A sudden return to Winter today. Rain all morning and the cottage gloomy within. Strips of water can be seen down on the moors and I’m never without my woolly hat and snood. In the early afternoon lashing winds arrive that whip the trees and telephone wires along the road sending the rooks up into the air flapping and complaining.
Julian is here to mend the gutters and the windows, the one filled with moss and overflowing and the other cracked as a result of Winter’s ravages.
I go up to the rectory to meet Reverend Scott and Mark the young curate, Scott’s dog collar just visible under a Champion hoody and Mark’s visible against a sky blue shirt above his skinny jeans and Converse. The faces of the modern rural church.
They both talk about the challenges facing the clergy. Their benefice is about to expand and the benefice’s population will double in number. They’re keen to encourage small church reading groups where people can engage with proper theological discussion of the bible and they see the need for more lay people to help in the community such as in care homes. Scott also suggested that the churches need to be looked after by a dedicated conservation group and not by parish councils as communities don’t have the time, expertise or money to maintain them. It’s an interesting and serious discussion and I hope will make an engaging post for The Tablet.
Richard pops round from next door to see if Julian can look at his windows. He’s very open about lonely he is since he lost Cindy a few years ago.
He came round to see mum on Saturday. Still tall and straight backed as no doubt the Navy fashions you to be. He told us how every house in Wiltown has a well and this is where its name derives from. It was the first time I’d heard this.
He also talked openly about Cindy in the knowledge that Mum and him have that in common now: them both carers for their spouses and now both widowed.
She had motor neurone disease. Thankfully her brain was the last part of her to be affected.
Richard said that one day at the hospice after she’d been deteriorating for quite a while the doctor came to see her. He asked her ‘How are we doing today?’ To which she replied ‘I’m fed up. I want to go now.’
Then they gave her more painkillers until she faded away.
I expect this happens more than people let on. It would be good to be allowed the choice if it came to it.
The blue fuzz of flowers that adorned the top field have gone without a trace. The taster of spring week might have been nothing more than a dream. Above the field the sky is blue but above the Blackdowns it’s a threatening murky grey.
At the bottom field cloud shadows race over the field ahead of me briefly darkening the field and Jane’s house for a few seconds before they are returned to the light. On the road from Curry to Hambridge the sunlight briefly glints off a car like an inland lighthouse flashing a split second light. It’s a strange day and I’m left longing for the warmth and life that seems to have been missing for so long.
The Slow Walker 