Lockdown wasn’t kind to either of our parents; it’s my 88-year-old Ma’s first outing in a large crowd and although she’s bursting with pride for Tom and relishing all the people-watching, she’s struggling with physical challenges. Ma, once a head-turning, tall, redhead is severely afflicted by osteoporosis and scoliosis; every step she takes is slow and careful and she’s now so small that whenever we have to move, I have to protect her from all the flying elbows and swinging handbags which threaten to knock her off her feet. Once seated, we can relax and enjoy the occasion. Graduates are presented in qualification order, and as the only PhD graduate, Tom’s first to be presented and - to our great delight - gets to join the great and good on stage for the entire ceremony. The three of us are beside ourselves with pride, although unlike Tom in his high profile and very visible position, we can afford to pace our applause for the rest of the afternoon!
In the meantime, there are wide open spaces all around us and although we run and swim, we probably don’t do enough walking. Determined to put that right, we set off on the most beautiful April afternoon to walk at Foel Drygarn, an Iron Age hill fort with three Bronze Age burial cairns. It’s one of my favourite walks; there are stunning panoramic views, a vast, majestic skyline and, always, that strong sense of walking in the footsteps of the past. How, I wonder, as a gust of chilly wind catches me, did the people who lived here, in what would have been a densely populated hub, cope with the brutal elements and adversity in this exposed position? The answer suggests itself to me a little later on our descent, when Tom and I sit in the shelter of a rocky outcrop with the sun on our faces, springy turf beneath us and perfect peace all around us. I think of everyone who has ever sat in this same spot, people who have rested, loved or found respite from hardship and sorrows. Time’s river keeps flowing; we can’t swim against its current, but sometimes we can rest and recharge in the shallows.
Babies were born during lockdown, toddlers graduated to nursery and children at nursery became schoolchildren. I’m saddened by what we’ve all missed but when Ma returns with us to Wales for a break, she has a chance to reconnect with three of her great-grandchildren.
Tom and I are hoping to reconnect with sailing again this summer, but poor old Blue Nun is in a sorry state, mainly, again, thanks to the months when we simply couldn’t leave home. Tom’s made a great start on the remedial work but there’s a job that only I can do. ‘If you can just fit and hold the bolts on the inside,’ says Tom, ‘I can tighten the screws.’ Simple, you might agree. Except the task requires me to lower myself in a boat locker. I’m a small woman but it’s a tight fit, even for me, so there’s a real sense of triumph when we manage to complete the work. There’s a lot to do, but with a fair wind we hope it won’t be too long before we can get back out on the water
In the meantime, there are wide open spaces all around us and although we run and swim, we probably don’t do enough walking. Determined to put that right, we set off on the most beautiful April afternoon to walk at Foel Drygarn, an Iron Age hill fort with three Bronze Age burial cairns. It’s one of my favourite walks; there are stunning panoramic views, a vast, majestic skyline and, always, that strong sense of walking in the footsteps of the past. How, I wonder, as a gust of chilly wind catches me, did the people who lived here, in what would have been a densely populated hub, cope with the brutal elements and adversity in this exposed position? The answer suggests itself to me a little later on our descent, when Tom and I sit in the shelter of a rocky outcrop with the sun on our faces, springy turf beneath us and perfect peace all around us. I think of everyone who has ever sat in this same spot, people who have rested, loved or found respite from hardship and sorrows. Time’s river keeps flowing; we can’t swim against its current, but sometimes we can rest and recharge in the shallows.
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