R.I.P. Francis Lee . . . . . .

[Trojan 67]

. . . . . . the older brother of Colin Lee.

Just had a browse of the TFF site and spotted the news there. I'm saddened to hear of Frannie's funeral.

Both Colin and Frannie were team-mates of mine at different times (Colin with Torre Trojans, Frannie with Torquay United Colts).

Frannie had more technical ability in one foot than Colin ever had in both feet. Why Frannie never went on to play at a higher level than Torquay United's Reserves team is not a mystery. For all his natural ability, Frannie had a less than perfect temperament situation, especially with crap referees/linos and defenders who came in with a "robust" challenge.






A pen picture of Frannie from the programme of the Dahl Cup Final (Liverton United Youth v Torquay United Colts) at Plainmoor, Monday May 1st 1972 :

"Francis Lee - Fast, strong forward with a strong shot. Consistent performer this season. Has played for Torquay United Reserves."



We won the Devon County Youth Cup (under 18's) that season with Frannie scoring a crucial goal in the 5-4 defeat of Tiverton Town Colts. After that game Kenny Sandercock, at his expense, took the whole team out on the celebratory p*ss.


In that era of 72-74, the Pacific in Paignton was a good place to be for a Sunday night out. The Buckfastleigh buhys would be there including Frannie. He would say, "If anyone gives you a problem, give me the nod." Frannie was certaintly "robust" when faced with a "challenge".


R.I.P. Francis Lee, passed away aged 56.

[Alfalfa Male]

Stumbled across this and felt like saying a few words in honour of Leapy.

I spent my earliest teen years as one of Frankie's best friends. He was the best mate I was shitscared of. But in our little town the friendships were not like in the films. Hanging around with the guy was like hanging out with a doberman pincer -- big and friendly in a lean and macho way but always on the lookout for a bite to eat. I never knew when he was going to take me for a skinny morsel of steak. But I was your classic 7 stone weed --- scared of his own shadow.
Frankie was way ahead of his years. At 14 he was a man already and up for anything. With a happy and passionate aggression, and a total love of winning, playing alongside and against the men of the local teams. Unless you were as big and hard as he you never knew where you stood. I wandered off and joined the Navy. I don't know what he did with the 40 years between then and the death I just read about here with sorrow. The last I saw him he was about 19 and looking a seasoned old boy already. What happened to you this life, Frank? I never dreamed you could die.
The Frank I knew had a big sense of justice. Twice he stood up for me against a local bully boy, much older and three times my size. I saw the guy take a pounding I never saw before or since, anywhere, and I have travelled a bit. I didn't imagine he was doing it for me --- he most likely just fancied a scrap --- but I was one grateful little punk. And if i could have known the fellow was on a death bed (you didn't mention cause of death) i would have gone the miles to turn up to say a belated thanks for all that, and to see him off.
I remember the guy's salty imagination, way over my head at the time. There was education there for me, a more sheltered kid. I remember the hardnut sneering side but more than that I recall being knocked out by the intensity of one of his drawings. it was an authentic work of art straight out of his imagination. The boy had real talent. Frankie the gangster had me running bookies errands for him and his older mates --- before I wised up, and in our shoplifting escapades where he got painted as a local Fagin, he took the biggest rap from the local magistrate. He just happened to be the bigger target. I've lived long enough to gain a little perspective. He was a comfortable village insider with generations of local pedigree and i was the son of out-of-towners.
Well, if you're reading this Frankie from where you rest, in sweetest peace I hope, wishing too that you will have found St.Peter open to negotiation. Here's a fond farewell, if belated, and respects, from someone who remembers many great sides to you.