Royston R.I.P.

“Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; they’re all that’s left to me”

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8 Responses to “Royston R.I.P.”

  1. Aashti Says:

    Lovely photo of Roy… thank you so much.

  2. Ayesha Says:

    What an amazing picture of him. God we miss him every minute. Thank you for this. Love you guys.

  3. sunder and sonati Says:

    Sonati took this photo some 18 years ago in BMS after football: He (and you two) would have been 16, I suppose.

  4. Sri Says:

    Great picture! I miss you all.

  5. devanshi Says:

    Yes Great Pic! RIP Roycee.

  6. sunder and sonati Says:

    Here’s what Pablo has to say on the subject:

    Royston ‘Roycee’ Lopez

    Well done, bugger
    Ran away from home,
    lived on the street
    Ran your own school,
    heck that’s flippin’ neat
    Peeked through skylights,
    bolted through the halls
    Was often to be found,
    in someone else’s smalls
    Plugged every exam,
    drove teachers to despair
    Where others would’ve wilted,
    you simply didn’t care
    Ate like a champion
    we called you ‘rubbish bin’,
    There wasn’t anything edible,
    you wouldn’t shovel in
    Hit sixes for fun,
    played godawful guitar
    Couldn’t boot a goal-kick,
    at least not very far
    The ladies just loved him,
    you could never say
    Quite which one of them,
    he was seeing on a given day
    Grinned through black,
    grinned through white
    Grinned through grey,
    and said ‘It’s all right’
    Smiled at everything,
    guffawed at will
    Laughed with us all,
    and is doing it still
    Delighted us in life,
    lit up the bloody place
    United us in death,
    by playing his final ace
    This poem really sucks,
    that much I know
    I ain’t Hughes or Plath,
    but I wanted to have a go
    I guess I’ll stop now,
    but before I do
    I’d just like to say,
    T’was an honour knowing you
    Well done, bugger

  7. Madhu Says:

    started the tears again.. but good tears. happy for the memories i have of him.

    @pablo — lovely poem.

    @sunder and sonati — love the photo of the young boy. in many ways, he was still that when i got to know him at 33.

  8. abe Says:

    There’s a happy, irreverent child somewhere in me. I know, because I became that kid again whenever I grinned at Royston.

    I met him first at Geddai, the school where misfits fitted themselves to the natural discipline of running a place in the middle of a forest. He was putting away a couple of loaves of home baked bread with all the enjoyment and relish that characterised his attitude to food and life. Bread never seemed as tasty as when Royston was eating it. Sleep never seemed as welcoming as when Royston lay down on a bed. A joke never seemed as funny as when Royston guffawed at it (the more slapstick the better!)

    He came to stay with us a couple of years later, trailing willow and the smell of leather and took us back to a time when happiness was simple things, like the feel of a good cricket bat in your hands or shouting out for breakfast to the hotel on the other side of the road. Cricket faded away and he became a healer; amused himself as much as anybody else at his talent to take your pain away, and perfectly comfortable living with two complete sceptics.

    I was a bit less sceptical after he appeared to get rid of two days of intense fever by laying his hands on my forehead and putting me to sleep for a couple of hours, but Royston being Royston only asked if he could try doing something after watching me suffer for two days and never mentioned it afterwards except to ask if I was alright. That summed him up. Your pain he could do something about. Your scepticism was your amusing idiosyncrasy

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