My Bro Foxy

2 Aug


I have been thinking about the past a lot in this last week. The feelings bereavement brought up about missing the complete acceptance that I found with my Biker chums. They weren’t saints by a long chalk but mostly they were blokes you could totally rely on to have your back. Once you were part of the group you knew that security of being. You didn’t have to be anyone special to be special. That suited me. I am not talking about the structured gang here but an outskirt.  The gangs were a slightly different ball game. I am talking about the lads you could go drinking with, the ones you could laugh and cry with. The ones you could have a damn good argument with that would end in blows yet be forgotten by the time your sweat had cooled only to wind up taking the mick out of each other and having a play wrestle and a laugh with.  Simple rules, don’t mess with their bikes, don’t nick their beer. That was it.

One of my best mates was Foxy a big lad with a shaved head and a bright red (ginger) beard.  He was tough and fair.  Had the most smiling eyes of green I’ve ever seen. A quick humour a strong sense of…how can I best phrase this? Natural justice and the strength to live by those values.  He was a kind of hero to me when I first started to move in those circles. Never overtly sexist but old fashioned in some views.  I had always been taken for myself except for one night.

We’d all been to the Ruskin Arms for a few pints, watched a live band and trolled down to The Log Cabin for mugs of tea and bacon butties.  I had made a new friend who had plucked up the courage to ask me out. Just thinking on it makes me smile but my eyes leak.  My new friend and I were there at the cabin already. Teas in butties cooking. We were sitting close to each other getting to know each other. Shy but a good feeling.  In stomped Foxy flicking his eyes round they alighted on my friend a new face.

Over he strolled my friend stood obviously nervous. He was wearing a flying jacket not black leathers. Foxy eyed him suspiciously and asked me what he was.  What not who! I was a bit miffed and boldly said my friend what about it?

Damn if he didn’t lift my friend up by the front of his jacket, hold him up against the wall. My friend’s face went weirdly white.  Foxy growled at him…you ever hurt a hair on her and you’re dead. I know he meant it. He meant it with every fibre of his being. He put my friend down and placed his order. I was furious though. How bloody dare he. My friend looked awful.  We left. Foxy turned back to watch us go. He shook his head and sighed.

He didn’t live much longer than that.  A bloke with a heart of gold.  When I am sad or feel no one cares about me I remember this incident and thank God for the short time I knew him. What an honourable bloke he was. Simple rules even though I hated him at that moment.

Miss him miss him loads


Gone but not forgotten



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