Now pretty much every tribute you will have read over the past few days will have commenced with the phrase “the word legend is overused in this day and age” before going on to say why, in the case of William Arthur Bonds MBE, the word is very much the apposite one. For once I think the cliché is justified.
The other thing that strikes me over the tributes that have been pouring in (and tributes always “pour in” don’t they) is the similarity to all the stories that involve the writer having met Billy and how genuinely touched he was by the esteem in which he was held by supporters. I’m afraid my tale is no different.
We are going back around 10 years or so. We had an away Cup match up north which, for some reason I was unable to attend and the game was being covered by one of the sports channels that, at that time, I didn’t have access to at home.
I checked out the nearest hostelries to my home and it wasn’t until I hit the third nearest that I found a pub with the required channel. On arrival I looked around and there in the corner was Billy Bonds with a few friends. I was aware that Billy lived in the area, but hadn’t thought for a minute our paths would ever cross.
Now despite what Daisy might tell you, I am a reasonably considerate chap. So, although there I was only a few yards away from one of my all-time heroes, I had no desire to interrupt his having a quiet afternoon. However, I felt I couldn’t let the fact that he was so close go unmarked without expressing some form of gratitude.
So, having explained to the barman that I had no desire to disturb the Bonds party, I chucked a few bob behind the bar to pay for their next round. Least I could do for a man who had played in the first West Ham XI I saw way back in the late 1960s. With that I shifted over to the other side of the bar, out of the way and where there was a convenient comfy chair in front of one of the screens.
I watched the match and at half time freshened up my pint and returned to the comfy chair. A couple of minutes later I became aware of a tall chap stood next to me who introduced himself with the words “I believe I owe you some thanks…”
I’d like to think I regained some form of composure fairly quickly but I probably didn’t. I do recall begging to differ, pointing out that I’d been watching him play for pretty much all of his career so a pint was the least I could do.
At this point I expected a handshake and for Bill to rejoin his friends. Frankly that would have made my day. What happened next left me gobsmacked. He asked would I mind if he joined me to watch the second half. Mind!?
We spent the next hour or so watching the game – we won by the way – just chatting about the match, football in general. I could have asked a million questions of him but it somehow didn’t seem quite right to do so. Once the game was done we went our separate ways with the great man thanking me for my company. You read that right, he thanked me.
Since then I bumped into Billy on numerous occasions – mostly on the train. I applied my usual rule of not bothering him if he were with someone, which he usually was. However, if ever he saw me he made a point of saying hello, repeatedly making my day in the process.
As I mentioned there have been numerous “when I met Billy” stories bandied about since Sunday’s sad news. Most probably less boring than this one, but the overall theme is the same: Billy was always genuinely flattered when Hammers recognised him.
I guess we knew that – witness his reaction to the warmth and love sent in his direction when his stand at the Olympic was named after him. He shed a tear or two on that day, much as I did on Sunday.
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