Ray Of Light

Ray Of Light

The ties that bind are often forged in the schoolyard. But while old mates may fade away there are some colours which never run.

As I stood outside the suburban Sydney funeral parlour where my old primary school mate had just been farewelled, I thought how apt it was that the weather was overcast and drizzly.

Ray Bourke

Although I hadn’t seen Ray Bourke for about 30 years I was still greatly affected by his passing on Thursday, July 5, 2001 at the age of 53.

A couple of dozen of Ray’s family and friends, both old and not so old, stood around in the rain under umbrellas, reminiscing and talking about the good old days and some of our more outrageous and delinquent behaviour.

Ray Burke was tough as nails and game as Ned Kelly. Although he was only small in stature, Ray was the most talented rugby league player at Coogee Primary back in the 1950s.

He was a halfback – our Ivan Jones – and Coogee just couldn’t win without his presence on the field.

And fight… he could go like a well-oiled threshing machine… but only when he had to.

We all loved and respected Ray, but I felt I owed him a special debt of gratitude – and I always will.

I was just five, barely out of nappies, when my Ray told me about how his dad used to play reserve grade for South Sydney.

Rabbitohs Warriors

He told me tales of derring-do, old stories he’d heard from his dad about the likes of Clive Churchill, Jack Rayner, Clem Kennedy and a host of others.

I was captivated by the tales of heroism I heard about these legendary Rabbitoh warriors, these titans of the working class, and I was desperate to see them play.

I have no idea how it came about, but one Saturday, Ray’s dad took me, Ray and his twin brother Ron out to Redfern Oval. Souths lost, but who cared?

Rabbit Fever

We’d been caught up in all the tribalism and emotion of the extremely partisan and earthy Redfern crowd.

I was hooked.

My life changed forever that day.

The bug had bitten and there was no antidote. I had Rabbitoh fever.

The addiction really took hold as Ray, myself and a couple of our colleagues mates would take trams and buses out to Redfern Oval for every home game.. or, in the glory days when Souths made regular appearances there, back when the best match of the round would be played at the Sydney Cricket Ground.

Souths Religion

Souths had become a religion to us. It was what set us apart from the rest of our mates who followed either the despised Easts or our traditional rivals St George.

In fact, we were so fanatical that sometimes, on the odd occasion, a good old-fashioned stoush would break out after school between the Souths boys and the others.

Ray often led the charge and my selective memory cannot recall a time that we lost.

I recall the agony of the early ’60s when Souths were also-rans, hardly winning any games. Players such as hooker Freddy Anderson and bald prop Ritchie Powell stick out in my mind. I don’t know why.

As we entered high school, many of the Souths boys drifted apart. I went to one high school and Ray to another and, although we all tried to keep in touch, eventually we faded into each other’s sunset.

Rabbitohs For Life

But one thing remained constant – we were all Rabbitohs for life. It was part of our identity. It was part of my life and many thousands like me.

Souths was a source of pride, we had helped form the game in 1908, we had won more premierships than anyone else and we had produced more internationals than any other club.

OK, we had fallen on hard times, but we always lived in hope, knowing that rugby league was cyclical and our time would come.

Thank goodness I was around to see the late 1960s and early 1970s.

The Glory

I wallowed in the glory and like delirious Rabbitoh fans everywhere, I was overwhelmed by our local heroes, blokes such as Satts, Lurch, Macca, Cootie, Stevens, Piggins, Lisle, Simms, Lummy, Ivan Jones and all those magnificent men.

We were the champions. We were the greatest. Everyone hated us because we were the best. Crikey, it felt good… real good.

Every now and again I would think about the old days and wonder what Ray Bourke was up to. I knew for sure that he’d be somewhere cheering on his beloved Bunnies and arguing with someone in a pub or club about the merits of South Sydney.

The Super League War

Then came the Super League War and the people’s game was turned on its head. Executives and accountants in the boardrooms of multi-national corporations decided they’d take the people’s game, change it, sprinkle it with fool’s gold and dish it up on Pay-TV.

One of those changes turned out to be the attempted murder of my beloved football club.

The Rabbitohs Booted

On Friday. October 15, 1999, the National Rugby League gave the Rabbitohs the boot. There was crying in the streets and a strong determination to fight the injustice to the end with every bit of fibre we Souths fans possessed.

I’d already been working on a voluntary basis for Souths for the previous two years, helping the club out as its media officer in an effort to help stop the Rabbitohs from fulfilling the prophecy that everyone was screaming – “South Sydney are gone”.

George, Noeline, Jimmy & Peter

There’s no need to go into detail about the fight the Rabbitohs put up over the next two years except to say that it was my honour to work alongside such loyal and dedicated friends as George and Nolene Piggins and two men who have now become more like brothers than friends, Dr Jim Lahood and his cousin, Peter Lahood.

It was July 5, 2001 – the day before the Full Bench of the Federal Court was due to deliver its decision on Souths’ appeal against their “unfair” exclusion from the NRL.

The Call

I was in the city when my mobile phone rang and a woman’s voice said anxiously: “Is this Norm Lipson?”

I answered in the affirmative and she continued: “It’s Diane Holmes here. Remember me?” I sure did.

Diane Holmes was one of our friends back in the old days.

“Norm, you remember Ray Bourke? Well, he’s dying of cancer. He’s in Prince of Wales and has only hours to live. I’m calling for a favour.”

Diane asked if it might it be possible to visit Ray and maybe take a Souths memento as a final gesture to this mad Rabbitoh.

Visiting Ray With Tugger

I was absolutely stunned at the news. As soon as I hung up from Diane. I called my good mate, Souths coach Craig Coleman, who was at home nervously awaiting the court decision.

I told him what had happened and asked if he’d come with me to the hospital to visit my dying mate.

“Pick me up,” he said unhesitatingly.

I grabbed my Souths jersey from home, picked up “Tugger” and drove to the hospital.

We walked quietly into Ray’s darkened room to see him lying there, struggling for life. He was on life support with a morphine drip in his arm and his eyes were closed tight.

Despite his emaciated state, I could still see it was Ray Bourke… I hadn’t seen him for 35 years or so and there he was, dying in front of my eyes.

“Unbelievable”

I gripped his bony arm and whispered in his ear.

“Ray, it’s Lippo. Remember me?”

There was the slightest flicker from his eyelids as he summoned the energy to silently mouth the word “unbelievable”.

“Ray, I’ve brought you a present from the club. It’s a Souths jersey,” I said as I placed it over his chest.

Again he silently mouthed the word “unbelievable”.

“But there’s another surprise, mate. I’ve brought along Craig Coleman to meet you”.

Craig look his limp hand, shook it and told Ray how pleased he was to meet him.

Again, “unbelievable”.

There was no way we could have a conversation, but I just knew that Ray would be feeling more pain about Souths’ demise than his own. That’s the way he was.

So, I lent in and whispered a lie.

“Mate, Souths are back. We’ve won the court case and we’ll be playing again”.

An agonising and strained smile crossed his lips. Ray had got the message. Even if it wasn’t true, I didn’t care. It brought my mate happiness.

Tugger and I walked out of the hospital that day more uplifted than depressed. There was the reason that everyone was fighting so hard. It was a salient reminder (if any was needed) of what Souths meant to people.

That afternoon. Diane Holmes called to say Ray had passed away with a smile on his lips and wearing his Souths jersey. Ray’s brother Ron had helped him slip it on.

He had died fully believing in Souths’ resurrection.

Justice Was Done

The next morning came. I picked up George and Nolene Piggins and we headed into court where, as history will record, Souths got the decision.

Justice was done. Unbridled joy spilled over. Hordes of people sang and danced in the streets.

I too, was overjoyed, but as I walked out of that court building, I can remember thinking about Ray and how my lie had unbelievably become fact. The truth was just 24 hours late… that’s all.

Our beloved Souths were back, and I felt sure Ray was singing The Battle Hymn of the Republic at the Pearly Gates.

Then I hugged the friends I’d made during the epic battle and thought. “You did all this for my old pal”.

Life Is Short

I’ve always remembered an adage by that well-known philosopher Anon:

Life is short – make your mark.

Ray Bourke, whatever else you did in the intervening decades between our reunion, you certainly made your indelible mark on my life… and that of my family.

Thanks, mate… and this one’s for you!

Ray Of Light

By Norm Lipson for Bunnies TV.