No blue plaque here but in that house in that room I was conceived. In the same house in the same room then I was born.
First child Only child Undistinguished house undistinguished room undistinguished birth.
But blessed with the Conquering Blood and Fire General’s name. It had to be that way. Aren’t all births distinguished only by their unglamorous spectacle?
Not something I asked for nor desired. No regrets but there were Consequences. Oh, yes. Eighty years of consequences. My history My responsibility My river’s ride through childhood rapids to maturity’s turmoil and turbulence. Becalmed now in dispiriting dotage its stillnesses its infirmity and nostalgia.
What follows eventually as I merge with the looming ocean waiting to receive me?
Memories fade for me Yet I know some continuity remains where these same images have been handed on to those loved ones who will remember.
But now in moments of tranquility my responsibility for my past presses hard until those times when my love surges to outweigh my guilt and again for good or ill my scarred soul returns to its past and wonders.
… and time treads on as I stare at the window the nets shielding its secrets. Now just as they did then So long ago.
Photographs … WHB – Yorkshire (2016) and Sussex (2009), UK
Pen & Wash Sketch – based on ‘Ancient Trees’ – to mark National Trust Week 1999 . . . WHB
The crisp crunch of my footsteps as I crossed that frosty field Confirmed to me the joy that winter brings; The frail but wondrous sunlight burning through the morning mist Affirmed a world of wonder in all things.
It brought to me a memory of those long days of my youth, When all was young and all life was tomorrow, When time and love and right and wrong were not things I considered, Just the lasting joy which Nature can bestow.
Tomorrow was a world away from the life that I live now; No anguish that my world might cease to be Before I’d felt and savoured all that life can have to offer, Before the sun sets on that ancient tree.
Despite my knowledge of the pain that’s in the world around me, Bleak Nature seeks to calm its shifting shadows, The seasons, sun, the starlight, still remain to bring us hope, That vital spark from which renewed life flows.
Me? To see me. Who? I know him . . . Not …? … I think so You? Who are you? Do I know you? Should I know you?
“… Oh … Yes … Hello! …”
Familiar … and he knows who I am. … Who I am … Who am I?
‘I’m not at home, you know.’
Not at my home. In a Home On my own. At home.
“Are you happy here?’
I used to know, I think, what happiness was … Now? … It’s not important … Is it?
“ … Yes …”
Nod … Shake my head.
“Do they feed you well?”
Do they? Sometimes … I think
“… Yes …”
“Isn’t the weather lovely?”
I like the sun. When it shines. … and the rain. … Not the wind.
“… Windy … It’s very windy …”
“Do you sit outside sometimes?”
I think so. I don’t know It’s nice.
“Yes . It is very windy”
“ … The leaves are moving …”
It’s not my day It was my day … Once. It’s not my day. Yesterday was my day. … Once. When I was a child. But I am a child. Aren’t I?
“Do they provide entertainment for you?”
“… Sometimes …”
‘Are they looking after you?’
They help me. She helps me Who is she? She wants to help me. I don’t want help But I need help Don’t I?
When I’m wet My chair’s wet I need help Take me away. Let me be Help me
“… Oh, Yes … … The leaves are moving …”
“Oh, look, it’s tea time”
My time They’ll help me eat Something else to do. … To do something To be me…
But not here. I’m all right here I’m happy here … Am I? For now … Yes
“… Is it ?… … I do like tea …”
“… When can I go home?…”
“You are at home”
“. . . Am I? …”
“I’ll come again … soon”
“… Thank you”
# # #
Perhaps next week?
We are not dead Neither are we alive
Only react Never initiate Only react
We … mechanisms, contraptions
Feel But No sense – That’s nonsense
Only Pain brings relief from not being alive
# # #
Winter Trees 2 – WHB … ink – 1988
The above is a recounting, to the best of my memory, of the conversation during a visit I paid a few years ago now, to a dear old friend who had, for several months, been living in a nursing home.
And now the past pains the present again Those vivid re-lived passages smart So I try to disengage my memory And the sorrowing sobs do not reach my heart.
But the regret will end, it always does. Nothing retains its sting so long That memory can’t in time evade. And what is left … is bitter, bitter circumstance.
With bared feet and sadness in my soul I walk in the shallows the waves rippling to my bare feet I follow the ribs of the sand to their end in the swell of the next wave and by their disappearance I recognise the promise of their continuation for the world is in flux a life beginning as another ends memory fading at first soon settles into expectation an affirmation as the embers of all that cease to be are carried forward in the seeds of a future hope
I remember the 1/- that slash-dash sign a favourite of mine time gone every shop had one but time passed I know it breathed its last 50 years ago
Yes the shilling that was two tanners or a bob to me and those as money comes and goes 5p to you now twelve copper coppers hence one dozen pence twenty to the sixties pound But then deemed unsound and all became continent bound until sad sight they turned out the tills overnight onto and into counters joined the farthings and the thrupenny bits and called it quits the death of old-time dough sad to see them go Gone to memory’s locker to tomorrow’s antiques roadshow
Roland's Ragbag 