It's better to hope
Better large.
It was a bit fresh in Amble on Friday. I was wearing two coats and other layers, but the vicious wind went straight through. There was no stopping it.
I walked down the jetty to get a few quick photos of the rough sea. An old man was walking in the opposite direction and as we passed each other I said something obvious about the weather. That was it, we talked for about an hour, despite the cold.
The conversation was wide ranging and energetic, like the waves behind us.
He talked of his youth in the town and what has become of it.
I remarked at his health and vigour, considering he was born in the 1920s, as he had mentioned. He was 83, he told me and liked to cycle along paths by the coast. He spoke lovingly of his wife (a few years younger) and his family.
He talked of his travels and his time in India at the time of its partition, Gandhi and his assassination. We talked of the the loss of skills, the decline of industry, the terrible errors in Iraq and other horrors caused by religion and blind belief.
Yet, we agreed, there were some good things. Some progress. He said, there were many times when it looked as if things were going to get better and the world was full of hope. And then it didn't.
"There are a lot of good people, you know. There has to be, or people wouldn't carry on," he said. (It was something his father had told him.) I said they were difficult to find.
We shook hands and parted. I took some pictures.
It's better to hope
Better large.
It was a bit fresh in Amble on Friday. I was wearing two coats and other layers, but the vicious wind went straight through. There was no stopping it.
I walked down the jetty to get a few quick photos of the rough sea. An old man was walking in the opposite direction and as we passed each other I said something obvious about the weather. That was it, we talked for about an hour, despite the cold.
The conversation was wide ranging and energetic, like the waves behind us.
He talked of his youth in the town and what has become of it.
I remarked at his health and vigour, considering he was born in the 1920s, as he had mentioned. He was 83, he told me and liked to cycle along paths by the coast. He spoke lovingly of his wife (a few years younger) and his family.
He talked of his travels and his time in India at the time of its partition, Gandhi and his assassination. We talked of the the loss of skills, the decline of industry, the terrible errors in Iraq and other horrors caused by religion and blind belief.
Yet, we agreed, there were some good things. Some progress. He said, there were many times when it looked as if things were going to get better and the world was full of hope. And then it didn't.
"There are a lot of good people, you know. There has to be, or people wouldn't carry on," he said. (It was something his father had told him.) I said they were difficult to find.
We shook hands and parted. I took some pictures.