A tribute to my friend Brian

Brian Holroyd was my pal, more than that, we were inseparable. We spent those marvellous adolescent teenage years together. Together we discovered that bikes could take us out of the smog and grime of 1950s Manchester and transport us into the rugged beauty and of the Peak District, Millersdale and Castleton were particular favourites.

We splashed in the seas of Scarborough, enjoyed all the attractions that Blackpool had to offer and explored the historic beauty of York, just a few of the many bike trips we made.

We discovered music, beverages and girls — not necessarily in that order.

We met when I was 12 and became firm friends three years later. He was already a keen cyclist and it was decided that I should buy a bike and join him. After receiving strict instructions from him to buy one similar to his i.e. black and unassuming, I returned the following day proudly astride my Sun Wasp with the red and white striped mudguards and a frame that Sir Elton John would have been proud of. He didn’t comment but I still remember the look he gave me.

My wife recently asked me to compare the personalities of Brian and myself at that time, after much thought I can only describe us as Colin Firth meets Del Boy, myself, of course, the latter. A strange mix but we were good for each other.

We were both apprentices, myself as a carpenter and joiner, Brian an electrician. He was quiet, but when he spoke people listened, he was intelligent, honest and had a marvellous dry sense of humour. Whenever I picture him it is always with a smile on his face.

We spent many hours, often late into the night, listening to the crackling and hissing of Radio Luxembourg, particular favourites being Buddy Holly, The Everley Brothers and Paul Anka. We didn’t think much of this new guy Elvis Presley that everyone was raving about and were of the considered opinion that he was just a one-hit wonder and would soon disappear from the scene.

Four years flew by and the fateful day came when Brian received his call-up papers and in a heartbeat he was reporting to his regiment’s barracks at Formby near Southport to begin his basic training. I was 12 months younger and was extremely disappointed to be too young to be called up. The UK dispensed with compulsory National Service just after Brian joined the army.

Looking back it seemed such a short time after his departure before I was confronted with a journalist in our front room informing me that Brian was dead and wanting to know something about him. Writing this it brings back the confusion, disbelief and devastation I felt at that moment.

I’m afraid I wasn’t too courteous to that reporter. I remember running the hundred yards between our two homes to see Brian’s mother, who was living on her own at that time.

I cannot write about Brian without mentioning his mother. Mrs Holroyd was an older mother of two sons and a daughter. She was a widow and had recently also lost her father and sister. Within five years of Brian’s death her eldest son Ronald died of a heart attack and, shortly after, her daughter Dorothy passed away. From a happy home full of laughter Mrs Holroyd was alone. As with Brian my memory is of her smile. She was the strongest and most courageous woman I have ever met. There were no children, it is so sad that there are no surviving members of this proud and respected family.

The cause of Brian’s death was as bizarre as it was tragic. I was told that it was whilst attempting to change a record on a record deck that had been hired locally, the pin that locates the hole on the record was live. Apparently everyone knew this and Brian had told his pals that he alone would change records because they might get a shock and he was the electrician.

I am not sure why it was decided that Brian was to be buried in Bahrain and not back home in Manchester, nor do I know who made the decision. I now live a 300-mile round trip from where he would have laid. His grave would have been unattended for most of the time. When I look at the photographs of the well-tended cemetery and Brian’s grave bathed in sunlight I now appreciate that the right decision was made.

I have spent many years trying to track him down, I was told that he died in Aden and I was under the impression that his regiment was the Kings Own not the Kings. Small wonder that the museum of the Kings Own Regiment struggled to help me. I finally made contact with the Kings and found out he was in Bahrain.

After one successful enquiry approximately six years ago I determined his whereabouts only to lose all relevant information during major renovations to our property. I picked up the baton again this year and determined that he must be in the Old Christian Cemetery. Through the magic of the internet I nervously began tracing the names on the plots of graves listed. I was near to the end of the lists and thinking that I was looking in the wrong place again when my finger rested on the name ‘Holroyd’.

I admit that it remained there for some considerable time before I plucked up the courage to telephone the Christian Cathedral Bahrain. My call was answered by The Very Reverend Chris Butt who listened sympathetically and kindly took the trouble to locate Brian’s grave. Not only that, but he also took photographs and forwarded them to me. I cannot begin to explain how I felt when I saw the cemetery and Brian’s grave, it had taken me 55 years to reach this point.

Chris then invited me over for this year’s Remembrance Day’s service and has gone to great lengths to make the trip possible. I am deeply indebted to him. The flight is booked and I look forward to it so much, although, I don’t know why, but I must admit to being nervous at the thought of being close to my pal again.
 
Brian’s death signalled a sea change. Within 18 months I was married. Incredibly, by the time I was in my mid-20s I managed to get promoted to senior management in the construction industry. I like to think that I was successful in this position but I decided that it was not for me and surprised everybody by leaving and entering into the uncertain world of entertainment. I have married three times, or, as I frequently say I have had three weddings and one marriage. I was 50 when I married my lovely Mandy and finally settled down. We established a photographic business together, she now does all the work and I spend as much time as I can possibly get away with on the golf course. I have six fabulous children aged between 20 and 52 years. I would admit to many mistakes but my life has been nothing if not full and varied.

I often wonder what Brian would have done with his life. He would have been far more responsible than me that’s for sure. It is so sad that someone with so much to offer was taken so young. One thing is for certain – we would still have been pals.