PAUL SMITH
All of us get to know a part of someone's life. We know Paul, the sailor, admire and respect him for that. However it is often only at their funeral that we hear about the other parts, and discover that the little we knew is part of a much bigger picture, which deserves even greater admiration and respect. So it is with him. For me the Paul Smith story began when North met South on neutral territory a decade ago - that is to say our championship at Saundersfoot in Wales. The competition between Southern Softies and Tough Northerners on the water was matched off the water by the kind mutual ribbing that proves you respect each other. Team Beaver camped out in style at Fawlty Towers, providing entertainment that is still remembered today. Paul was a part of that and his family have become a permanent fixture at these annual competitive reunions. Carol sometimes given him competition and Matt regularly does, while Louise has been an official Dart 15 trolley dolly. The Smith family have become part of our family. Yorkshiremen know that it takes hard work to get ahead. He worked hard at his sailing. Graduating from a tiny Topper to a high performance catamaran, this lightweight quickly excelled in light airs. However over the years, the wind strength at which we met on the water steadily increased from force one to force two, then force three and even higher. My unforgettable memory is of an epic high-wind duel at Grafham. I could power ahead going upwind, but he always reeled me downwind. With dogged persistence, Paul never gave up. He never gave up then, nor in anything else I saw him do. The next eye-opener was when this man of action, rather than words, did not flinch when “volunteered” to become our official wordsmith, as editor for our class association magazine. That had already graduated from surreptitious late-night sessions on the office photocopier to an A5 printed booklet, but it was only when Paul took over that it grew into its present A4 glossy glory, outshining our rivals. This was when we began to appreciate the engineering precision with which he tackled every task in his life. Sadly Paul became a victim of Britain’s de-industrialisation. As I now learn, he had worked for some widget-manufacturer and his job was to make sure that just-in-time meant exactly that. Paul was a perfectionist, who ensured that nothing at all went wrong. Nevertheless, he did not give up. He got on his bike and got other jobs, applying this perfectionism in two further industries. That image of Paul at work is reflected also by Paul at play. At our annual prize-giving awards are given both for extraordinary success and entertaining stupidity. I cannot remember ever having seen Paul collect any of the latter. My spies at Beaver report the same story. Paul’s name never appeared in the little black book maintained by club management for their end of year reports on members’ antics. He was a man who quietly got on with the job, so modest about his own achievements that they can only be told now that he is no longer here to tell us himself. Our sport depends on volunteers both for classes and for clubs. Paul was one of the most dependable for both. While he contributed so much to his class, that is little compared to what he did for his club. Sixteen years on the Beaver Committee, every Sunday beavering away at the winter work-parties, every Saturday training young Beavers. It is said that nothing becomes a man so much as his manner of dying, so I share my final memory of Paul, now off games, but back again at the Saundersfoot club bar a decade later, sharing a joke as the two of us reel-in another unsuspecting “volunteer”, just as he had so willingly always volunteered himself. Everything you did for your sailing friends, you did well. You will be remembered in our class logo, that you also designed. Thank you, Paul. Nick Dewhirst |  .jpg) |
