Hello,
During the fortnight since I decided to take a break from writing this Magazine Iโve been mostly walking, gardening and contemplating, while living through the distracted time of waiting for the medical appointment Iโve previously written about that will be happening early next week. In the meantime and as my route back into writing, Iโve decided to do this shorter than last time edition of The Magazine, about the walking, gardening and contemplating Iโve been doing.
Most of whatโs here is structured round a long and favourite ten mile walk, with photographs, that I took myself on earlier this week. A walk I call โTo The Hill and The Riverโ thatโs my default setting at times when deep peace and quiet thought are required. Which is pretty well all the time, of course. Including thoughts in italics spoken into my phone on the way around, then reflections Iโll add in at the end of the walk.
Letโs go.
Ronnie
To The Hill and The River
โFor the first time this year Iโm feeling the warmth of the sun on the back of my neck And thinking the morningโs late winter layers of clothes might not all be needed by this afternoon. The blackbird singing by the railway line over the wall behind the Secret Alley here is sounding like Kate Bush singing Ariel.โ
โMost of the way up here to the top of the hill, itโs been such a quiet walk. Along the alley and through the backstreets only the traffic noise has interfered and not very often really. Only when Iโve crossed major junctions like the Lodge Lane crossroads, and obviously across the top of the city at Kensington. I can still hear Kensington humming in the background away to the left of here where Iโm stood, right now, on the top, the very top of the hill. Looking down there always feels like seeing my whole life, from here where first-job Netherfield Heights was, down the hill across Scotland Road, then through Vauxhall and Kirkdale, to the river. What a place, this home, this city.โ
โDown to the bottom of the hill across Scotland Road, past the ruined Parrot pub on the corner of Hopwood Street, along Benledi Street then Limekiln Lane to Eldon Grove. Which has survived another winter, just about, but the only sign of life here today is a squirrel bustling about in the waste. What a waste.โ
โAs Iโd thought by early afternoon, just as Iโm entering town, by the Mersey Tunnel and the emptiness where the flyover used to be, my duffel coatโs unfastened, itโs getting warm now and Iโm choosing to walk on the shady side of all the the streets. So itโs that time of the year all of a sudden.โ
โReading a Charles Darwin quote in a Karen Armstrong book, here in Lovelockโs Cafe by the tunnel where Iโve stopped for a drink, heโs just told Asa Gray, a botanist friend, that it was โabsurd to doubt that a man may be an ardent theist and an evolutionist.โ Adding โIโve never been an atheist in the sense of denying the existence of God, I think that generally and more and more as I grow olderโฆthat โagnosticโ would be the most correct description of my state of mind.โ
Very happy then, to be sat here agreeing with Charles Darwin.โ
โLate in the afternoon now, Iโve walked along through the tourists and renewal of the south docks and the Baltic and Iโm on my way to the Dockersโ Steps. Glad again Iโve got my coat as itโs clouded over and the dayโs become cold. Itโs been a great walk and a long think this. Still a few miles to go though. Across the park and past the allotment to home. But this is close to the end of the photographs part of the day. Specially as the phoneโs almost flat.โ
โAnyway, the phoneโs battery did last โtil the Dockersโ Steps and Alan Murrayโs mural of us lot, the working people of Liverpool. And Iโm on my way home now.โ
The Back Page
Gardening and Contemplating Eternity
After all the walking, thinking and editing of this so far I donโt have as much to add here as Iโd thought I might. Because Iโve decided to leave the meaning of life, death and contemplating eternity stuff Iโve got half ready until after next weekโs hospital appointment.
Except for this.
While I was on the allotment earlier in the week I was thinking about how lucky I am to be alive now rather than, say, in the days George Eliot was writing about in Middlemarch. In her story, set in the early 1830โs, a doctor tells the novelโs central character, Dorothea, that her austere and forbidding husband Mr. Casubon might yet live a while longer, or perhaps not, because he has โa weak heartโ and there wasnโt much could be done about that in those days.
Whereas in my case, almost two hundred years later and about to have my own conversation with a doctor, Iโm living in a time when great medical and surgical progress has been made, and of course we have the miracle of the NHS to care for us all. Battered, stressed and underfunded as may be. But still there, still a miracle and, Iโm trusting, all the miracle my heart is going to need.
Meanwhile Iโll be mostly at the allotment. Where thereโs Springtime coming on, plans have been made and planting is happening. As well as that, of course, Iโll be walking, I hope Iโll always be walking.
Ronnie,
Liverpool,
Friday, 8th March 2024
More about places from the walk, like Eldon Grove and the Dockersโ Steps are in archived posts, available to all full subscribers.
Previous Issue here.
All contents ยฉRonnie Hughes