A TRIBUTE TO ROY HARDING

by Mike Lakin

Pigeon Racing Loses Another Stalwart

I attended a funeral the other day, which is never a happy occasion but more especially when it brings to a close the life of one of pigeon racing’s long distance stalwarts. This was certainly the case when Roy Harding was buried at the Bunbury church of St Boniface which lies in the midst of the beautiful Cheshire countryside.

Thinking back, I first met Roy and his lovely wife Gwen, who was his almost permanent shadow over the 52 years that they spent together, at the winter time shows that were held at old club Newcastle Flying Club. The couple thought nothing of travelling the 50 odd miles round trip to join us, show their birds and generally talk pigeons. Such was their love of the pigeon sport.

Roy was a born and bred farmer from Spurstow, which is a little picturesque village near to Tarporley. His other passion besides pigeons was football and Roy was a tough no nonsense centre half who I’m told was quite happy to take the ball, man and a huge divot of turf to stop any forward wishing to get past him. He was no stranger to the ‘early bath’ either, getting himself sent off on more than a few occasions in his long career which lasted until he was in his early fifties. He must have been pretty good though because he had trials for Wolverhampton Wanderers who in the 1950-60s were one of English football’s elite. He styled himself on the Wolves captain Billy Wright  and though he never won any international caps like his idol, Roy definitely beat him in the ‘early bath running’ department. I was told a lovely story about Roy who, after his final league game, threw his boots in the canal on the way to the pub with a few of his team mates, pronouncing ‘’I won’t be needing them anymore!’’. A short while later the team manager walked into the hostelry and reminded Roy that ‘’You haven’t retired yet because we have a cup final game next week!’’ After a few days trying to locate a pair of size 12 boots to borrow Roy had to go and buy a pair just for the one game. I believe it was a long while after that he got over the pain of opening his wallet to purchase them!! Yet another story told to the large church congregation was the time when Roy broke his leg whilst playing but still he drove home, pulled on his ‘wellies’ and milked the cows before seeking medical attention. That was Roy Harding, a tough but lovely man, hard by both name and nature.

It was many years later when I got to know Roy and Gwen better in my role as Midlands National Press Officer as I often went to visit them after yet another good performance in the club. Roy often used to call me ‘Boss’, saying ‘that’s right Boss’. On these visits, which I thoroughly enjoyed, Gwen would give me a lovely cup of tea and a couple of thick slices of her home made cake. When I complimented her on her baking skills Roy chipped in with a broad grin ‘’Why do you think I married her Boss!’’. Oh happy days.

Roy made me chuckle when he told me that he used to race the dark Busschaerts which the couple acquired from his good friend George Corbett, who used to chide Roy because he often used to set off for home after making another purchase without the birds’ pedigrees. Roy’s reply was ‘’it’s the birds that I want George. As long as they win I don’t care what they are bred from’’. As he got more interested in the longer distance national races he went over to Louis Massarella’s and bought direct from the Jan Aarden lines; these and a son of ‘De Joop’ bred Roy birds to dream of, with three brother cocks winning in the races up to Pau until they were 9 years old, when Roy told me he was retiring them to the breeding loft. Imagine my surprise when on my next visit they were still to be seen in the race team. I reminded Roy that he had told me that he was retiring them. Roy’s reply was ‘’I did put them in a basket to take them over to the stock loft near to the house but half way across the meadow from the racing loft I looked at them and thought that they looked so well that I’ll just give them one more year!’’. This was an inspired decision because that year one of them popped up from Pau to win Section L and the averages trophy with the NFC.

One final story about Roy was the fact that he was synonymous with his farmer’s hat and on his hat stand he had another rather grand one, which I jokingly called his ‘yodelling hat’. Before the funeral service I mentioned Roy’s hat to the Walker ‘Boys’, as Roy always referred to Keith and Alan Walker of Tarporley. They said ‘’We know all about Roy’s best hat which he used to wear for special occasions. We always knew that when Roy was wearing his best hat watch out because he had a good bird in his clock’’.

Testimony to the measure to the popularity of Roy was shown in the large number of people paying their final respects to a grand chap who lived his life until the horrible illness struck with a smile on his face. I shall miss you Roy, as will a good many more of your friends and relations. I hope all the family gather round and look after Gwen because she is a sweetheart who will need plenty of support.

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Elimar - October