by Matthew Neville
Absolute shock and disbelief smacked me in the face when I heard about Damien’s death, what? But how? Surely he’s about to interject the present conversation with a witty, if inevitably tangential, anecdote.
Damien was always mid-conversation, on Northern Leg we pretty much assumed that he would be there forever, offering his knecialised spowledge long after he’d ceased being able to walk. It is hard to fathom that it’s not to be.
On the zoom calls convened over the last week to remember him, the weirdest thing has been his absence. Always the first to register, the keenest to volunteer, the last to bed, and the but of every joke (Apparently he didn’t like fish). I muse at his inevitable frustration that he’s missing out on these gatherings in his honour.
When I think of Damien my overriding memory is his enthusiasm to be helpful. Someone who would always go above and beyond. Nina and Dominique both captured this experience of Damien so eloquently, Damien was always kindness personified. He was one of the most warm-spirited people I have ever met.
I will cherish the time I had with him. A year or so ago I was in Leicester with an afternoon free, I met Damien in a café for much-recommended Italian coffee and cake. We spent the afternoon putting the world (and inevitably Pilgrim Cross) to rights.
And longer ago I can remember a drive back from Walsingham, just me and him, my role being to keep him talking and not falling asleep on the road. Keeping Damien talking was never a challenge.
And even further back I remember his hosting of a Northern Leg reunion in his two-bedroom house, far too many of us squeezed into his home. Damien even willing to give up his own bedroom to guests.
On Northern Leg Damien was the glue, always the person most willing to take the new person under his wing, to have conversations with hosts along our route, to attentively remember and care about everyone he met. Everyone has a Damien story, a happy memory of an act of kindness.
Of course (as can we all) he could be a pain in the arse, pre-emptively taking on jobs which the leg-leader might have given to others, making simple jobs into hugely complex operations. Often Damien was too keen to help, too proactive. He always needed a role, he needed to feel useful. I have wondered how much Damien was motivated by feelings of insecurity, a feeling that he always needed to earn his value, that he was loved for what he did rather than who he was?
On one of the recent zooms a comment made me think… “we’re all surprised by Damien’s death, but none of us more so than Damien himself will be, most of all he’s going to be surprised to discover how much we all loved him”.
If we assume faith in a life of eternity with God, then that life surely consists in just that, knowing fully how much we are loved. I pray that, even if he didn’t fully realise it in life (I mean who of us does?), he is experiencing that love now.
I had the privilege of seeing Damien at his happiest. So for me Damien will always be associated with joy, with the happy times I have spent walking alongside him across eastern England, in the (always!) bright sunshine, surrounded by warm community.
So haul away Damien,
ever in our memory;
a smile on your face,
a whisky in your hand,
a kuplicate dey in your pocket.
Gathered around your dining room table,
we sing with you one last time:
Hush, hush, time to be sleepin’
Hush, hush, dreams come a-creepin’
Dreams of peace and of freedom
So smile in your sleep, bonny baby
Until we meet again, Damien, you were so well loved.
Northern Pilgrim 