21/09/2026
My personal tribute to Mr David Long who sadly peacefully passed at the age of 97 Saturday evening.
MR LONG ,
Landlord,confidant,codfather and mate.
I honestly don’t know how to write this.
How do you put many years of friendship, laughter, trust, memories, gratitude and love for someone into a Facebook post? You can’t but I need to try as I’d like people to know just how wonderful you were. Many years ago, Mr Long walked into the chip shop where I was working. He was the landlord but somewhere along the way he became so much more than that he became my mate and not just any mate he became one of the very few people in my life I trusted completely. There are some people who pass through our lives and there are others who somehow leave fingerprints on our very souls Mr Long was one of those rare people.
At 97, he had lived an extraordinary life. Ninety seven years of watching the world change, generations come and go and experiencing happiness and heartbreak, success and disappointment, laughter and loss. He carried an extraordinary amount of knowledge about life and I always felt incredibly privileged whenever he shared some of it with me. He was a living library of experience but what made him truly special wasn’t simply what he knew. It was the way he shared it. He was one of the most positive people I’ve ever known. He had an incredible zest for life, a curiosity and energy that could put people half his age to shame. He had this wonderful ability to make time for people. He’d stop and talk to anyone, share a story, make them laugh and somehow leave them feeling better for having met him. And oh boy could we talk. I used to call our phone conversations “Sunday with Longie” after the book Tuesdays with Morrie. We’d put the world to rights talking about life, people, spirituality, adventures, memories and whatever else happened to come into our heads. Sometimes it was profound sometimes it was absolute nonsense. I loved each and every minute of it. And then there were the laughs I could get him going and he’d come out with “Oh here we go, it’s all downhill from here I shan’t be able to sleep later”, fantastic times. We shared dinners, adventures, countless conversations and the rebuilding of The Phat Fryer. But one of the things I will treasure most for the rest of my life was the faith he placed in me. Mr Long always said he’d taken a punt on me running the shop. He did more than take a punt he believed in me. That meant more to me than he probably ever realised. When I gave up alcohol he trusted me. He believed in me. His guidance, wisdom and friendship helped me through one of the most important periods of my life. There were times when I was struggling to see any light at all and somehow through his words his humour his wisdom or simply his presence he helped make things feel a little less heavy.
He never needed to pretend he had all the answers. He simply listened and somehow after talking to him things seemed a little easier to carry. That kind of friendship is a gift and I will carry it with me for the rest of my life. I want him to have known how grateful I was for every conversation, every laugh, every ridiculous story, every serious discussion, every piece of advice and every moment where I could simply sit with him and be myself. There was no pretending between us. No masks, no bu****it, just trust and that is one of the most valuable things one human being can give another.
We always talked about cooking together on the range at The Phat Fryer. I had visions of making a huge occasion of it, probably getting the local newspaper involved. “Mr Long comes out of retirement at 90 to cook at The Phat Fryer.” We’d have had a bloody good laugh about that. I really thought we’d get around to it. And that’s one of the cruelest things about losing someone it’s not just the memories you have. It’s all the little moments you thought were still waiting for you. Another dinner, another ridiculous phone call, another laugh, another Sunday with Longie. But most of all I’ll miss knowing he was there I’ll miss his voice I’ll miss his laughter I’ll miss his wisdom I’ll miss his stories I’ll miss the ridiculous conversations I’ll miss the comfort of knowing that I could pick up the phone and he’d be there at the other end.
Mr Long lived an extraordinary 97 years and touched far more lives than he probably ever realised mine is certainly one of them.
Some friendships are measured in years others are measured in what they change inside us. Ours was the latter. The many years I knew him may seem like a short chapter in a 97 year life but what he gave me during those years will stay with me for the rest of mine. He was my landlord, my confidant, my sounding board, my teacher my supporter my mate and in many ways someone who came into my life at exactly the right time. I feel incredibly blessed, grateful and genuinely honoured that our paths crossed.
David, you took a chance on me. You believed in me. You trusted me. You shared your wisdom with me. You made me laugh.
You helped me through some of my darkest moments and you gave me something that cannot be bought, replaced or forgotten your friendship. I hope you knew how much that meant to me. I hope you knew how much I admired you and I hope you knew that I loved you mate. Because I did and I do. I will miss you more than these words could ever explain. Every mile I travelled alongside you was a privilege.
Thank you for your wisdom
Thank you for your honesty
Thank you for your laughter
Thank you for your incredible perspective on life
Thank you for believing in me when I needed someone to
Thank you for every conversation
Thank you for every memory
And most of all…
thank you for simply being you.
You left your mark on my life, David, and I will carry it with me forever.
Rest peacefully, my friend.
Mr David Long.❤️
