REMEMBERING Paul Broomfield: 6 Years On

On April 13, 2011, one of the moto industry’s stand-up guys, Paul Broomfield, lost his battle with a serious form of Aplastic Anaemia. He was just 35 years old and left behind a young family and an army of close friends. As we head into the Easter Long Weekend, we reflect on the sentiments that Transmoto’s Andy Wigan wrote about “Broomy”, shortly after the emotionally charged funeral service for the man.

What a cruel irony that it’s not until a person’s funeral that you find out who they really were. In western societies, we don’t deal with death very well. But a funeral – amid all the social awkwardness and swirling emotions – is often the first time a coherent picture of that person’s life is unveiled; a picture built from anecdotes and heartfelt comments from all the threads of their existence.
A few days ago, I attended Paul Broomfield’s funeral. Along with hundreds of others from the many threads of Broomy’s life, I heard things about him I’d never known. Not trivial things, important stuff. And we’d been mates for 15 years. We heard stories from his early days growing up in WA; about the compromises he made to finish a four-year Sports Science degree; about his development as a riding coach; about his runner-up placing in two national titles and the fact he wasn’t out of the top-10 for an entire decade; about his input into dirt bike magazines and bike testing; and about his more recent work in the NSW Fire Brigade. Then, of course, there were light-hearted anecdotes about the road trips, the farting, the practical jokes, the cheekiness, the sheer love of life.

People representing all the threads of Broomy’s life came together for the first time and shared their memories of the man with family and friends. And as sad and moving as the experience was, it was fabulous celebration of Broomy’s life; of his giving, genuine nature; of the dedication with which he applied himself to everything he did; of the love he displayed for family and friends; of the joy his two children brought him; and of the fact he never complained about his predicament, despite the reality that his illness – and the subsequent bone marrow transplant – had put his life at risk for quite some time. As Broomy’d say in an accepting, not defeatist, manner, “These are the cards I’ve been dealt. And I’ll deal with them.”

In the course of working, riding and hanging out with Broomy for the past 15 years, I don’t think I ever heard him speak ill of anyone. But, unlike many button-down riders these days, he had opinions and wasn’t afraid to voice them in no-bullshit terms. Broomy wasn’t religious. He never spoke of delaying gratification or life’s experiences in favour of some promised future wonderland. He grabbed life by the balls and lived it to the fullest, but respected others on that journey.

Like many others with whom I shared a few post-service drinks in the #31’s honour, I came away from that day vowing to do the same – to consider how fleeting life can be; to focus on what’s true and real; to be more appreciative of what I have and those I love; to do more of the things that really matter. And when I think of my old mate, Broomy, I see his beaming face, quirky eyebrows askew, hat on sideways, squawking at the top of his voice, “G’day! What’s crackin’?” Well, mate, since you’re asking, a fair bit – the most important of which is that, while we were swapping stories about your life at the crematorium, your sister gave birth to her third baby girl. She was delivered in the same hospital you left us from. Yep, the cycle of life.
Rest in peace, mate. We’ll miss you.

This content was originally published in Transmoto’s print magazine in May, 2011 (Issue #9).