Will the years treat us well?
My father used to build model gliders. I remember in particular, the balsa wood and red plastic material covering it. For much of my youth, it sat on top of my dad's wardrobe. I think it was my dad's wardrobe because it was a single one whereas my mother's was a double. The smaller one had a suit or two, the larger seemed to house a lot of voluminous dresses. On top of his wardrobe sat a red plastic and balsa wood aeroplane that I used to long to see fly.
The only opportunity to see it fly was on those occasions we went to Dunstable Downs on a Sunday afternoon. We would picnic there, watch dad trying to fly his glider and try to spot wallabies - yes, even then. Like the Unicorns in Bill Caddick's song, they were always there. If you Google it, evidently, wallabies are new to the UK. Oh no they're not. By the way, picnics in those days seemed to include lots of banana or jam sandwiches and, knowing my mother, something involving a very heavy pastry casing.
Anyway, I know that as time went by, my father seemed to lose interest in the glider and trips to the Downs became rarer. This is all a shame and something that I will never, ever, be able to understand why. Best to move on, then. The plastic got ripped and the balsa wood skeleton probably got involved in one of those wars that I seemed to be continually enacting throughout my childhood. I mean, of course, the continual wars of toy soldiers.
What prompted me to think of this - and it's something that I've not really thought about for years - is that last weekend, during our walk, we came across a slightly surreal scenario. We trudged through a ridiculously muddy field and eventually wandered fairly unfettered across a field. The noise of birds singing became less and a continuous droning noise - somewhat akin to the sound of a child that has been told that they are not allowed to do/say/whatever and they are responding in their best low-slung whingeing whine - but, behold! A group of adults flying their hand-built 'planes. Helicopters, gliders, WWII planes and other such models I have no idea about. No airships, though, disappointingly.
I must admit that we were not distracted for too long - several were well-built and impressive in their own way - but it smacked of some sort of secret society. I believe the term "guilty pleasure" is often used. These guys shouldn't be embarrassed (well, not too much) about their interests but it did all seem a little secretive. A few furtive glances around and each member scrutinised the other guys' 'planes with a fair amount of attentiveness.
We moved on. Mrs Dave mentioned the episode today. We were walking around a very muddy wood in another part of Suffolk. Wonderful weather with gorgeous typical Big Suffolk skies. She thought it a slightly surreal episode. It was like coming across a Punch and Judy festival in Covent Garden after coming out of the hospital after seeing your dad who's dying . . . oh yeah, that actually happened. A long time ago, now.
I wander across the Suffolk landscape with pure pleasure, but on the way home, see friends taking their parents out for a Sunday afternoon trip and hear of them dealing with the issues that the Winter years of their parent's lives bring. I take deep joy in the understanding that all I have to do is make decisions about my own future. I miss my parents, of course, but know that the heartbreaking decisions to come for those peers makes for some tense discussions and sleepless nights.
Suddenly coming across glider fanatics in the middle of a walk brings backs memories of a fairly care-free childhood (they tuck you up, your mum and dad) but I don't envy my many friends who are going through the end of days with their parents. I'm really not being glib, here. I'm just grateful that I'm in the situation that I can look back with rose-tinted glasses nowadays.
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| A Suffolk Big Sky |
The only opportunity to see it fly was on those occasions we went to Dunstable Downs on a Sunday afternoon. We would picnic there, watch dad trying to fly his glider and try to spot wallabies - yes, even then. Like the Unicorns in Bill Caddick's song, they were always there. If you Google it, evidently, wallabies are new to the UK. Oh no they're not. By the way, picnics in those days seemed to include lots of banana or jam sandwiches and, knowing my mother, something involving a very heavy pastry casing.
Anyway, I know that as time went by, my father seemed to lose interest in the glider and trips to the Downs became rarer. This is all a shame and something that I will never, ever, be able to understand why. Best to move on, then. The plastic got ripped and the balsa wood skeleton probably got involved in one of those wars that I seemed to be continually enacting throughout my childhood. I mean, of course, the continual wars of toy soldiers.
I must admit that we were not distracted for too long - several were well-built and impressive in their own way - but it smacked of some sort of secret society. I believe the term "guilty pleasure" is often used. These guys shouldn't be embarrassed (well, not too much) about their interests but it did all seem a little secretive. A few furtive glances around and each member scrutinised the other guys' 'planes with a fair amount of attentiveness.
We moved on. Mrs Dave mentioned the episode today. We were walking around a very muddy wood in another part of Suffolk. Wonderful weather with gorgeous typical Big Suffolk skies. She thought it a slightly surreal episode. It was like coming across a Punch and Judy festival in Covent Garden after coming out of the hospital after seeing your dad who's dying . . . oh yeah, that actually happened. A long time ago, now.
I wander across the Suffolk landscape with pure pleasure, but on the way home, see friends taking their parents out for a Sunday afternoon trip and hear of them dealing with the issues that the Winter years of their parent's lives bring. I take deep joy in the understanding that all I have to do is make decisions about my own future. I miss my parents, of course, but know that the heartbreaking decisions to come for those peers makes for some tense discussions and sleepless nights.
Suddenly coming across glider fanatics in the middle of a walk brings backs memories of a fairly care-free childhood (they tuck you up, your mum and dad) but I don't envy my many friends who are going through the end of days with their parents. I'm really not being glib, here. I'm just grateful that I'm in the situation that I can look back with rose-tinted glasses nowadays.
