Dignity (14/4/13)

I hesitated about posting this again but I think it's right, I think these thoughts from the original blog should still be out there. They're honest and true.

I've spent two hours avoiding writing this.

I didn't know if it was right to talk about or not, whether it was too personal to other people's lives. Sometimes all you can talk about is what's at the front of your mind and hope that the intent is right; that you'll do justice to the person you want to talk about.

J  has started walking for exercise. About an hour a day. Her walk this morning took her to the Aintree Racecourse retail park. The long way round.

I was having the last in a succession of lazy mornings. Up at ten, cup of tea, quick check of Facebook and twitter then a shower. I came out of the shower to realise that it was lashing down. Expecting a series of missed calls of the 'can you pick me up, it's teeming' variety, I checked my phone. Nothing. So I rang J and arranged to pick her up. Got in the car, turned the engine on and the radio kicked into life on City Talk where I'd left it yesterday after coming home from the Everton match with Matty.

And the song that was playing was 'Dignity' by Deacon Blue. Released in 1987. Deacon Blue always had a big following in Liverpool. Still do, it's probably something to do with the celtic connection. Scottish bands have always connected in Liverpool.

Dignity has a strong lyric, a good sentiment, about striving for more, being more than people think that you are. It's about hope and belief and faith in something better.

And 'Dignity' is the song I remember being played at Gary Jones' funeral in late April 1989.

I remember Gary as a toddler really, small child with lots of curly blonde hair. I was friends with his elder brother and sister, Stephen was my age, Cathy was our Keith's age, there was a younger sister called Julie who was our Kev's age and then Gary. We had a good neighbourhood when I was growing up, lots of mates playing out in the street all day through various school holidays. Street Olympics as Cathy reminded me not so long ago. Gary was always there, somewhere.

You move in and out of touch with people over the years. It's a long time since I last saw Ste. He was working in (I think) the States last I heard. I still see Cathy from time to time. She used to come and watch us gig, coincidentally she married a friend of a friend of mine although I didn't meet my friend until the mid 90s, J worked with Cathy for a while in the late 80s. Cathy is one of life's good people, you're instantly comfortable in her company.

You may know Gary's name, he is listed every year as 'Gary Philip Jones, 18' when they read the list of the 96 victims of Hillsborough.

There are certain names from Hillsborough that have become well known over the years; Kevin Williams, Sarah and Victoria Hicks, Jon-Paul Gilhooley. Gary's name isn't one of the well known. The majority aren't well known, they're the names that register for a second when the list is read; names like Paul Brady, Gordon Horn, Kester Ball, Inger Shah. The list goes on, names that you hear and if you're a Liverpudlian recognise on an instinctive level. Names that most of know nothing about really other than he supported their team just like we did and do and that one bright day in 1989 they went to a football match and didn't come home. And their families were destroyed.

Gary would have been 42 now. There's no way of knowing what his life would have been other than that it would have been a good life, he came from a good family. He could have been a father, he would certainly have been an uncle. He wasn't given the chance to have any of the things that he should have had. Nor were the majority of the 96. Look at the list, there are only 18 names on there that made it past 30. There are only three that were older than I am now. All these people had lives to live. Long, valuable, rewarding lives.

And they had the chance of those lives ripped away from them. And then their families were lied to. For. A. Quarter. Of. A. Century.

I only knew Gary when he was little. He was my friends' little brother. I can't pretend that I knew him growing up, he was seven years younger than me. In my mind he will always be about five years old, playing in the street in the summer holidays with his brother and sisters and their mates.

Today is for Cathy and her family and particularly for Gary.

JFT96.