This is the dad who always had a spring in his step.
Physically. He bounced as he
walked. I can see him now, his head
bobbing up and down as he strode through the park on his way home from work,
briefcase swinging by his side, suit jacket hanging loose. He was nearly 80
when he finally retired and the spring in his step might have become a little
rusty by then, but still the bounce remained.
When he was seventeen dad and his best friend, John,
walked twenty five miles around London in six hours. A twelve hour, fifty mile walk through
Hertfordshire followed, and (no pun intended), dad took it all in his stride:
that's what seventeen year olds did in the 1940s. The spring in their steps would have been
obvious: two young lads, on the cusp of adulthood, their whole lives before
them; an escape from the relentlessness of war for a few hours, a physical
challenge, a day out with the best friend, a chat, a laugh, no doubt a pint and
a pipe at the end of it. And, for my
dad, maybe the thought of his best friend's sister, who, a few years later,
would become my mum.
Metaphorically, though, my dad hasn't always had a spring
in his step. He suffered bouts of severe depression in his forties and fifties,
and went through a very bad time. I was away at Art College, and like most
teenagers, I was pretty self obsessed and selfish, ignoring the GP who advised
me to come home and be with my dad. That advice seems quite strange to me now,
but this was the same GP who took his own life not long after that, so I
suppose he was ultra sensitive to the needs of a depressed patient.
Happily, my dad came through the depression and got the
spring back in his step. Life was good again.
There were children, grandchildren and great grandchildren to guarantee that.
The walking continued, both near and far: the head that bobbed across London,
also bobbed up hills and down dales in the Peak District and Lakes.
My dad was a walking, spring stepping, head bobbing giant.
Two weeks ago, on his daily walk around the block with a
stick, dad had a funny turn. His legs slowed down and refused to go on.
Exhausted, he was rescued by a Good Samaritan and brought home. It looks like
dad's solo walking days are finally over.
As I get ready to leave my parents' house after a visit
last week dad presses the button on the chair, steadies himself and shuffles up
the hall with mum. Arms around each other, they wave and blow kisses as I set
off down the road, a scene frequently repeated over the past fifty years.
I reflect on my visit as the train draws into
Blackpool.
“I'm happier now than I've ever been,” my dad had said
emphatically when I'd expressed sadness that his walking had been curtailed, “I
have my crossword, food which I love, the computer, books…..Oh and mum.”
The spring in his step is still there, safe in dad's head.
My elder son is meeting me at the station. I spot him in
the distance, head bobbing up and down as he bounces towards me…….
A Spring in the Step
It’s the
little things, the daily rituals
That now put
a spring in his step…
Mid morning
cafetiere
Warmed and coffee
measured just so
Its smoky
aroma wafting sensuously through the rooms
Teasing and
promising in equal measure
Old feet
meet in the kitchen
Coffee
poured and sipped
In
comfortable silence
Crossword
clues fight for attention
In a brain
that still remembers
Every detail
of his childhood
The chemical
symbol for sodium
Pythagoras
theorem
And that his
first house cost more
Than the car
he bought 40 years later
The prospect
of kippers for dinner
Ground black
pepper, a tomato quartered
Brown bread
sliced thin and butter thick
Strong tea
in a pot
He lets his
mind wander
To teas long
ago
Jelly,
tinned fruit , pink salmon, blancmange……
Seated opposite
Mary, his best friend's sister
The girl of his dreams at seventeen
His sweetheart for seven decades
Eases herself up
Touches his hand as she goes out of the door
He smiles, life's good,
There is still
A spring in his step.
Jill Reidy
1 comments:
Jill, welcome to the Dead Good Blog. What a wonderfully evocative account, beautifully written.
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