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She knows music, I know music too you see.

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In the summer of 1974 Des walked into the tiny bar of the Clavadel Hotel in Guildford, England. And into my life.

He has been my friend for 44 years.

We hit it off immediately. Music, the passion for records, the love of lyrics, the mindblowing musicians of the ’70’s, we loved it all. We spent hours and hours poring over record sleeves and lyric sheets, soaking in the names of the players, the instruments, the words. We laughed. We drank. We laughed some more.

When I had my worst breakdown, in 1994, we spoke for hours and hours. When he rang me from a railway bridge in 2012, I called the police and drove across London, and got him down. When he asked me for money, I gave it to him. When I asked him for help, he held me.

On Sunday night, my brother called to tell me that Des was in hospital. On Monday morning I was on the doorstep of the hospital, bleary eyed, exhausted. They let me see him. He was yellow, haggard, thin, old.

He had no idea I was there.

Years ago, he sent me a list of people to be contacted ‘in the event.’

I spent the rest of Monday making 28 phone calls, full of tears and pain and agony.

On Tuesday my estranged brother sent me a text to say he was sitting with Des, holding his wizened hand, crying.

At 6.43 am on Wednesday my phone rang.

“Hello.”
“Mr Brannigan?”
“Yes.”
“It’s the Royal Surrey County Hospital.”
“I know.”
“I’m afraid that Desmond has passed away.”
(He was never called Desmond unless he was in trouble. Even to the end.)
“Okay. Thank you.”

You know all of those gut-wrenching phone calls? Yep, I had to make them all again.

Every

Single

One.

Since then it has been hospital, registery office, funeral directors, bureaucrats, forms, phone calls and tears.

Lots of tears.

I am sitting on my sofa, shattered, shaking and so, so sad. I am 61 years old and I have never been so tired in my whole life.

My beautiful friend has gone.

Here is his favourite performance of his favourite song. I will make sure it is played as the coffin is carried out.

44 years.

4

Comments

  1. Always so sad when you lose someone. You have to focus on the good stuff, the memories and the shared experience you can carry with you – like the Lizzy song, full of energy and driving forward – and be glad, for the song has no ending as long as there is someone to sing it. Sing it for him.

  3. Losing someone so close is such a terrible thing, I don’t want to sound trite, but you have my deepest sympathy.

    My best mate & I go back more than 35 years. over that time we have shared wonderful times & terrible heartache. I know that when the first of us passes away, the one left behind will be distraught beyond words. If he goes before me, it will hurt me more than losing my parents/ siblings.

    Your friend was lucky to have you.

    Regards & best wishes,

    Les (JTB).

  8. So sorry to hear about your friend Niall, I can understand a little of how you feel at this moment. A good friend of mine died recently, his funeral is on Monday, mine and my circle of friends is diminished once again. However times like these are sad, very sad but our friends would want us to smile, laugh and raise a glass to their memory. Peace & Love.

    • Thank you Baron. Yes, that thought has been very prominent this past days. I had already booked a lunch tomorrow at The Wolseley, as a double birthday celebration. Jack & Tony are both 71 and I’m now even more conscious that I should spend as much time with them as possible. We’ll end the lunch with a Jameson’s for Des.

  12. Fucking hell Niall. I have just read this and have a lump the size of a golf ball in my throat.

    I don’t know if it is the marching of time but don’t we all seem to get more emotional with each passing year?

    Give him a great send off – sounds like he was one of the good ones.

  13. My condolences. You express it beautifully.

    I lost my lifelong musical friend when he was 42 in 2005. He had a lot of problems, but I am still not sure what the cause of death was. He was found in fairly desperate circumstances and had died alone. He left 3 kids behind. At the funeral Bob Dylan and Frank Zappa were played, I still think about him several times a week.

    • Thanks @dai. The thought of Des dying in hospital rather than alone on a park bench (which could easily have happened) has been one of the few comforts of the week.
      Unfortunately I am far too well aware of the cause of death. Too troubled, too beaten down by life, too gentle for this world, he drank himself to death.

      • Me again Niall, I’m all to familiar with friends whose cause of death was the same as your friend Des. I used to drink a lot myself but hardly have a drink these days. The number of hours/days/weeks me and my friends spent trying to help our friends who had drink problems. Then the care we gave when they became ill, it’s not a nice way to go…but it’s what we are, people who care.
        Peace& Love, Richie

        • It’s tough. I found out today that he went downhill last November. What happened? What triggered this? Or was it simply another episode in his lifelong battle with mental illness?

  14. I lost one of my best friends very young, completely out of the blue and the doctors could never give a clear explanation of what had killed her. She collapsed on the dancefloor, doing what she loved at least. The shock was so great that I suppose I sort of blocked it – and her – out of my mind once the funeral had taken place, not relly allowing myself to think about it.
    But in the last couple of years, as I’ve turned 50 and other people (of a more “appropriate” age for it) are starting to get ill and die around me, I find myself thinking about her quite often. Remembering lots of great moments, but also wondering “what would T have thought about this?” and “T wouldn’t have had any patience with this BS, and why should I…”
    So she’s with me in spirit, as they say, as an inspiration for dos and don’ts.

    I’m sure Des will be there for you as an inspiration in future – after that many years of close friendship you know exactly what he would have said in situations you’ll encounter.
    Sorry for your loss, hang in there.

  15. So sorry to hear of your loss @niallb – I have a very good friend of some 45 years standing and, though we don’t see as much of each other as we should do, I know that it would crack either of us up when the other goes. Thinking of that I must give him a ring and meet up. Time is passing so quickly.

    • Do it. I had lunch yesterday with 2 of my male friends, both 71, and realised that, if they go, I now have one close, male friend left. ONE. Oh, and everyone should make a will. Des didn’t. I am now desperately trying to do the right thing by him, pay for his funeral and make all the arrangements that I think he would want.

  16. I can’t add anything or say anything better than others have above @niallb . Your posts always grab my attention and make me smile and think.
    You clearly both massively enriched each other’s lives, and that’s a wonderful thing.

    Spookily and 100% truthfully, while in the Sea of Cortez last week, of all the songs I know, by all the artists I know, which one popped into my head and had me humming it all day? Rosalie.
    Take care.

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