Tribute to Bernie

I first met Bernie after riding my Lambretta home into the council estate where I lived in Battersea. As I pulled the scooter back on to its stand he appeared, and with that big smile said, enthusiastically: “Hello!” He was 15 years old at that time, but looked 12.

I was two years older, at that stage in life two years makes a big difference. “Hello mate,” I replied. “How yer doin’?” The year was 1979 and this was the start of a friendship that I have cherished ever since. After that initial meeting Bernie gradually became the little brother I never had.

He lived downstairs in the same block of flats with his dear mum and dad, I with my widowed mum upstairs. (Bern’s mum always referred to me as ‘upstairs Dave’). Over the next few years, along with many other kids that shared an obsession with scooters, clothes and music, we enjoyed many adventures at various seaside resorts and London Mod clubs, digging classic soul music or live bands. Bernie wanted to spend his 18th birthday at The Phoenix, a basement club on Cavendish Square. The street outside was lined with more than 100 scooters, while the club downstairs was blasting out classic soul music. I got Bernie so pissed that we eventually found him in the very small cloakroom with his feet sticking out from beneath a load of parkas.

Eventually by 1986/7 we were beginning to branch out and do our own thing, losing touch for many years. Fast forward about 25 years and by the power of social media, we became friends again. This led to the renewed friendships of many of the old gang from the early Eighties. We arranged to meet up in The Dog and Duck in Frith

Street, Soho – a reunion that would prove the passing of time, no matter how much, cannot dull true friendships. On sight we immediately started taking the piss out of each other’s clothes, just like we always did in the old days. It was as if all those years apart didn’t happen and we’d seen each other only the previous week.

All this led, at Bernie’s suggestion, to the idea of getting scooters and going to Brighton on August Bank Holiday and pretending we were 20 again. Well, we’d done it before, why not again? Bernie still had mates with scooters, one of them living in our beloved Battersea.

Through him we met new friends from ‘The Shire’. One of them refurbished my scooter (which had been looked after by friends, after it blew up coming back from Great Yarmouth in 1986).

Bernie bought a black Vespa which made us feel like, well that’s it. We’re all set. For the last six or seven years we have been going to the Brighton Mod Weekender as rather crusty-looking 20-year-olds. And over these years we’ve met many more wonderful new friends

I speak of Bernie in the present tense as our friendship is ongoing, in the sense that it can never end. For the simple reason he will be carried round in my heart forever. A couple of months ago we booked Brighton again, this time for three nights. Three nights at the Brighton Mod Weekender on August Bank Holiday! That’s what Bernie wanted, so it was booked.

He was so excited when I told him, he’d worked the weekend out, even bought club tickets. It had all the promise of another fantastic weekend to remember.

Unfortunately, my roommate and dear, dear friend of more than 40 years can’t make it in person any more. But he will be there, make no mistake about that. He will be in everyone’s hearts, in everyone’s thoughts and on everyone’s lips. The next Brighton, God willing, will be Bernie’s Brighton. Dedicated to the sweetest, funniest, kindest and most thoughtful soul I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. And feel so very lucky to have known. Sleep well my little brother. David Morgan Mathias