Not memories exactly, but often it's just the uncatchable essences of memories which fly by.
And if I try, even for a second, to focus on these, I can feel tears welling up.
I catch a glimpse of Dad smiling, relaxed, taking us to the park for a game of putting or crazy golf. We've lost a cheap rubber toy snake somewhere along the path and he helps us search through the grass verges.
Or there he is again with his pipe o'bacca in the sunshine. He seems happy. Not like the man he became in his final years, so greatly diminished by old age, ill health and institutionalisation. Bored and lost.
No, he's happy in the sunshine. He's helping us retrieve a football from under a caravan. Mum is cooking sausages on the Calor gas cooker. Also happy. Also relaxed. Nice change of scenery.
Like Christmases, family holidays are loaded with emotion.
For a deeply touching evocation of that bitter-sweet aspect which must inevitably imbue every family holiday, look no further than the gorgeously understated 1931 novel by RC Sherriff, A Fortnight In September, available again thanks to the wonderful Persephone Books.
If you don't mind the interaction with your blog and please delete if you do I wanted to say what a great read this is.
ReplyDeleteIn the past you've said you wish we got a chance to see a younger little grandad and from this, the family stories, his life story and from moments with him like, 'why do you want to go to the pictures? There's loads right here' Grandad points to the prints on the wall, I feel I know what you mean. I certainly get a sense of missing out which is sad, although perfectly normal I guess, but whilst it IS sad it's not a regret because the grandad i knew, i loved to bits. I loved his way of making a joke from everything and feel I learnt a lot about enjoying life from a man who clearly gave you so much. You should tell us more stories.
love Tom (your son)
Darling Tom,
ReplyDeleteThank you for your lovely feedback.
And, yes, I am aware that you're our son.