Day thirty-nine

8th June 2009    ENGLAND

Thank you for the days… broken pencils and possibilities  

My eyes are closed, I’m still in my sleeping bag, awake but not awake, I hear Carlo in the kitchen area, the kettle being filled, the flick of a switch, again the sound of a tap, yesterday’s mugs being rinsed, the fridge door opens and shuts… sounds like tea is on the go… and still I keep my eyes closed, I just need a squidge longer. My thoughts are not of today… they are already one day ahead … the last day of this walk… day forty… tomorrow I step into the church I was baptised in, some forty-six plus years ago… a church that I have not been in since (military families never stay in one place very long). Cannot help but wonder, when I step back out of that church, how it is I get back home to Scotland, and what it is I do next; the start of college… three years of essays and deadlines… is still a few months away… oh boy! I really don’t know how all that’s gonna pan out… the phrase ‘biting off more than I can chew’ comes to mind… I had left school with nothing at all… that was something like thirty years ago… I enjoy picking up a book, learning new things and yet at the same time I am aware that I am slower than most… Hmm… I kind of already know college is going to be a pretty big mountain to climb (who knows, maybe my mountain days will come in handy… probably not), and what of the time in-between the finishing of this walk and the stepping into a classroom, I guess I’m going to have to find a job… not too worried about that… We live in a world where stuff is forever needing to be moved from one place to another and for that to happen you need truck drivers.

Carlo gives me a nudge “Morning Paul, I’ve made you a tea”. “Thanks Carlo”. As I climb out of my sleeping bag, I clear my head of all thoughts of what happens after tomorrow. I maybe just a few days away from finishing this walk… only it is more than just a walk… at the top of Scotland I had offered the next forty days to God… this is day thirty-nine, for another two days my thoughts of what happens after the walk will need to be put on hold. I am wanting to keep this offering as pure and as focused as I can, to do that, both head and heart need to be in the right place… a place of wanting to give and a place of having tremendous gratitude for what has been given. The day after tomorrow will need to wait… I have a promise to keep.

By seven thirty we are back on the road, I say road, it is not long before we pick up the ‘Avon Valley Path’… a path that we will stay on for much of the day… a path that will take us around the edges of fields, alongside wetlands, through quiet valleys and sunlit woodlands. We are walking through an area called the New Forest (a National Park)… it has been called the New Forest for just short of a thousand years… since 1079… that is when William the Conqueror claimed this area as his own. The word ‘forest’ back in those days meant a wild area set aside for the purpose of hunting, deer, wild boar and the like (an area of over 200 square miles). I guess in times gone by, if a king wanted more land, that was that…  peasants and the few sheep or cattle they had didn’t matter… allowing livestock to graze, foraging for berries, collecting firewood or the taking of a rabbit for the pot, was no longer permitted… this was now the king’s land… the lives of common people didn’t come into the equation… I think sometimes when we read history, we get caught up with the Kings and Queens… with this or that battle… it can be easy to forget about (push to one aside) the downtrodden… they, like you and I were real people… they also had hopes and dreams, fell in love, had little ones that were loved… and also needed feeding… when evicted from their homes, there was no taking the decision to court, no compensation, no government handouts to fall back on… Times were hard… 

…How is it, as I walk through this little bit of ‘chocolate box’ English countryside, my thoughts are not of what is in front of me, but instead I think of those that had walked these tracks close to a thousand years before me. I don’t doubt there are people living on this island today that are going through hard times (and we should do what it is we can to help those that are struggling). But there is no comparing today with the lives of those that lived a hundred plus years ago (never mind a thousand years ago). Today we have a National Health Service (yes, I know it’s under pressure and needs fixing… but it’s there) … We have stable governments (and yes, we can and probably should grumble at what it is they do… or don’t do… keeping in mind we have a responsibility to take those grumbles to the ballot box… for those thinking of getting rid of government … Anarchy in the UK would be No Fun at all… it really wouldn’t be… a dog eat dog world… no thank you). Doing this walk has made me much more aware of the many things we should be grateful for. For one, I am glad that I live now and not a hundred plus years ago… yeah, I know, the world is still a long way from what it could and should be … I still hear the Tiny Tims of this world calling out to the man on the street “Sir can you help me” and I think twice, ‘cause it’s another day for you and me in paradise’.

It's late morning, we have just stepped off the path onto a quiet country lane, the sun is pushing through the clouds. Carlo points to a sign just in front of us ‘The Sandy Balls Holiday Camp’… the idea of breakfast comes to mind. We step through the gates, an impressive place, a proper family getaway resort… log cabins, swimming pools and a restaurant… again we look at each other and then step through the doors of Aubrey's restaurant… ten minutes later we both have a full breakfast in front of us… a huge thank you to Francesca and Dell… a little over half an hour later, we step back outside… we are full… if we don’t get to eat again today, not a problem. We again pick up the ‘Avon Valley Path’, better to hear the sound of birdsong than the noise of traffic…there’s a quiet breeze moving through the land, branches above gently sway, the long grass in the fields play at being an ocean, waves slowly moving from one side of the field to the other… the birds high up in a sky of blue and white have little interest in playing along… I guess nobody wants to squawk like a seagull. 

My thoughts also seem to get picked up swirled around, settle for a moment, and a moment later they are back up in the air. I don’t know if it’s because this walk is coming to an end, but the ideas of gratitude seem to be high up in my thoughts… my thinking is, gratitude is the glue that holds all that other stuff I’ve talked about together… truth, goodness, love, falling pencils, beauty. Take gratitude away, and it all starts to fall apart (ok I’m joking about the pencil… Hmm, maybe only half joking… the force that will cause a pencil to fall to the ground, is the same stuff that allows us to see the sun rise every day… and that is gravity… ‘Thank you for the days’… and for the pencils that don’t have broken lead). And here’s the thing, to have gratitude you don’t need money, possessions nor status… I have met many people, not just from these island, but from around the world, different countries in Africa, North and South America, European countries (both from the east and the west)… people that have very little and yet possess a proper heart of gratitude, be it for the smallest of things… a genuine smile, a proper meal, an unexpected act of kindness. If you flip that coin, I think it’s safe to say, we all know people, that have a nice house, a good job, a steady income, and yet instead of gratitude they have resentment (… I just read what I wrote… it sounded a little unfair… of course you also get people that don’t have much at all (or people that somehow feel the world owes them something or other) and that are full of resentment. You also get people that have much and are incredibly grateful). Yeah, I’m not sure where I was going with those thoughts (…in amongst those answers that can be found blowing in the wind, there are also a whole bunch of muddle up thoughts getting knocked around)… That said, it is still incredibly humbling to meet people that really do have next to nothing and can still maintain a heart of gratitude, that I think is something to admire. I don’t think gratitude is a given… it is something we need to constantly work on.

Up above, the sky is still a mix of blue and white, a little bluer maybe… I’ve not walked in proper rain since I think Ireland… the wind seems to be pushing the clouds to one side… looks like it’s gonna be another bright (bright) sunshiny day. Carlo is the pace setter; I fall in step behind… we cross over streams, walk alongside fields, climb over styles, open and shut gates, pick up country lanes, walk under pylons, across open moors and through small broadleaf woodlands… the soundscape, mainly birdsong and a steady breeze, occasionally the sound a stream or the hum of power lines… in the distance the noise of tyres on tarmac. We talk a little (again about this and that), we kick a few sticks and stones (well I do) but much of the time we are quiet, caught up in our own thoughts. The backdrop to those thoughts (the soundscape as it were) is that sense of gratitude… the quiet sound of silence… the feeling of being at peace with a world that is not yet at peace with itself… not forgetting a steady hum of electrical thought signals bouncing around in my head.  

It is late afternoon when we walk into the small town of Ringwood… We step into the ‘Caffe Nero’… and again I share something of our story… and again I am taken aback by the kindness of strangers “What will it be tea or coffee”. “Tea would be magic”. “Go find a seat I’ll bring it over”. We find a quiet corner… I am glad of the chair, the legs ache. I untie my laces… the feet also need a break (I don’t think these boots will be coming back up to Scotland (home) with me… they are all but done). A waitress brings the tea over, she asks me “Have you really walked all the way from Scotland”. I nod my head “From the top of Scotland… aye”. She smiles and says ‘wow’… I smile back and say thank you (not sure if the ‘thankyou’ was for the tea or for the ‘wow’).

The tea is all gone, I re-tie the laces, push myself up of the chair with a grimace and a quiet groan, we again say thank you for the tea and head for the door, me doing the best I can to turn a hobble into something that looks like walking… Carlo smiles, he seems to be still in fine fettle... that’s annoying…. We decide to see if we can find a place to stay the night. Not far from the café there is a church St Peter and St Paul Parish Church, we walk up to the entrance, the Minister (a Reverent J. Turpin) and a few others come out the church heading our way. We introduce ourselves and again share our story and ask if it is possible that there would be a quiet corner someplace in the church that we could spend the night. We are told to come back and meet him at seven-thirty, by that time the church hall would be free… it is my turn to say wow. “Wow, thank you so much”.

Carlo’s phone pings, there’s a couple living in Ringwood that know Carlo, they had been following the progress of the walk through the simple blog I /we put out there at the end of each day… Alan and Ulrike had figured we were in the area and was offering to pick us up and take us home for dinner… how good is that…a little over half an hour later we are at their home, with a hot dinner cooking away on the stove. 

With dinner done and a coffee in hand, we sit and talk… I am reminded again at how much Carlo is respected within the church, he has many years of both teaching and being a pastor, he is somebody that will always put the other person first, mix that with being a very hands on kind of guy (I guess you have to be when living in an old Edwardian house)… it is a privilege to spend time with this guy… that said there is one downside to Carlo, and that is he walks to fast (… yeah ok… maybe that’s just me walking a little too slow).

Alan drops us of back in town, we meet up with the Rev. J. Turpin, we are greeted warmly, and again I wish I had a better way to say thank you. We set up ‘Basecamp Church Hall’, in the small town of Ringwood, a town that sits in the New Forest, close to the south coast of this island… the day like this walk is all but done.

It’s getting late and I’m wide awake, the pylons in my head are still humming, I pick up my broken pencil and scribble down some thoughts. I’m thinking if we want to be a part of building a better world, a good place to start is ‘Basecamp Gratitude’. With gratitude, there is the desire of wanting to give something back… it sees the good in this muddled up world, the beauty and the possibilities. That is not to say we shouldn’t sometimes be critical at some of the nonsense we see around us… the thing is not to let critical thoughts turn into cynical thoughts, do that and we start getting a little too close to ‘Basecamp Resentment’… there is no building going on in that camp, just knocking things down… a lot of shouting, demanding that they have rights… I sometimes wonder, do they see any good or beauty in this world or only that what is wrong. It’s true the world (life) is not fair (good but not always fair). Pointing fingers will not create a better world… Yeah, people have rights, I won’t argue with that… but more than this people have individual responsibility (we need to look at ourselves before judging others)… with that understanding, the question becomes ‘What can I give?’ and not ‘What can I take?’ That in my head is the difference between gratitude and resentment.