Importance of history

Yesterday went well. We had the dining room to ourselves. We looked out across Morecambe Bay to the Lakeland fells on the other side. The conversation flowed as we once more caught up with each other’s lives. The food was okay but not exciting, but nothing seemed to matter as old bonds were once more forged. We sat a while in the bar overlooking the greenness of the golf course, before making our way back home. At home they were amazed by the sheer size of our garden – there are not many people who have a garden big enough to have 8 neighbours adjoining it!

By 5pm it was time for them to think of parting once more. Their Satnav had directed them a peculiar way to get here, taking them off the M6 at Junction 33 & taking them through the centre of Lancaster, getting them stuck in traffic jams for over half an hour. We told them how to find Junction 34 so avoiding the centre of Lancaster & hopefully the worst of the rush hour traffic.

The afternoon had gone so well, we’ve even provisionally agreed to join them for dinner, when we stay overnight in Manchester before our flight to France next month. Meeting twice in a year will be quite an achievement for us!

At the end of the day, I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason for the meeting, if reason was needed, was that Alan has discovered now his mother has died – he was an only child of a single mother - as I did, that when all the immediate family around in your childhood have died, then those who played a large part on the sidelines become all the more important. For him, I must be one such. He, my brother & another old friend, Gordon, were always together. At primary school one of my best friends was Liz, Gordon’s sister. As a result I was always there in Alan’s life as he was in mine. The real friends were the boys with each other, & the girls on the other side but inevitably there was an overlap. We can share memories of things, events & people that made us what we are today. And that becomes important when those more immediately a part of those memories – his mother in his case, my parents & brother in mine - are no longer available to reminisce with.