Bobby Charlton's death brings home realities of getting old

His answer surprised me: ‘It's grand once you come to terms with having become what you wished you would never become. You dream of things you used to take for granted but can no longer do, even simple pleasures live walking or cooking, but the worst thing, by far…. all of my friends are dead.’

I thought about this and had never realised that, even at that age, and surrounded by family, to not have that one person you can have a chat too, or a beer with, ever again, must rip at the soul. In addition, you are no doubt fully aware you are next in line, which is a feeling those of us entering our 50s are now enduring as we see grandparents long since gone and parents on the wane, as aunties and uncles succumb to the reaper and, well, it’s not a ‘nice place’ to be in the human life cycle.

Pictorially, this was summed up to me with the recent passing of Sir Bobby Charlton which now leaves only Geoff Hurst, the hat-trick hero, as the only remaining survivor of that glorious night in 66 which we have tried and failed to emulate ever since. It was a sad picture with Hursty still coloured red and all the other integral pieces of the jigsaw greyed out. Charlton’s passing, with the usual platitudes afforded to ex-footballers were heartfelt, and deserved, as his story read akin to a Roy of the Rovers strip. Born into a tough working-class family he survived the Munich air disaster and became European champion, World Cup winner and, for decades, remained as England’s record goal scorer long before penalties became so common place (Charlton scored eight, harry Kane has 20 and counting).

I never saw Charlton play, but I did meet him once at one of his soccer schools as a kid. I remember that there was a buzz around him, an aura, as he walked in the room. Although many attest to his stand offishness, he was never embroiled in scandal, and he lived a good life until his recent demise.

Brett Ellis meeting Sir Bobby Charlton (Image: Brett Ellis)

‘And then there was one’ which, no doubt will soon become the case with other icons as the ageing process intensifies: We only have two Beatles left and the Stones are starting to roll (although I am convinced ‘Keef’ will live until he is 300). Burt Bacharach has gone to the great coffee lounge in the sky this year, as have Barry Humphries, Len Goodman and Jerry Springer, Franny Lee, Michael Gambon and Parky, Glenda Jackson and Jeff Beck, all masters of their respective arts that we have grown up with.

And so, with Geoff Hurst, as the last man standing, the feeling must be unnerving: Knowing you are the only link to that moment in the past as we swap such luminaries for tiktokers, social media ‘boxers’ and those whose idea of talent is to pout on screen for a few seconds daily as they push a new product and get paid handsomely for it, whilst we wonder where the next true hero is coming from.

As Sir Bobby takes his final tunnel walk its worth remembering the hardships that folk of his ilk, and times, endured. Post war rationing, poor pay, lack of medical provision, dirt and grime and battling against the odds to put food on the table and a log on the fire. Much of Sir Bobby’s footage is black and white which is apt as it signals a different time when things were ‘real’ and we didn’t use ‘preferred pronouns’ as those that are left, the last men standing, look around in fear and confusion as to what the world has become, as they wait their turn for the inevitable…

• Brett Ellis is a teacher