O Captain, My Captain

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A guest post by The Broken Girl, who lost her best friend this week.

Captain Ranty was a dear friend. He was my best friend. I would tell him that we should have friendship bracelets and enjoy a night of braiding each others hair, paint nails and watch The Notebook. (He may haunt me for telling).

A long time ago I curiously asked him what he looked like. He told me green eyes, dark hair and dashingly handsome – so like Colin Farrell. For the rest of our friendship I’d always tell him when I’d seen one of his latest films and praise his acting.

I made him laugh and in return he always listened to my problems. All from my nervousness about my dog going to the vet to crushes on boys that never became more. He always had the patience to listen. Like the time we went to the zoo and I chattered on for hours in childish excitement at the chance of seeing Penguins. There weren’t any. He just smiled and let me drag him back to the meerkat enclosure to see if it really was true that there wasn’t any meerkats either. The zoo was a bust but being there with him made it one of the best days I remember.

If there was anything you can say about Captain Ranty it was that he was a Father. Capital F. I’ve never seen anyone be so proud of his children as the Captain. I still remember the time his boy made it onto tv and he was shouting it from the rooftops. He would have bent over backwards for those lads and you could always hear his love for them when he talked about them.

He was an amazing person who touched every one of his friends in a special way. He would tell me “chin up Kiddo. You’ll be okay.” And when he said it I believed it. But he also had his demons. We shared some. Another friend once told me of a Phrase and it fits in some ways on the Captain as well. ‘He had a bad marriage with life’.

He was my best friend and I’d give anything to hear him call me Kiddo one more time.

The Broken Girl

38 thoughts on “O Captain, My Captain”

  2. I will miss his emails too, he was so proud of his boys and told me the YouTube clips to look at. So much to deal with lately I hope his has found peace now. RIP Colin.

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    • He was a perfect gent. He was the one who made me realize that “loosing” the ability to open a door when there’s a man around isn’t such a bad thing. 🙂

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  5. Although it doesn’t feel possible right now, The Broken Girl, you will mend and so much the better for having had The Captain in your life ❤

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  7. Pingback: Farewell Captain Ranty - Anonymong

    • I’d think a bar with free gin & tonics and beer, filled with good friends and loads of smoking would be a great place for him.

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  11. Poor old chap, what a shame. He once called me his brother from another mother. I felt vastly honoured. Sorry to hear of his death, but his readers will remember him with affection and respect, especialIy if and when we make things difficult for the types whom he despised. We owe him that, those of us who were enlightened by the Captain.

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  14. Really gutted to hear this news. I know a lot of fellow commenters don’t believe in God, but I do – or at least I’m leaning that way. I can just imagine the good Cap’n tearing a strip off St Peter for standing at the Pearly Gates in a Hi-Viz vest, wearing an official-looking badge, and carrying a clipboard….

    Brokengirl, I know what it’s like to lose a close friend. The closer you allow yourself to get close to someone, the more you share you lives with each other, the more heart-rending it is when you lose them. I’m sure you know that it’s worth the pain in the end, though. I for one would rather endure the pain and grief several times in my life, than isolate myself from people in order to never have to go through it again.

    Hope you don’t mind if I say a prayer for you. And for you too of course, Lynne.

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    • Or the look on his face if all they really did there was playing harp and float around on a piece of sky. He’d start a rebellion in heaven.

      If I could do it all over I’d do it again. I can’t imagine my life without him having been in it.

      It’s very sweet of you. I truly appreciate it. Thank you.

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  15. I only found out today and I am really very sad. He was one of my favourite bloggers and I loved reading his stuff. I particularly admired how he shoved it so far up HMRC. He had a gift for words. I will miss his humour. RIP, Captain.

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  17. Do not go gentle into that good night,
    Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
    Because their words had forked no lightning they
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
    Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
    Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    And you, my father, there on the sad height,
    Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
    Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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    • Death is nothing at all.
      It does not count.
      I have only slipped away into the next room.
      Nothing has happened.

      Everything remains exactly as it was.
      I am I, and you are you,
      and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
      Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

      Call me by the old familiar name.
      Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
      Put no difference into your tone.
      Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

      Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
      Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
      Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
      Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

      Life means all that it ever meant.
      It is the same as it ever was.
      There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
      What is this death but a negligible accident?

      Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
      I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
      somewhere very near,
      just round the corner.

      All is well.
      Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
      One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
      How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

      Source: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/death-is-nothing-at-all-by-harry-scott-holland#ixzz3V2dIW99u
      Family Friend Poems

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