Issue 99 / May 2019

SAY
THE FINAL
PJ Smith remembers an important member of Liverpool’s recovery
community, DAMIEN KELLY, and recalls a lot of the positive impact he’s
had on people’s lives through his work at The Brink and beyond.
“He didn’t
change his life by
magic. He faced
himself, head
on. Hope rather
than despair”
On April 2nd, the world lost a real force for good, when
Damien Kelly passed away peacefully in his sleep, aged
47.
Our lives crossed paths around a time when we
were both figuring out that the routes we were following were
only ever leading us to destruction and disconnection. We
vaguely knew each other from frequenting various County Road
pubs, our relationship based on ‘nearly let-ons’ whilst under the
influence.
I’m fortunate enough to have witnessed a lot of people
turn their lives around, but I doubt I’ll ever see such a dramatic
turnaround as Damien’s. The people who knew him from old, as
Day Day, still haven’t gotten their heads around it. It literally did
send shockwaves around the community. That someone, in his
own words, so ‘hopeless’, would end up inspiring and supporting
people. In doing so, he gave them the impetus to change their
own lives. Instilling hope in people. That’s what Damien did. He’d
found his role in life – although the jury is still out on his pink
V-neck jumpers.
Damien was a very important member of Liverpool’s
recovery community, being instrumental in the formation of The
Brink – Britain’s first ever dry bar. His role there, as Community
Engagement Worker, involved bringing people together. Among
other things, he set up spoken word events, under-18 band
nights, appeared on national TV to spread the recovery message
– but, most of all, he was a living example of how it was possible
to change.
It was at The Brink where people got to know him, he was
always on hand. Some of the groups he helped to set up there
really had a lasting impact on the participants: active citizenship,
money management, assertiveness workshops, returning to
learn, local history. All these groups were vital in encouraging
a lot of people in the very early stages of their recovery. This is
just one reason why Damien has left a legacy. Those people he
helped are now all out there helping other people. Community in
action.
Unbeknownst to most people, Damien was a very talented
poet. He was a regular at The Everyman’s Dead Good Poets
Society and frequently attended The Egg Café’s poetry reading
nights. He had recently threatened to ‘come out of retirement’
make an onstage appearance at La Violette Società. He was one
of the people who gave me permission to pick up a pen, just
by leading with their own example. I, along with many others,
thought, ‘If Damien’s doing it, it must be alright’. I’m going to
honour him for that.
He didn’t change his life by magic. He faced himself, head on.
Sheer courage and willingness. He always used to say, “If I can
do it, anyone can”. He’s right, y’know? Hope rather than despair.
I’ll fondly remember our times at the match, going to gigs
and hiking in Wales. In all of these activities, he brought people
together with his attitude to life and his unique and intelligent
take on the world we live in. Such a funny man, with a very
curious mind. Lots of people were pleasantly surprised when they
first met him, as he spoke so eloquently on all manner of various
subjects, in his extremely thick north-end brogue. I think he quite
enjoyed mischievously misleading people with his imposing
physical stature.
Despite me knowing how important he was to people, the
recent outpouring of affection and respect for him on social media
following his passing made me realise how much of a positive
influence he had been to so many people, from all different walks
of life. While this has obviously been a very upsetting time for
his friends and family, I am sure that something positive will
eventually come out of this. That’s what I watched Damien do
over the years – turn his pain into something that has purpose.
Damien tragically lost his daughter, Grace Kelly, to a rare
illness when she was just a few weeks old. How he coped and
came through this with his sanity intact, I’ll never know. He later
became a father again, to Jake, who is now five years old. I’d
often spot the pair of them, hand in hand, walking up Bold Street,
pulling the same face.
Not so long ago, we sat together at the house Damien was
building for him and his son, and talked about music. He was a
big New Order fan but wasn’t impressed with the bossa nova
sounds I constantly pushed on him. He ‘confessed’ to liking
Safety Dance. I think I just laughed my head off – but in the
words of The Men Without Hats:
We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind
Cause your friends don’t dance and if they don’t dance
Well, they’re are no friends of mine
I say, we can go where we want to a place where they will never
find
And we can act like we come from out of this world
Leave the real one far behind
And we can dance
Damien John Kelly – a beautiful man. I believe in you... forever.
Words: PJ Smith
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