It's been a long hiatus between chapters in this random journey through the last 60 years. So much so, it's now 62 years! The initial burst of energy passed, as did the semi-regular additions. The energy has subsided but the vision is not dead. God willing I will carry on and even complete the series. As a down payment on that "promise", here is a new chapter, about my mate David. He celebrated a milestone birthday on the weekend and I wrote a poem in his honour and read it during the "formal" part of the party. It was well received.
A little context is required.
In the period after losing my job as a school chaplain in Busselton, I worked for SW Coachlines, driving school buses and doing charter work. One such job saw me drive a group of gynaecologists up to Perth airport after a conference at Bunker Bay. By good fortune, David sat in the first seat and upon hearing his English accent I struck up a conversation and quickly discovered we had something in common: a passion for Tottenham Hotspur. The three hour journey was largely consumed with talk of our beloved Spurs. At the airport we exchanged numbers and thus began an ongoing (and continuing) sms dialogue shaped by the results and fortunes of Tottenham.
David and his family live in Melbourne so when we moved back to Victoria in late 2010 our relationship evolved from text-based to occasional face-to-face contact. Apart from EPL connections we also both love AFL and most sports, though sadly he barracks for Carlton. We've been to Cats v Blues games, the Boxing Day test, the One Day World Cup Final, a couple of Wallabies games, and best of all, a Spurs game at the MCG during an end of season tour down under.
Our friendship has grown closer and extends to our wives and families. Busyness and distance don't allow for a lot of time together but I always enjoy catching up with him. A couple of months ago David and Orla were returning from a conference in Adelaide and stopped in at my place in Nhill for lunch and a quick visit.
Therefore, it was great to be able to attend his birthday celebration, and to share some verses in his honour. One more piece of context; In the lead-up to the party I privately messaged the people on the guest list and invited them to contribute a story or anecdote about David and to tell me how they met. I was able to weave several of these stories into the finished work. And here it is:
The Ballad of David Wrede.
A long long time ago in a land far far away
An event occurred that we celebrate today
It was a birth of dodgy noble lineage
A murky mix of ancestral parentage
Yes three score years ago and five
Though surely no one else here was yet alive
To bear witness to this momentous deed
The birth of our much loved David Wrede
Little is known of his early years
Either that or no one cares
To delve that far back in history
So his childhood can remain a mystery
His Mum and Dad, Dilys and Casper
Met while learning to be actors
I don’t know if his childhood was mild or wild
But suffice to say David is an only child
Of mysteries concerning our aged friend
One stands out and may never end
It defies understanding and rationality
But what exactly is his nationality?
It changes often, depending on the situation
As to his loyalty to any particular nation
British by birth, a pom that’s the ticket
At least when it comes to the Ashes and cricket
His namesake and he have enjoyed many a day
Watching the Poms and the Aussies at play
Usually at the mighty Melbourne Cricket Ground
But once also at Lords, cricket’s most sacred ground
I have no desire his reputation to diminish
But another possibility is that David is Finnish
A Baron no less is his noble claim
And perhaps we mispronounce his name?
I have no proof but nor a reason to think he
Doesn’t bear some title in Helsinki
But I suspect if the Finns were playing the Aussies
He’d be there dressed in a Viking Cozzy
Don’t ask me if the Finns were actually Vikings
They could have been Danes or Icelandic kings
They’re all from somewhere in the Nordic regions
And David will surely claim some allegiance
Of course he also purports at times to be Irish
Whether tis genuine or a wish to be stylish
Talking of stylish and the Irish nation
We all agree he married well above his station
We all applaud Orla, his partner for life
His colleague, his boss and also his wife
A finer pair it would be hard to find
A meeting of hearts, of souls and of minds
They married in the Millennial year
A joyous occasion it would appear
More blessing followed three years on
When their lovely daughter Ciara was born
They had a test run in 1998
And agreed Australia is pretty great mate
Though it took another eleven long years
Before they finally emigrated here
But back to this vexed question we’re pondering
As to his nationality, we’re all still wondering
Why, when a few years ago he became a citizen of Australia
His loyalty to the Southern Cross is such an abject failure?
This land that welcomed him with open arms
This land of so many quirks and charms
Sadly moved him when he came to choose
To barrack for the bloody Blues
And worse than that, this year they’ve awoken
Playing finals, but hopefully just a token
Appearance in the early rounds will suffice
To NOT hear Da Da da da da would be nice
David studied medicine at Cambridge I believe
I doubt St Thomas was sad to see him leave
After some Christmas Day shenanigans in 1984
When poor Cedric in the A&E caused uproar
As Phil recounts the tale, the bosses weren’t impressed
But ignorant or oblivious to the state of distress
The Casualty Officer, one David Wrede I’ll distinguish
Went hunting for a fire to extinguish
Boredom relieving fun was surely intentioned
But I believe the term unprofessional was mentioned
It’s not a term used now about our illustrious physician
By all accounts he’s greatly respected in the profession
A good number of guests gathered here today
And some who couldn’t make it all wanted to say
How much they love and respect the man of the hour
No upper class twit in an ivory tower
A few did say their first impression was mistaken
And once past the accent they were thoroughly taken
With the love and the passion, the friendship and loyalty
They began to believe in the tales of royalty
Russell for instance, upon meeting at Williamstown
Took a chance and invited him to the races at Terang town
David quickly adapted to the country hospitality
And enjoyed the event with much conviviality
Of course, we all know, our friend is shy and quiet
Just don’t mention Boris or the Tories or Brexit
But Russell divulged a juicy tidbit for these scribbles
That to them our David is known as Dribbles
A reference not based on a lack of manners or civility
But apparently on his google-like ability
To dribble out knowledge, facts and opinions
Which he readily shares with his colleagues and minions
And when we’ve all had enough of his forthright ranting
There’s another forum he loves to expound in
Yes Facebook is the place for venting his spleen
He’ll argue with KBWs unknown and unseen
As you know, David is a long-suffering Spurs fan
He’s Tottenham ‘til he dies, a true Lilywhite man
From McKay and Greaves to Gazza and Waddle
He’s loved them all, from Perryman to Hoddle
That’s how we became mates and remain to this day
Following a bus trip to Perth from Bunker Bay
A meeting of spirits, two Tottenham tragics
From a chance encounter the outcome’s been magic
Therefore I’m surprised at a few people who’ve come
Yes those Woolwich invaders, the Gooners, the Scum
There’s Scousers here too I’m led to believe
If it were up to me I’d ask them all to leave
But it’s testimony to David’s good humour and grace
That he welcomes the enemy into this place
Georgina for example who upon collecting Antonia revealed
She felt for David as he watched Spurs lose 4-0 at Anfield
On the occasion of Ciara’s high school formal
David’s fatherly instincts were stretched more than normal
Under great sufferance he remained stoic I promise
Despite Ciara’s date being a gooner named Thomas
Antonia and Ciara are best friends from school
Who once went with David and Orla to a music festival
Expecting the cool jazz that our hero favours
The weird mix of sound was not quite to their flavour
Other friends here today are connected by Irish jigs
The weird armless world of fake tans and wigs
Ciara’s dancing endeavours led to parental connections
Which Martina describes with sincere affection
Ange did take exception to his choice of footy team
And his Melbourne Club excursions where no women are seen
She also mentioned during the Ashes some poor behaviour
Especially when Steve Smith looked like being our saviour
Our hero is known by many titles and names
Doctor, David , Dribbles and Casper the same
As his Dad but who knows which is his fave?
Just whatever you do, don’t call him Dave
On occasions like this one tries digging for dirt
But it turned out all respondents were keen to assert
The genuine love and respect that they hold
For Doctor David Wrede and his heart of gold
I asked people how they met, how their friendship began
Many replied that through work was how they met our man
Doctors and nurses, gynaecologists and obstetricians
Members of the understaffed and overworked profession
And in truth, man woman and child, as one all agreed
They love and admire our dear David Wrede
Susan summed it up best when she said
“He is genuinely one of the nicest people I’ve ever met”.
Unanimously they agreed as they reflected
How much he is loved, admired and respected
I’m sorry I can’t recount all the stories and names
If we don’t blow the candles out soon the house may go up in flames
We’ve watched Boxing Day cricket and Spurs at the G
The Cats play the Blues and Ireland beat the Wallabies
Lunches at wineries, crazy bidding for toys
Regular Spurs texts all ending with COYS
David let me finish by saying I love you, our friendship I treasure
Though our shared love of Tottenham brings more pain than pleasure
I hope one day that we’ll realise our dream
And watch a Spurs game together in N17
As I wind up these verses I just want to say
I give thanks for our meeting on the bus that day
Your generosity and care have blessed me time and again
I am honoured like all here, to call you my friend.
