Saturday 13 August, and my walk through the Old Cemetery was more reflective than usual. Last Saturday, a good friend, and one of the kindest men I know, ran his last parkrun. The whole running community was reeling in shock. Big Dave Hawkins was a familiar face at local events. He organised the pacers for all the big races, the Southampton Marathon, Winchester Half and the Great South Run. He always had a smile and a cheery word of motivation. It was hard to think that I would never experience either again. Out on the flats, Run Director Kate Budd was giving her pre-race briefing. I could hear her voice through the megaphone, and I knew she would be talking about Big Dave. Hearing her words was more than I could bear, so I scurried off to this place of peace and reflection.
It was cool in the cemetery after the burnt brown grass on the baking flats. I wandered along the familiar paths, thinking of the support Big Dave had shown for my writing. Not only had he read my books, but he’d taken an interest in my research and the inspiration for the stories. My mind returned to the conversations we’d had. I couldn’t quite believe we would have no more. A picture of his smiling face kept popping into my head.
Slowly, the cool dappled shade of the cemetery soothed me, and I began to look around at the graves I passed. When the name David jumped out at me, I stopped for a closer look. Later, I would look up the name and discover his story, or as much of it as remains. The death of David Batchelor on 6 December 1884 was also sudden and unexpected. His friends and family must have been reeling, just as we all were. He was born in Southampton in 1824 and lived at 2 St John’s Buildings in French Street with his wife Ellen, stepson Leo and daughter Francis. He worked as a porter on the Hythe steamer, and this held a clue to how he died. According to his gravestone, he had accidentally drowned off the Town Quay. The water must have been cold in December. How must his family and friends have felt when they learned he had gone? I thought I had a good idea.
The news had burst into our house on Saturday morning like an incendiary bomb falling through the roof. Dave and Commando both worked a few hours a week at a running shop in Chandler’s Ford. When Kevin, the boss, called to ask if Commando knew Dave had been taken ill after Eastleigh parkrun, we thought it was something minor, an injury, or the heat. As Dave was a seasoned runner, it was unlikely he’d have underestimated the conditions. Commando phoned Dave, then left a message. A little later, Dave’s son rang and told us the news. After that, we spent the whole week trying to put out all the fires the incendiary had ignited.
On Sunday, we went for a walk in town to take our minds off things. I’ll probably tell you about it at some point. We both came unstuck when we reached Guildhall Square. The walks from the Common to the start of the marathon had entered our heads. We always parked on a side road and met up with Dave and the other pacers. Those early morning walks were chatty and filled with laughter. We could almost see him dashing about, a joke here, a word of encouragement there, and the unenviable task of gathering all the pacers for the team photo. It was like herding cats. We ended up going for a coffee to put that fire out.
Tuesday was Commando’s 60th birthday. We did our best to enjoy the day and not let any more fires start. There were presents, cards and cake, but something was missing. There was no long, chatty phone call from Dave. He was the master of the long, laughter-filled phone call. When Commando had his bike accident, he was one of the first to call to offer me help and cheer me up. Being a few years younger than Commando, he’d have been one of the first to call and take the mickey about getting old. The day ended with a race at Stokes Bay. The cool wind was welcome, and while Commando ran, I did some beach combing. I’ve never seen so many hag stones in my life, and I couldn’t help wondering if Dave had been scattering them to make me smile.
We tried to carry on as normal, but it was hard not to let the sparks ignite the little fires of memory and sadness. I tried to write, but the words wouldn’t come. Every time I closed my laptop, or sat staring at a blank page, I swear I heard Dave telling me off, and I tried all the harder to write something meaningful. On Thursday, Commando, CJ and I went for a meal at a Thai restaurant. It wasn’t the birthday celebration we’d envisioned, but in the words of Thornton Wilder, ‘The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.’ So, we tried to be grateful to still have lives to live.
As I wandered through the Old Cemetery on Saturday, I stopped looking at the names on the graves. Instead, I tried to be grateful to be in such a peaceful place, enjoying the greenery and sunshine. Every gravestone was a reminder that life is short, and death comes to us all in the end. No one knows when it will arrive or how, so we should enjoy every day we have as best we can.
On the way back towards the parkrun finish funnel, I stopped off to spend a moment at Walter, Florence, and Nellie Woodman’s grave. It’s the only Keates family grave I know of in the Old Cemetery, and I only discovered it recently. It must be in one of the prettiest spots in the whole place, under the shade of a huge, gnarled tree. As I stood there, reading the names of these people I’d never met, another quote came to mind. This one was from Terry Pratchett. ‘No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.’ The ripples Dave Hawkins created were so far-reaching they’ll be with us for a long time to come.
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A nice reflection on a poignant but sad story. The loss of a friend is always very hard. Condolences to all who knew him, and to his family. He didn’t die, just ran on a bit further than usual…….
Thank you. He has left a huge hole in the local running community.
So very sorry for your loss of a dear friend. When it’s unexpected and sudden it is especially hard to come to terms with. Your friend big Dave will live on in your heart and in your memories.
Thank you. He will certainly be much missed by many people.