A Valediction

A February Morning

The late John Prine, in his song, Illegal Smile, sang:

When I woke up this morning

Things were looking bad

Seemed like total silence

Was the only friend I had.....

I feel like this, sometimes, but John is late, now, and in another song, he had this to sing:

When I get to heaven, I'm gonna shake God's hand

Thank Him for more blessings than one man can stand

Then I'm gonna get a guitar and start a rock and roll band

Check into a swell hotel; ain't the afterlife grand?

[Chorus]

And then I'm gonna get a cocktail, vodka and ginger ale,

Yeah, I'm gonna smoke a cigarette that's nine miles long

I'm gonna kiss that pretty girl on the Tilt-a-whirl

'Cause this old man is goin' to town

When I get to Heaven

Which is certainly more hopeful, though, when I woke early this morning, I had mixed feelings, to be honest. I made tea and read the paper, but pretty soon got sick of the news.

Then Phoebus-Apollo begins to rise, freckling the frosted grass and breathing day into night. I put on my boots and wander to the graveyard, as one does (I take the air in graveyards, when take the air I must ~ Beckett) where, ghost-like, a barn owl stares me down, his mask softly spooky like a konfused klansman:

The stones are still, and silent, and snowdrops are gathered to surround the dead:

It is peaceful.  Just me and the owl and some sleepy memories auf Gottes Acker (on God's acre).  The sun defrosts the snowdrops as the moss crawls across the sword.  If only there could be more such peace....

The owl has no rings, but his/her feathers, coloured from cinnamon to scallop roe, dusted with specks of black pepper above and lace white below are fine enough for me.  

I leave him to the quiet of the churchyard and walk up Eaton Drove, past Limekiln Plantation, on past Eaton Farm and the dusty barn (where the owl roosts) towards Sedgeford. Black-headed gulls, in their winter plumage, pick over the newly ploughed field toward Long Belt......

February is often a cold, grey month, and some years it just gets in the way between winter proper and spring, but today is a bright, sweet day, despite the chill.  I try to clear my head, discarding worries like empty shells, breathing daylight into my blood.  It is enough to be alive, knowing it isn't for ever. Nothing is for ever.  Trump, Putin, Starmer, Farage, Orban - and the rest - will all one day be dust, thank God.....  

It is enough to be alive, and the world around me is spinning - spinning strands of life into a fascinating web of intricacy, beautiful in this light.

I note a buzzard atop a budding tree in Sedgeford Carr. He/she sees me too and majestically lifts into the sky, then floats to heaven along the Heacham River valley, above St Mary's church.

I turn up the track towards Inmere Farm.  Two red kites scan the fields around me by Hardacre Wood, one swooping low as if to inspect me, the tail switching gently to steer the beautiful body across the drafts:

Then, down Fring Road, two hares, mistaking the bright day for March, play a mating game:

Where did she go?

Here I am!

Yes, there is love and wonder in the world, if only you can find it.....
Soon I am home again, and it's still only ten o'clock.  John Prine comes to mind again:

It's gonna be a long Monday

Sittin' all alone on a mountain

By a river that has no end

It's gonna be a long Monday

Stuck like the tick of a clock

That's come unwound - again

And again

Long Monday

But, as ever there are silver linings and there are clouds.  I walked this walk, and wrote this piece, thinking of my friend, novelist Simon Mawer, who died unexpectedly at the age of 76 a few days ago. My thoughts go out to Connie, Matthew and Julia, and to his grandchildren, who will grow without him now.  But I have to think pleasant thoughts of happy times.  Only a fortnight ago Simon contributed to the National Brain Appeal in response to my Coastal Path walk. And only last August we had a happy lunch in Ely.

And forty-five years or so ago we sat on his narrow terrace overlooking the village of Formello, north of Rome, sipping rosso from Torre in Pietra, putting the world to rights while the swifts screamed around, drinking the mosquitoes in the evening air, then mysteriously morphing into bats as the light faded, and night fell.

Now the night has really fallen.

Sleep well Simon.

Every Grain of Sand

She sells sea shells on the sea shore.....

In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need

When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed

There’s a dyin’ voice within me reaching out somewhere

Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair

Bob Dylan

Every Grain of Sand

(1981)

December 12th, 2024. This would be my (Amanda's and my) fortieth wedding anniversary, but, hey!  Every day is something.  Every day is someone's birthday, someone's death day.  Time spins on, picking up fluff, leaving stuff behind.  

What you can do?

I set out from home, in Snettisham, and walk over Ken Hill, and across the marsh, filling now with wetness, becoming slowly impassable, to the shore of the Wash.

The sky is heavy, though clouds and azure vie for attention. The tide is well out and there is no one about. I head towards Hunstanton, a six and a half mile walk, to make the best of a winter's day.  

The recent storms have caused havoc amongst the inhabitants of the estuary, and there are hundreds of lost-life forms. Starfish, wrecked and lifeless abound in different configurations:

Their 'little' (what does that say?) lives drowned away by the whipping of the wind and the turmoil of the sea.  

Youthful flatfish, maybe dabs, or immature plaice (help me someone?) turn their right-sided eyes to the sky in premature oblivion:

Razor clams:

Whelks:

Their spent seed-cases:

Crabs:

And urchins:

All lie exhausted and empty on the beach, the impulses and instincts of life extinguished by the very nature that gave them being.

Human intervention makes no difference:

The sky lowers. Drizzle blurs my vision. A flag shrugs in the distance:

Someone wanders into my sightline, another lonely figure in an empty seascape. It could be good to exchange thoughts, but there is some unspoken barrier between us, so I keep moving on:

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea

Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me

I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man

Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand

Forty years ago today something wonderful came to pass, but now it is over and the world spins on. I am so grateful for the love we had, and for all that is still good in this world.

Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake

Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break

In the fury of the moment I can see the Master’s hand

In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand

Bob Dylan

Every Grain of Sand

Copyright © 1981 by Special Rider Music

Now, please repeat after me, one of my paternal grandfather's favourite tongue twisters:

She sells sea shells on the sea shore......

Bank Holiday Weekend

On this Sunday morning sidewalk

Well I woke up Sunday morning

with no way to hold my head,

it didn't hurt.

And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,

so I had one more for dessert.

Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt.

And I shaved my face and combed my hair and

stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

As if a Rhodes Scholar would get himself in such a state?  But then Kris Kristofferson is human, I guess, and we all have our off days.

On this particular Bank Holiday weekend, we had a rotten Saturday, with storm Lilian thrashing the trees and splashing the puddles, so to wake up to sunshine was something of a boon..... 

On a whim, I set out to walk from home in Snettisham to Sunny Hunny, as Hunstanton is known to some, to treat myself to a cure of cockles.

It is a breezy, beautiful morning, and my head clears as I traverse Wild Ken Hill's drying marsh, a kestrel hovering over there, the last of the daisies at my feet.

The Norfolk reeds do their flower dance by the waterside, 

And though most of the teasels are dry now, just a few have the remains of their delicate mauve petals for the bees to suck,

There's hardly anyone around on the inner sea bank, but those there are are friendly, and a smile goes a long long way these days.....

With the nesting season over, and the marsh almost dry, there are few birds around, but some geese watch me warily from the scrape, an egret sweeps in to fish and a black-headed gull eyes me suspiciously from overhead,

This was the path I walked almost every day before Amanda died.  Five miles to her bedside.   I haven't been along here since - seven long months of emptiness - but now, in the sunshine, I traipse along, breathing what air I must - such a shame she isn't here....

This was the summer of ragwort, but even this hardy perennial is dying now, its seed heads blustering in the wind.

At Heacham South Beach I join the crowds - well there are a few dog walkers and some early families calling out to their kids: "Edward!  Charlotte!" the names lost in the waves.....

And then I reach the concrete sidewalk that leads to Hunstanton.  People come and go, some run, some on bikes, many with dogs.  It's still early and there will be those on their second beer for breakfast, or combing their hair or stumbling down the stairs to meet the day.

Ringed Plovers on the beach flock away as Julie (I think that's what her mother called her) approaches, but no harm is done.  It's just another Sunday morning in the sunshine,

And Mr Whippy beckons as the shorts begin to show, but I am bound for the seafood stall, where my heart will be warmed by a portion of cockles. 

On this Sunday morning sidewalk,

wishing, lord, that I was stoned.

'Cause there's something in a Sunday,

makes a body feel alone.

And there's nothing short of dying,

half as lonesome as the sound,

on the sleeping city sidewalks,

Sunday morning coming down.

Kris Kristofferson

Fundraising for the National Brain Appeal

A walk on the wilder side....

Richard's fundraiser for The National Brain Appealjustgiving.com

I had been thinking about this for months, but first I had plantar fasciitis, then I got Covid, and then.... Inertia set in. However, As the New Year dawned, I just felt I had to do something, and, despite the flooding and the rain and the dark, I saw a brief window between storms and decided to go for it.... A sponsored walk from my home in Snettisham to Wells-next-the-Sea, a distance of some 32 miles, in two days, attempting to raise money for The National Brain Appeal, (formerly known as The National Hospital Development Foundation) which is the charity dedicated to raising vital funds for The National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, and the UCL Queen Square Institute of Neurology, which supported my wife, Amanda, in the early years after her diagnosis..

As they say on their website: Our vision is to improve the outcome and quality of life for the one in six affected by a neurological condition. We do this by funding pioneering research, providing access to the best technology for expert diagnosis and treatment, and training tomorrow’s clinicians.

So.  I set out just after eight in the morning of Sunday January 7th. I would have taken the scenic route across the Marsh, but this is how it is at present:

Instead I had to start out taking the more prosaic Beach Road, and then cut along the sea defence, but happily I was not alone.  Give me sunshine and I find this fellow keeps me company:

My first stop is Amanda's care home, in Heacham, where I try to explain what I am doing. Sadly it is no longer easy to communicate, as, twelve years or so into her decline (though still not yet seventy) Amanda is no longer able to speak (or walk, or feed herself, etc).....

Later, as I walk beside the cliffs at St Edmund's Point, Old Hunstanton, I pass the wrecked hull of the Steam Trawler Sheraton, and it seems a sad symbol of the wreck of Amanda's life, (though there the similarity ends).

Much of this walk, indeed most of it, I have done in happier times with Amanda.  The beach at Holme, for example, was a favourite place for us.  Huge skies, vast sands and the ebb and flow of the sea. A beautiful place for fresh air, healthy exercise (though what good did that do?) and peace.

As the day began to fade, and the temperature dropped, I clocked up sixteen miles and checked into the Lifeboat Inn at Thornham, where I was given a warm welcome, with a generous discount.  This too was a favourite of ours, for a drink or something to eat, though we had never stayed there.  This time I made the most of it, in a very comfortable room, with a lovely bath, though I was sad that Amanda could not be with me.

In the morning of Monday, January 8th, I again set off not long after eight, heading East, into a cold wind, shrouded by a grey sky.  Passing Titchwell, where I had lived when a residential volunteer with the RSPB, I then head for the boardwalk alongside the reed beds at Brancaster.  Here I nearly get diverted, as the 1.7 km old, narrow and rotten timber walkway is being replaced with Glass Reinforced Plastic, 1500mm wide with passing places.  It is estimated that this should last in good condition for more than 80 years - so, I will be back!

Anyway, despite several wonky warnings, I follow the muddy paw prints of dog walkers and make it to Brancaster Staithe Quay without mishap, where my ship awaits (I wish....!)

From here is is a muddy and bitterly cold walk across the marshes, with white stuff blasting in from the North Sea, past Burnham Deepdale and Burnham Norton, to Burnham Overy Staithe where My Hero awaits with welcome Alms.....

But I mustn't linger, despite banter concerning a long hot bath with Barry White (don't ask) and a pint of Wherry and some crisps beside the log burner.  I have to cross the desert of Holkham Sands yet..... Which is where, with the gale stirring up a blinding mist of cold sand, I think I can just make out Gwyneth Paltrow in a shite (sorry - that's a typo,  I meant, 'white') dress in the distance.....  Can you see?  There, on the horizon, a dream-like whisp.....

Alas (and Alack!)  'Tis but a Don Quixote moment, and the shimmering female figure I imagined turns out to be a notice requesting Naturists to keep their private parts within  certain limits (with a plastic skirt.....)

Back to the shifting sands of time, the draining hourglass of our days.....

But then, Oh Happy Sight!  Callooh Callay!  Four young ladies making the most of the clemency of the winter,  chez Old Pash, where they struggle to break the wind (I'm sorry?)

And I'm on the jolly beach, where Amanda and I brought our little girls one gorgeous summer all those days, months, years ago.....

Which means I near my destination, the quaint little harbour of Wells-next-the-Sea.....

Where, a mere thirty-two foot miles from my home, I can slip into yet another hot bath (*sans Barry White, you do understand?) at the welcoming Globe Inn....

And shed my weary boots at last.....

It has been quite a walk.  I wasn't sure how it would go (I haven't walked more than ten miles in a day for years) and I don't class myself as 'fit' (in any way), but I am relieved to say that I made it, in one piece, without blisters or too much pain.  In fact, despite the slightly morbid raison behind the d'être I have enjoyed it.  See?  Me cheerful!

And then, through the marvels of the InterWeb and the socialism of the media, I launch my appeal for sponsorship via a Just Giving page I created.  I set a tentative target of £300 to be going on with, but by the time I hit my second pint in the bar, the contributions have topped £500!  

Then, by midnight (I don't sleep well, even though I have been overinflated with fresh air) I find we are over £1,000!  Fantastic!  And thanks to all, friends, acquaintances and strangers, who have chipped in their mites and mighties.....  Cheers to you all!

Then, in the morning, I take the bus home, in freezing sunshine.  The sun rises on another day as I ride the 36 in great comfort.

By the time I get to Heacham, and drop in to see how Amanda is today, we are almost at £1,500, and still the emails keep coming.  I just wish I could help her understand.....

But thank you all.  The one thing I do know is that, if she could speak, Amanda would say thank you for your love and support, and she would be hopeful that in the not too distant future others like her, who lived a smiley, lovely life and caused so much good around her, won't face the devastation of this illness.....  Let us trust that this will come about.

And if you would like to contribute to this charity please follow this link:

Richard's fundraiser for The National Brain Appealjustgiving.com

Thank you,

Richard

PS At 3.15 pm on January 9th 2024 contributions (including Gift Aid) have already passed £2,000!

PPS On 25th March 2024, I received a letter from The National Brain Appeal stating that combining what I raised by the walk with donations in Amanda's name (following her death on February 1st) the total raised is now £5,294.60 including Gift Aid.