The very sad news of the passing of Peter Wayte, at only 73, grounds one in the reason why we play this great game. It’s not the individual achievements or even the team successes that remain with clarity, it’s the people you experience and with great luck, get to know.
Waytie was one of the seminal characters of Armidale cricket and one of the original White Knights. A fierce competitor, he had a dry, laconic wit that could cut through any situation and when he got on that bloody guitar on Sunday bus trips … well the results were legendary.
He started playing in the top grade, barely in double figures and batting at 11, with the strongest of the Ex Services sides of the early seventies and would be the mainstay of the club for the next twenty years. There are probably as main yarns about him as there are any bush cricketer.
Often the larrikin behaves so to cover a shortness in skill. Not Waytie. He could play.
Well I remember, early in my years playing in Armidale, a mate with ambitions to build a 1st grade career, coming on to bowl at Lambert Park with PJ Wayte new to the crease. He slid one through his defences, hitting him on the inside of the back knee and flooring Waytie.
“Ooooo mate,” says the batsmen with a grimace, “you shouldn’t have done that!”
My mate’s confusion at the reason for the warning was clarified in his next over when he was dispatched for three fours and one monstrous six which hit the very top of the towering silky oaks which rimmed the boundary.
“Can’t run,” Pete explained.
Recent years haven’t treated him well but regardless of him slipping away from knowing who we were, we’ll never forget him. A terrific bloke. An icon.

A LEGEND’S FIRE
Another legend leaves.
Another hole opens up in the sky.
Another flame in the fire of who I am,
flickers as if in farewell
and then just stops,
running to hide unnoticed
among the embers.

but … on the embers will glow
every time we draw breath across them
to tell his stories.
Existence runs to a short schedule
but life’s legends need only a curious breath
to reach the incandescence of their glory.

Smile as you tell his stories
Laugh with friends
Cry when you need
Be grateful you were there
Warmed your cold moments at his fire
Watch no coals wither
blow those embers with each tale.