“I have been told that I am limited, as far
as time is concerned, to two and a half minutes. Well, in a room full of
lawyers this will be a lawyer's two and a half minutes!
Two days ago I was musing what I might say
about Frank when a random thought popped into my head. Oh God I've still got
Frank's boots! These are Frank's boots, (as an aside for the Doubting Thomas'
they really were Frank's boots). I borrowed them in early December last year
for a fancy dress party, and I never got to give them back.
As I was wondering how I was going to deal
with that it occurred to me that I might be able to make use of them as a prop
for this occasion. The more I thought about it the more apposite I decided it
was.
These boots are Doc
Marten's.
In my teenage years they were worn by skinheads and thugs. Frank, had a certain
thuggish appearance. But appearances can be, and in Frank's case certainly
were, deceptive. The best example I can give of how a stranger might perceive
Frank at first blush was when Frank was visiting Exeter prison, and as Frank
was leaving he heard a voice call out, “Oy, where the xxxx do you think you're
going Sunshine?" It took Frank a
minute or two to explain to the prison officer that he wasn't an inmate trying
a bold attempt at escape but rather a local solicitor who had been on a legal
visit.
These boots are
highly polished.
So was Frank. Professionally respected by all who worked with him, against him,
or people who Frank appeared in front of. Frank was a class act. A short while
ago Frank was the Times Lawyer of the Week. Not something Frank would have told
you, as another of his great attributes was his modesty.
They are of a
generous size. So was Frank. In Wild West parlance Frank was
a man who cast a big shadow. But let's leave size to one side and concentrate
on generous. Frank's generosity knew no bounds. Over the last two years or so
Frank played a large part in raising between £2,500 and £3,000 for our local
village hall fund. When I say our village hall it wasn't Frank's, he didn't
live in our village. Frank would spend hours if not days of his own free time
researching and preparing quizzes which he would then present. At no stage did
he ask, nor would he have thought of asking, for any recompense for all those
hours of his own time.
Another aspect of Frank's generosity which
must be mentioned is the rugby. Initially at the County Ground and latterly at
Sandy Park. Frank introduced me to Exeter Chiefs when they were at the County
Ground. I looked forward to going and watching a good game of rugby. We didn't
see much of the game as we stayed in the bar, and it was quite difficult to see
the game through the window having to peer over the wall that was right outside
and you could only see two thirds of the pitch anyway. Many a happy hour was
spent at the ground with other people like Michael, Gavin and Jo.
The club then moved to Sandy Park and WBW
invested in a box which led to Frank inviting many of the people in this room
to attend and enjoy the comfort of the box. I recently read a very nice
article/obituary about Frank which mentioned that Frank was a man who loved his
rugby. I hope Nigel will forgive me but Frank didn't really love rugby; he
loved the fellowship that existed on a rugby day out. I well remember during
the first season at Sandy Park that it had to be gently pointed out to Frank
that the team he was applauding for doing so well was the opposition and not
Exeter, and that he really ought to learn the colour of the Chief's strip.
These boots are high
in the leg; all embracing. So was Frank, he
was a friend to everyone. Just look around this room. And very rarely would you
hear Frank utter a bad word about another human being.
The boots are tough. Frank came from a
golfing dynasty. Not directly but through Jo. John, Frank's father-in-law, was
a single-figure handicap golfer. Nick, Frank's brother-in-law used to play off
scratch, too good to get any shots given to him. Frank? Well, Frank was a crap golfer. But he loved
it. Why tough?
Many of you may not know that in recent years
Frank suffered terribly with arthritis. His left wrist was fully locked. It
meant that if Frank misjudged a shot, which he often did, and his club hit the
ground it caused him extreme pain. Notwithstanding that, Frank would always
sign up for our golf-society days. He would turn-up, handover his money knowing
that he could not win and that he would probably come last; and knowing that by
the end of the round he would be in extreme pain. But, he persevered. He loved
it for the fellowship of the day.
These boots are
comfortable. I
recently had cause to look up the definition of a gentleman. One of the
definitions was, “A man in whose company other people feel comfortable". I
need say no more than that.
Dry on the inside. By way of a contrast rather than a similarity.
I'm pleased to report that I spent many a happy hour/day in Frank's company
when we were anything but dry on the inside. I know many others in this room
who could say the same.
The last and best
comparison. As
we all know Doc Martens are famous for one thing more than any other. The size
of the sole. Well, if a man's character is his soul then Frank had an immense
soul.
Our thoughts must now turn to Jo, Kate, Eve
and Jack.
If you'll forgive me I'll give my mate his
boots back now.
Gareth Evans
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