Geva

Eulogy written and presented by Richard Sanderson at his funeral on Friday 4th October 2019 It's very unusual to arrive at any Morris event and not find Geva there before you, sitting at a table, a pint of beer in front of him, finishing off The Times crossword, reading glasses at the end of his nose. Today of course is the one occasion when you wish that he hadn't arrived before us. I got to know Geva about 15 years ago, when, at the behest of Dougie Adams, I joined Blackheath Morris. I ended up sharing quite a few journeys home with Geva, as he, like me, lived in Hither Green. These journeys would be full of hilarious banter as we conversed to and fro about all aspects of the morris...

I got to know Geva about 15 years ago, when, at the behest of Dougie Adams, I joined Blackheath Morris. I ended up sharing quite a few journeys home with Geva, as he, like me, lived in Hither Green. These journeys would be full of hilarious banter as we conversed to and fro about all aspects of the morris... OK that's not really true- the conversation was largely a monologue from me, hugely enthused by the newly discovered world of the morris, Geva's contribution on the other hand would generally be monosyllabic, occasionally a gnomic sentence, or if he was particularly taciturn, a nod.

Geva's taciturnity (yes that is a word, I looked it up) was legendary. Like the time Nodge was giving John Offord (also quiet bloke) and Geva a lift in his car to some Morris event. For the whole journey Nodge held forth, enthusiastically discussing all manner of things, and receiving zero response.In fact It actually got to the point that Nodge forgot they were there.

But let's not mistake taciturnity for grumpiness, Geva wasn't a grumpy man, he had his dislikes (kids in pubs, the smoking ban, animals, overpriced beer, all sports except perhaps tiddlywinks, politicians, morris lines not straight enough....) But he wasn't grumpy. In fact although he rarely started a conversation, in a comfortable setting (the pub) he would converse and give his opinion, peppered with a dry humour. He absolutely wasn't somebody you would try to avoid, because he was actually very friendly. But it would be pointless trying to avoid him anyway as he was always there.

Geva was the member of Blackheath Morris with longest unbroken record of service - over 40 years - there are others that may have been in the team for longer, but all of them had taken a significant break, Geva was just there. There at every practice, blizzard or heatwave, week in week out. And in the hyper rare event of him not being there he would have informed you in triplicate several times for weeks beforehand.

Geva liked a drink. Beer in particular, and although his social life revolved around the pub in one way or another in my experience he rarely appeared drunk in the cliched, wobbly, slurred speech way, just sometimes he looked a bit sleepy...but there are some great stories involving Geva and drink, some of which I'll share with you ...some, more notorious ones, you're more likely to hear later on....

There was the time he made the basic rookie Morris man mistake of not pitching his tent at an Ale before going drinking (we've all done it). Eventually he struggled to put up the pole at one end, before crawling in the grotesque, shapeless bag of the unassembled tent, to the cheering and encouragement of the rest of the team.

There was the time at Saddleworth, returning at stupid o'clock to the church hall where he was staying accompanied by Ken, Mel and Rick. As Rick reached the top of the church steps, he started to fall. Geva, in the perfect position to save him, gallantly stepped out of the way, allowing Rick to crash to the ground. "I could have damaged my accordion" was his explanation.

Patch told me about a time when he and several other newer members of the team needed to get some sets of morris bells made. Geva helpfully organised a "Bells Workshop" at his gaff. Although some bells were certainly made, the best part of the day was spent consuming a bottle of...Bells whisky.

Like I said, Geva wasn't a grumpy man, he took everything with a kind of patient good humour, and it was this lack of exasperation with us that would lead to some of the teasing Geva received from the team - like at practice barricading the door to the toilet with hat stands, small tables, instrument cases etc... every time we went in the loo, every week. The fact that he didn't explode, or even sigh as he extricated himself and returned to the practice hall somehow just made it funnier, and him more endearing.

At previous Blackheath Ales (Morris gatherings for the uninitiated) there used to be a "Guess the Weight of Geva" competition. Next to the details of the competition pinned to the wall were columns detailing "in" and "out" since the start of the day. The mind boggles.

It was Graham and I that came up with the song "What a Friend we have in Geva" after I discovered that if you only half-listen and are maybe a bit drunk "Geva" sounds a little bit like "Jesus", so after discounting "Geva's hands are kind hands" and "Geva wants me for a sunbeam" Graham wrote the immortal "What a Friend we have in Geva", the instrumental version of which you heard

Aaron play today -and I guarantee most Blackheath men will have had some of the lyrics going around their head as it was performed. Despite the fact that the song includes some rather rude lines about flatulence (something else I’m really not going to discuss here), it is a song full of admiration for a man who, as we have discovered led a remarkably full life for someone who could quite accurately be described as "unassuming" and was the lynchpin of organisation in Blackheath Morris.

Because Geva was, very rarely in a morris man, quite exceptionally organised. One of the more surprising things we discovered after Geva's death was that he kept a daily diary, noted in small pocket diaries. We also found a sheet which seems to detail dates that were important to Geva..

These include- 14th August 1978 - 1st Morris Practice 7th October 1978 - 1st Morris Tour 3rd September 1979 - possibly first dance out with Blackheath (just over 40 years ago) 19th August 1980 - Paris with Blackheath 26th December 1981 - 1st Boxing Day Dance Out 5th June 1982 - Dwyle Flunking with Blackheath.

“The English game of dwile flonking (also dwyle flunking) is an East Anglian pub sport, involving two teams of twelve players, each taking a turn to dance around the other while attempting to avoid a beer-soaked dwile (cloth) thrown by the non-dancing team.

25th June 1983 - Bought synthesizer ( hands up who saw that coming?)

And this is just in The first five years. It becomes clear to us that Geva did lead a very full, if foreshortened life. And it was a life lived with different groups of people, his loyal mates from the pub, meeting at The Talbot, including Andy who did so much to spread the awful news about Geva's sudden death, Blackheath Morris, Fowler's Troop and Fowlers Molly, the music sessions at the Star and Garter, and of course Margaret and his family who he would visit at regular points twice a year unfailingly.

There are the things he did that we're going to miss hugely, the annual barbeque in his garden (one of the few occasions his Morris friends and his pub friends would be in the same place), the garage- scene of the infamous Blackheath AGMs where cool discussion could descend into full scale vitriolic ranting, and the curries. Geva made amazing curries - the pride of the team. He himself liked a curry enormously, so much so that I heard several stories that involved him falling into his own curry.

So we're all here today to say goodbye to a kind, generous and unfailingly faithful friend, a musician, a dancer, a drinking companion and, it turns out, a Doctor Who fan. He led a life that was so full that I've inevitably had to miss things out, but I'm sure we'll hear much more later.

We'll remember him at every AGM, or when we dance "cuckoo's nest" and the sound of the keys of his accordion sticking don't come, at Deptford Jack in the Green, Hastings, Cropredy, Rose and Castle or Saddleworth. We’ll dance forever hearing the inevitable criticism “the lines were shite”

We'll have a drink, a play and a dance for him this afternoon, and we'll chat and remember a really great bloke.

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