A Captain for All Seasons
By
Mickey Blue Eyes

When Kevin Ratcliffe was asked about Brian Labone he struck a chord in all true Evertonians when he said Brian’s wise captaincy and leadership is paramount in our memories of him.

But Kevin’s comment also stirred a distant poetic memory which set me off in a search of the cause. Eventually I found it in a poem written by the American poet Walt Whitman after the death of Abraham Lincoln. It is reproduced below with a few changes to make it more appropriate to the circumstances.

Poetry can cut to the essence of human emotion very quickly, which is why some people fiind it difficult to deal with. Me, I think it one of the purest emotive expressions in human culture. Equally, in this case some cultural purists probably wouldn’t be happy about the changes however minor. You can’t have everything.

But we did have Brian Labone as our Captain of Captains and our fellow supporter. In that respect fate was more than good to us. Though inconsolably sad at his passing, let us celebrate he was with us for the time we had. He was an exceptional and good man and everybody who met him knew it very quickly. That will be his real epitaph.

O Captain My Captain
By
Walt Whitman

O Captain my captain! Our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O bleeding drops of blue,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen, still, in hue

O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up – for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning,
Here Captain! dear father!
This hand upon your brow!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen from the prow.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my hand, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful rue,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen, still, in hue.

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