I remember when he came as a schoolboy into the Yorkshire team, which in those days was not so much a cricket team, more an academy of cricketing knowledge run by Brian Close and Raymond Illingworth where it was accepted sprogs kept their opinions to themselves until they had earned the right to address such illustrious company.
I was in the dressing room when Brian Close returned in foul humour having been given out lbw. As the captain addressed his players on the subject of blind umpires they pretended to busy themselves with other tasks to avoid catching his eye and being drawn inevitably into the tirade. All save the young Bairstow, who gazed in wonder at his captain in full spate.
As he paused for breath Close looked at Bairstow and said: ``And what does tha' think, young 'un?'' Bairstow said: ``I think tha' goes on a bit.''
He didn't muck about with niceties either as a player or a man. If the ball was up he smacked it, if he didn't like you he told you so. A true son of the soil that shaped him. Built like a muckstack and indestructible. So we thought.
When he finished playing county cricket he came down to Maidenhead and Bray now and again and helped us out. It was enlightening to see him with our players; encouraging, cajoling and sometimes bollocking them to better things. He played every game like a Test match. It was the only way he knew.
He was the best of company, intelligent and perceptive in everything he did and said except when it came to business ventures and dealing with Yorkshire County Cricket Club.
He felt snubbed by Yorkshire and no amount of persuasion and arguing by his friends could convince him otherwise. It was sad to see such a dedicated Yorkshireman at odds with the institution he loved and admired beyond all else apart from the family.
In the past couple of years I detected a sadness in him, an uncertainty about what the future might hold. The eternal predicament of athletes is not that they retire too soon but that they retire at all.
Yet David had been working as a commentator for the BBC and was doing well. It wasn't a fortune but it kept him in touch with the game he loved.
I saw him during the last cricket season. He had put on weight but seemed as vigorous and robust as ever. When I was told he had committed suicide, I said: ``Don't be daft. Not Bluey.'' Not that strong, fearless laughing mate I knew. Now all I can think is why, old lad, why?