Friday, 24 January 2014

Words on the death of Trevor Hopf. Advocate. Footballer. Father. Drinker.

On Wednesday night, after a call from a friend, I found well-known advocate at the Pretoria Bar Trevor Hopf, 62, dead in his home in Elardus Park, where he lived alone. A former CBC scholar, Trevor was a free-scoring amateur footballer and the life and soul of many gatherings at Tom's Tavern, a haunt for old footballers in the area.

Hopf, skipf, jumpf

Rest in peace Trevor
You won at the death
Imprinted that picture
With your very last breath

And you went as you said
Marooned in your fate
Alone with your pain
No last message of hate

Was there one last drink
As you started to sink?

For those 62 years
With a brain too quick
Drowned your fears;
Got about on a stick

Laid low by disease
You struggled to walk
Got back on your feet
But you could always talk

God handed you curses
Wine, women and wrong,
Like sharp bible verses
Still you were strong

Three wives, three kids
And great days in court
But it all hit the skids
Just as you thought

Slash your way out?
Even that wouldn’t do
But you never did doubt
Death was coming for you

We all knew Trevor
Was nobody’s fool
Ever so clever
Broke every rule

But life laid him low
It’s true, it ain’t fair
As he limped on
And still tried to care

And for all the bile
As he came to the end
Let me put this on file:

He was nearly my friend

1 comment:

  1. I remember Trevor well - as kids he was our hero