Our friend Geoff Hardy disappeared at the end of April - our, because he was your friend too, whether you knew him well, a little, or had never met him. Geoff was friend to a society, a man in search of greater justice, fairness, acceptance, love, and joy. He was generous with his enthusiasm, his righteous anger, his sense of fun. We miss him.
Fred D'Aguiar, who Geoff taught at Charlton Boys School in London in the 1970s, has written a sequence of poems of celebration and loss, and we launched Ghost Particles [Fair Acre Press] at the Hive in Shrewsbury in early September. The poetry is moving, sparse, laden with deep sorrow and deeper gratitude for all Geoff was. Fred asks...
you be
dead
for all
there is
for me
to say
to you
to be
said?
It sometimes goes like this, that we want a chance to say something to the one we miss unbearably, the one who is no longer there to hear it. We wish to repeat what we knew and said in his lifetime, or what we were too shy to say, or didn't even realise we had to say.
At a memorial celebration of Geoff's life at Shrewsbury Town's football ground a couple of days after the reading, many of us wrote a poem together. We did it like this - each writing a line of memory, or emotion, or observation at the beginning of the event. The poet part of me then wove the lines together, finding as I did so that what the community knows about Geoff rings both particular and communal - we knew him individually, we knew him collectively.
The poem is epic - long - a bit unwieldy. It breaks the line limits for competitions, magazine entries - steps outside the bounds of convention. Geoff would have liked that about it, and, as Fred said, he would have liked its call and response nature, the chance for voice. Here it is. It's for all of us, whatever the losses we are feeling.
GEOFF’S TABLE – after Edip Cansever
Written on 8th September 2024 by
family and friends
Friends and Family of Geoff,
filled with gratitude and the gladness of knowing him,
put our sorrows and memories on the table.
We put there Geoff’s energy and courage to be different, the
fire in his belly,
his endless enthusiasm for confronting the status quo,
his always being led by his convictions and values,
challenging hubris with sparkling wit.
And we lay on the table his advice to stay right to the end
because you never know who’s too shy to come and talk.
We place there the personal and the political,
Geoff’s fierce empathy for those without agency.
the memory of him, a young student
in his Afghan Coat, tentative of his brave future.
On the table we put Geoff’s inspiration of others,
his ability to motivate and his unshakeable opinions.
We set there all the groups he was involved with:
his candidacy for the Green Party,
the early days of the Gay Teachers’ Group,
memories of pink triangles in Jersey,
Shropshire Fights Back, SAND,
and Shropshire Co-op members group.
the presentations he delivered at schools
during LGBT History Month.
Memories of the 1982 Channel 4 lost Video
starring Geoff & Peter, Arthur & Rosie,
the copy of the Shropshire Star -- the one in which
he objected to a columnist’s homophobic comments,
Geoff’s power of persuasion, his knowledge,
the sheer length of time he spent fighting for rights,
solidarity, universality, all sugared with hope –
we put them on the table along with his wry smile,
his challenge to long-held entrenched opinions,
his ramblings in meetings that always came to the point
eventually
We put on the table Geoff’s eclectic taste in music
his hands playing the piano, all
those Proms,
music as an expression of his
soul.
We remember him by, ‘Calling all Angels’,
and every year, ‘ The Moon in June’
(Geoff - possibly the only surviving Soft Machine fan).
We place Geoff’s love of the arts on the table:
films from around the world, and books, and poetry,
films, and Fred’s poetry, and supporting young artists,
the films he selected with Peter for the best film festival,
singing, and seeing Geoff and Peter in the audience, smiling.
We cry with Shrewsbury Town Crier, ‘Oh Gay, Oh Gay!’
We put on the table Geoff’s talking with his hands,
those expansive gestures – his hands always moving,
his slapping his hands in emphasis,
his expressive, creative, strong hands, his caring so much.
And the notes of his voice, his calm voice,
the radiance of his voice, the sounds of the trains
on the bridge at Shrewsbury Railway Station,
the chink of tea cups, drinking out of exquisite china.
And over the table echoed, ‘FABULOUS!’
We place on the table the communal garden by the river Severn,
windfall apples in autumn, Jakob’s vegetarian feast,
soya bean casserole and Caribbean fish curry,
dinner at Bistro Jacques for Gary’s birthday,
long evenings of shared suppers planning the Rainbow Film Festival,
no business talk meals, garlic chutney, a fruit bowl, fish
pie,
cups of tea, plain chocolate, lunches in the market café,
tea and friendship in the kitchen, discussing Alan Watts,
late night discussions over a glass of wine,
the chat and the chat, and the endless chat –
all those delicious curries and coffee, those teacups and
saucers,
the most diverse selection of herb tea bags,
and glasses half full of red wine knocked over by buzzing,
flapping hands,
and being last to leave a house-warming party
generosity of spirit and the chat, and the chat,
brief roadside talks turning into hour long conversations,
and inspiration, guidance, endless compassion and passion.
We put on the table specific memories:
There is a feeling I get when I look to the West
when my hell gets too much and the only thing to
give me peace
is a nice egg curry and bottles of beautiful wine
in the
company of Aunty Geoffrey and Uncle Peter – treasures never forgotten.
We put Aunty Geoff on the table, and the book he gave called
“What happens to your body as you grow” –
amongst other books a book that made me and my brother giggle
at a lot,
all while he had a glint in his eye.
We place on the table the shelter Geoff gave
at a time when we needed refuge,
his encouraging laughter and optimism,
his kindness, courage and inclusivity.
The cape that sailed towards me on Shaftesbury Avenue
(it had been years, who else could it be?), blue shoes
and old friends meeting on the Charing Cross Road
leading to a lifetime in the Shropshire Hills,
Geoff’s sense of freedom as his skirt swooshed on the tube –
that’s him there, a boy walking past,
Him calling my name as he passed on a bike – ‘hello!’
wise words given to me at just the right moment –
welcoming my queer daughter into the LGBTQ+ community,
I know Geoff because he was an English teacher
and I was a French teacher,
Another Geoff, told by his mother, “Why can’t you be more like
Geoff Hardy!”
We place all these personal memories on the table.
We place there how Geoff was a positive in times of stress,
that flower and a thank you written on a sticky note,
his warmth and a smile that we now carry as a gift.
A box of sequins, laughter, and a welcome to the community.
We place on the table talking over the hedge in the morning,
a constant neighbour in sun and rain.
We put on the table his care for those he knew and hardly
knew
his commitment to being the first to fight for people in need
On the table we place Geoff’s passion for caring,
his healing hands, his healing light and stories,
hands to heal the body and mind, his giving of support.
On the massage table Geoff would gently place Jean and Cedric
for their essential oil massage.
Next to them, all the massages given under Geoff’s hands,
his fingers, knuckles and elbows in the right places,
fingers of power that magicked pain away,
the massage oil, and a welcoming smile,
ironing out our tensions, muscles, and feelings,
words of wisdom given, whether wanted or not.
Nous mettons sur la table la maison devant la riviere,
riz tres bon a manger, et beaucoup de theirs dan sa maison
et surtout le si adorable Peter, son compagnon et ses
deux amis Hattie et Mike
We place on the table a stall in the Market Square,
stalls draped with rainbow flags,
train journeys, bicycle clips and no helmet,
flags and smiley faces, wonderful stories,
rainbow badges and roses in full bloom,
emails packed with love and encouragement,
a filing cabinet full of his letters,
evening primroses from the garden from his hands,
the name of every plant in the number 19 garden,
his Scavenger Hunt Winner medal (and Crunchie!),
British Sign Language, sounds of a bicycle bell,
eggs bought at the side of the road in half dozens
to take home for neighbours; an ability to put people at
ease,
generosity and a sense of humour, tight hugs of love,
and his hidden talent: dancing at those SAND discos.
All these wonderful things we put on the table.
We put on the table our regrets, the bicycle ride we didn’t
take,
that we hadn’t known Geoff better ,
and Will I ever have as much time to give Geoff as he
gives me?
We place on the table the postcards of Geoff and Peter’s many
adventures
we place Geoff and Pete’s love on the table too, their being
together forever,
their welcoming others to that table together,
especially those finding it hard to find their place
all those memories of an open house and open heart:
“Just follow it, and do it,” and,
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
The encouragement of a dream, a young life, a pathway.
The ability to turn around anything that I could say into a
new idea.
On top of the pile, we place the way Geoff was unashamedly
himself,
his pride in his notoriety, his open-mindedness.
his wicked sense of humour, and his brave courage.
On the table we put the first times we saw Geoff, the last
times,
We put on the table a bridge, the bridge that was Geoff,
link between so many people, so many groups.
We look at the table – it wobbles a bit but does not
complain.
It is dependable, warm, and generous.
And then, above all, we see this:
Geoff’s love for Peter was the table he put things on.
Photos - John Rinaldi
