My Mate Bruce

A few years ago I lost a good mate, let’s call him Bruce. Bruce was a lot older than me and was a big name in the City, an Insurance guru! Although from Essex he had a posh accent and spoke terribly well! He retired in 2005. He loved Horse racing and every year a crowd of us went to Cheltenham for the festival. I only saw him four or five times a year but whenever I did it was as if we’d only seen each other the day before. There are many “Bruce” stories but this is one of my favourites!

It’s five thirty in the morning on Wednesday 12th March 2008; I’m driving on my way to Cheltenham to have the next two days at the festival. It’s what I’ve been doing for years, I always skip the first day but then go down on day two and have two or three days watching the greatest spectacle of jump racing in the world.

We always stay at the same pub, about six miles from the course. The radio in the car is struggling to pick up a signal but when it does I hear the news that frightens me to the core. “Cheltenham may be called off today because of the very high winds”

To me this is nonsense. The only time it’s been called off is because of the foot and mouth outbreak in 2001. I ignore it thinking it’s bollocks. I arrive in the pub car park at just after seven. The place is dead, no sign of life.

I walk, as I always do, to the local newsagent and collect ten copies of the Racing Post, I find the key to the main door in the plant pot in the garden, let myself in and start making coffee in the kitchen. We’ve been staying at this pub for almost twenty years so they know us well. We virtually take the place over during Cheltenham week. The pub has five rooms each with twin beds, so there are always ten of us staying there. We run a tab from start to finish and then carve up the bill between us at the end of the week. I know the landlord well and have seen his daughters grow up into fine young women. They call us their “Uncles”. We’ve had to vet every one of their boyfriends from the age of nine, they are now both married and in their late twenties. We all went to both weddings as “special guests”

I sat down with my coffee and waited for Geoff the “chef” to arrive, I knew he was supposed to start about seven thirty but was always late, I decided to study form. As I was about to do so Bruce came in, looking a bit worse for wear from the previous night. He’d been up till silly o’clock playing cards, Bruce was then 64.

“Hi mate, been here long, good journey?”

“Yeh easy, only took two and a half hours got here about ten minutes ago, any luck on day one?”

As I said, we hadn’t seen each other for five months but it was like yesterday!

“Couple of seconds but no winners, you heard the news about today, it’s been called off!”

“No fucking way!”

“Seriously, just heard it on the TV, health and safety reasons, no racing today”

“But it’s Cheltenham, it can’t be!”

“Sorry old chap but that’s the way it is, we’ll have to find something else to do today”

We sat there for the next half hour, just the two of us trying to work out what we’d do without the racing; the “chef” turned up, late as usual and cooked us both full English.

By nine o’clock we were all there, all ten of us chomping on our eggs and bacon. After a lengthy discussion we decided to go to Worcester, we were told by “chef” that it had lots of pubs and maybe we’d do a bit of a pub crawl and end up near a betting shop so we could have a bet on the other days racing. We organised a mini bus and left for Worcester at ten thirty.

Bruce had been a big noise in the Insurance industry in London, he was also chairman of his local cricket club, he was also a JP (justice of the peace), he was, unlike me, a stand up member of the community! Perhaps that’s why we got on so well, we were like chalk and cheese. I always thought of Bruce as a posh Uncle that wanted to have fun but just didn’t know how!

We did our bit around Worcester, drinking in a number of pubs, a pint here and there until about twelve thirty. Then we found a pub opposite a betting shop, this would be ideal. We went in (The Merry Cricketers) and bought a round of drinks, then in groups of threes or fours we went across the road and put some bets on.

Now one of the things I like to do when I’ve had a couple of beers is to sing a song, so do some of my friends, these aren’t rugby songs but good old fashioned songs, like a bit of Frank or Dean or Bobby Darrin, you know the sort of thing! We don’t want to offend anyone just love to sing.

So about two thirty once we’d all had a few, I stood up and started singing “Delilah”, everyone joined in and much to our surprise so did everyone else in the pub, people we hadn’t met before suddenly become our best friends. My mate Colin stood up next and started singing “Under my skin”, everyone joined in. We had a few more drinks and I started to sing “Mack the Knife” once again the whole pub joined in. It was a great atmosphere and everyone was happy, except the landlady! She had a face like thunder.

“You lot can’t sing in here!”

I replied.

“Why not? Everyone’s enjoying it, where's the harm?”

She was flustered.

“Because we don’t have an entertainment licence, that’s why!”

“That’s nonsense, no one’s dancing, no one’s paying to hear the singing, I know many publicans and you’re talking nonsense!”

The whole pub cheered, the landlady was a fiery beast and wasn’t very popular.

Bruce stood up and quietly said to the woman in his posh voice..

“I think you’re being very unreasonable, we’re only having a bit of a sing song, everyone’s enjoying it, we’re causing no harm surely”

“I don’t care, anymore singing and you’re out!”

Bruce turned to me and said.

“I’m a JP; I’ve never been thrown out of a pub before”

I looked at his reddened face and said.

“Would you like to Bruce, just for the crack”

“Yes mate, I think I would!”

I stood up and at the top of my voice sang.

“She gets too hungry for dinner at eight, she likes the theatre but never comes late, she never bothers with people she hates, that’s why the lady is a tramp!”

The whole pub erupted into song. The landlady started to scream.

“Out, out or I’m calling the police, your all barred, now out out!”

We all left smiling. But the biggest smile was on the face of Bruce. He couldn’t believe that he’d actually been thrown out of a pub. Him being a JP and all. It made his day, week and year!

Sadly my old friend died in 2010. I saw him two days before he passed, he was very ill and he knew that he wasn’t going to make it. He looked up when he saw me and said softly.

“Hi mate, do you remember that day in Worcester, great day, great day, best day of my life!”