Charitable event

Geoff Duckworth, my co-driver, indisputable close friend, we go back many years; originally meeting at infant and primary school then predictably onto Grammar school. Geoff was great company, very charming, sharp; he constantly lit up a room with his wit, banter and remarkable knowledge about the most obscure facts. He was a railway enthusiast, a lifelong Wigan rugby league supporter, a geographer, the best mimic, a maker of wooden things, an angry fullback, a pleasant barman, a super chef, a good husband, a dog and child minder, very bald at twenty one and best of all, he had a younger sister, Gill who could fart at will. He was my families’ most treasured friend.  

There had been some organization along with basic planning before we set off but not a lot. We searched out sponsors in an attempt to push the charity angle. The main money earner was to import cases of wine to be sold, having previously been ordered, to the great and the good of Wigan, the profit being returned to Derian House, the local sick children’s hospice. I had commissioned thirty cases from a wine importer from Liverpool. These would be delivered to the Crow two days before our return, thus making the Beaujolais run a bit of a mockery: the ‘nouveau’ is always in England before the race has in fact started. 

The wine supplier also assured us that whilst we were in Beaune he would arrange accommodation but most important of all he would invite all of us to the celebratory dinner on the evening of the release, at the ‘Cave’ that was providing the nouveau. We still needed sponsors: first of all we approached Peter Woods, a local travel agent who would hopefully provide us with a cheap crossing, this he in fact did. Next we needed warm weather gear particularly for the midnight run back to the UK. I had known John Somers, the noted sports equipment retailer as well as the supplier for the local education authority, for a number of years. My first real connection with Wigan was when I was invited to join a band, back in 1965. John was the manager, but more importantly he bankrolled the band by buying most of the equipment (but I had my own gear previously from my first ‘Haydock’ band). The gigs would pay for John’s investment. We gigged endlessly for about 18 months, without pay. The band folded, John fancied rally driving so he bought a Lotus 7, the roady, Dave Green bought an MGB. I later visited John meekly groveling for what I felt I was owed. I was offered the huge sum of £30.00, but shit, that’s rock and roll, or in John’s eye, let’s give these school kids a faint chance of stardom, if that fails we can screw the dumb bastards out of their wedge. Having had this experience with John I didn’t really expect too much in the way of a handout, but after a visit to his shop, in Mesnes Street, both Geoff and I walked out with matching sets of Lacoste tracksuits, not much fucking use for the cold drive back, but snazzy all the same.