ON one of the last times Dickie Bird and I ever spoke he was having a sob down the phone because he’d missed inviting me to his birthday party and he felt terrible because ‘I was one of his best friends’ he said, and that made me smile, proud actually.
I wouldn’t inflate myself and say I was a close mate, but I’m glad he thought of me as a good friend because he knew I always had his back.
He was one of life’s innocents, wore his heart on his sleeve, we’re all used to seeing him at the Proud of Barnsley awards, having a sob.
In the twenty years I’ve known him, I haven’t seen him change in who he was, only time making him a little more frail, but his character remained steadfast.
He would have been devastated, bewildered by any cheap jibes of criticism, because they were unfounded.
Last Tuesday when the news broke, in amongst the lovely comments on unsocial media, was the lone worm of ‘He was only Barnsley when it suited him’. WTAF!
I have never met anyone more Barnsley in my life than Dickie. I waded in. Dickie Bird: season ticket holder for Barnsley FC, shopped in town, had a cuppa in the Asda café, bought his bread from Greggs.
He never ignored anyone who wanted to chat to him or have a photo – from pensioners to kids and he lived among his own folk. Barnsley when it suited him? It suited him permanently, you total tw*t (insert vowel of choice)!
Better people shared many, MANY warm stories about him. I know when my OH and his boxer mate saw DB in the Wetherby Whaler, he asked them to join him where Dickie regaled them with stories of meeting Muhammad Ali.
He was so well thought of by sportsmen and celebs, living his life with the same principles as he played his game: fair, straight.
He’s told me so many of his encounters and how the Queen often had him down for tea, just those two, no one else, that’s what she thought about him.
Years ago, my friend the ‘Jaws’ impersonator Gary Tiplady and wire sculptor, had an exhibition in the Cooper so I invited Dickie along, thought it would be a good night out for him.
He came, despite the torrential rain, and mingled with a crowd filled with all Gary’s James Bond lookalike pals: Blofeld, Oddjob, Pierce Brosnan, at least three Sean Connerys... Poor old Dickie didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he loved it.
He gave so much money to local baby charities, and on the QT money to young Yorkshire cricketers to buy themselves kit (and he told me of the ones who hadn’t even been arsed to say thanks!) And how proud he was of his statue. A few of us have passed by and seen him giving it a polish on occasion.
I’ve had a few sobs myself since I heard of his passing.
We were always delighted to see each other, me because he was a sweetheart, and he because he knew I was his champion.
I have felt for years like his literary knight, ready to battle anyone who dissed him and put them straight with truth, and I will carry on if needs be.
Barnsley is much poorer for him not walking around its streets anymore. Although I’m not sure his spirit will be able to wholly surrender moving on from his beloved town, his home, his people for a long while.
Goodbye dear old friend. OUR Dickie Bird.
