about people, even when it cost him. He was a dedicated teacher. He was a loyal friend to me, and to everyone with whom he made friends.
I will miss him. I do miss him terribly. It seems impossible that all of that, all the crazy stories of his misadventures on Student Cross, all his warmth and humour, are permanently in the past. Of course, I do expect and hope one day to catch up with Damien beyond the pearly gates, to laugh, groan at a painful pun, and share a good glass of whisky. Until then, my friend, rest well.
Northern Pilgrim 