I met Neil (Tommy) through the Staines Posse; his group of friends that lived locally to him, most of whom he had known since his school days. It seems that once you became Tommy’s friend, you were always a friend.
I got to know him better when he started coming to watch rugby, specifically Harlequins at the Stoop. Tommy had a Quins season ticket for more than 10 years and he was very proud that he had never sat in his allotted seat. He always sat with us as there was usually room in our area.
Tommy was a founder member of the “Away Trip” where a small group of adventurers travelled to distant places to watch a Harlequins European match in mid-January. Something to look forward to in the depths of a post-Christmas winter.
Our first trip was to Belfast where we watched Quins lose during a storm with 75mph winds and driving horizontal rain. The result didn’t matter and the craic was good before and after the match. As an expat, I was able to show the group how vibrant Belfast was with no apparent visible scars of what had gone on during the Troubles. That is until the third day of our trip when I took them to the Peace Line, an 8-metrewall of brick, steel and barbed wire dividing a loyalist and nationalist area of the city.
Tommy was visibly moved by this scene and he subsequently mentioned it to me on several occasions, his gentle nature at odds with the hate that lead to the Peace Line being built.
Other tours were equally memorable, and we visited Florence, Toulouse, Galway, Biarritz, Perpignan (via Barcelona), Castres and Montpelier. I recall walking through Montpelierwith Tommy when he noticed a shop sign for the wonderfully named hairdresser “Fanny Coiffure”. At least I think it was a hairdresser. These days, you never know.
I will miss his dry wit (as arid as the Sahara), the culinary triumphs and disasters we shared and our long conversations, usually walking off a hangover or on the way to getting one.
Adieu mon brave, à la prochaine!
By Jack Murray
One reply on “Tommy on Tour – by Jack Murray”
The rugby tour was always the highlight of the winter. Visiting southern french summer resort towns in the midst of the off season, drinking the worlds worst beer, eating possibly the worst sandwiches, and on one tour every restaurant being closed and having to survive on peanuts (& beer!) but none of that could dampen our spirits, the laughter, the camaraderie! Happy days indeed.