A measure of the man.

Back in the 70s our college rugby team were up against it in a dour battle against a club who were not going to be out muscled by a bunch of students. Evo got a cut around his ear early on in the match, but a bit of ‘ vinegar and brown paper’ and a roll of bandage sorted it out temporarily. As the game reached its last knockings and a positive result was secure, his dressing was ripped off in a maul and he came across to me….
‘Skip, I think I might need to go off and get this seen to.’
I took a look and replied. ‘ Reckon so, look’s like you might need a stitch in that youth.’
As he left the field he passed a bunch of our supporters and one of the girls dropped court legged at the bloody sight.
Sixteen stitches later, Evo returned to the College bar to rapturous applause from his team mates, who were now working their way through their extensive range of rugby songs, with the odd beer to keep their vocal chords in tune
On examination of the Doc’s needle craft Chiv, a Welsh member of the team piped up.
‘I see, they managed to sew it back on then, that’s a shame, l had already thought of a new nickname for you.’
‘What was that then?’ asked Evo.
‘I was going to christen you Eighteen Months,’ replied Taffy Chivers ‘ cos you would only have had one and a half y’ears!’

Such was the measure of the David Thomas Evans, totally dependable, putting the collective needs of others first…..a hearty ‘swing low sweet chariot’ dear friend from all your old college gang and your oval ball buddies.


A recollection from a meeting of Los Amigos at Cranleigh earlier this year when, of course, stories of past exploits and conquests were increasingly embroidered….like all good fisherman’s tales, or in this case more aptly, shaggy dog stories that stand the test of time.