Tag: Melancholy

More tales from the Old Cemetery

August had become September, and there was a hint of melancholy in the air. The flowers brightening the Old Cemetery had turned to fluffy seed heads, and the green leaves would soon turn brown. The first grave to catch my eye emphasised my sombre mood. It belonged to two little sisters, Alice Maude and Violet Foote. Alice taken at three years and four months and little Violet at seven days. Their deaths were more than a century old, but I couldn’t help thinking of the grief that must have weighed down their parents. 

Continue reading More tales from the Old Cemetery

The lost walks, part one

As I finally cleared away the debris of my old blog I came across two walks from that last October weekend. Walks taken when I was blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. There were no words, I never got as far as writing about them, just photographs and hazy memories. My hand was paused over the delete button but, the more I looked at those photographs, the more I remembered of those lost walks. It seemed a terrible shame for them to stay lost so I am going to do my best to recreate them now. I can’t vouch for the accuracy of what follows, it was almost three years ago after all and sometimes I struggle to remember what happened last week. Still, with a little poetic licence, here goes. This is the first of the lost walks… Continue reading The lost walks, part one

What is, what was and what might have been – first published 5 September 2014

It didn’t look like the best of walking days when I set out on 5 September 2014 but beggars can’t be choosers. The chill in the air and the grey sky made me wrap up in my padded jacket again and, at one point, I was even thinking of taking a hat and gloves. Of course, by the time I got to the top of the Little Hill I was feeling quite hot. This may have had something to do with a neighbour shouting down from the scaffolding outside his house, “you should be running not walking,” as I passed by.
“You’ve got me mixed up with my husband,” I laughed, “I never run.”
Even so I really marched it out up the steep hill and reached the top, breathless, hot and bothered. Continue reading What is, what was and what might have been – first published 5 September 2014

A week of silent goodbyes – first published 19 December 2013

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The last week at Silver Helm had arrived. Every day felt full of silent goodbyes and last evers, even though some, like a visit to the warehouse in the docks, were really first times. Slowly, the building that had been our lovely, organised office was turning into a ghost town of boxes and empty shelves. We all bustled about, sorting, packing and shredding while trying to pretend we were fine. Inside we were crying, at least I was. The only things that kept me sane were the little things in each day to make me smile. Continue reading A week of silent goodbyes – first published 19 December 2013