POST 368. TIME FOR ANOTHER CHAT.

BEFORE THE MONTH ENDS.

AND WHILE I'M STILL HERE: because you never know.. . So what brought this on? Well, at the beginning of last week I received a newsletter from the Chairman of the 254 Old Boys Association (Southern Chapter), Pat Soward, containing news that two of my best friends in R. Signals Boy's Squadron 1945 - 48, Wally Brown and Nat Preece, died in June and July of this year respectively. They were six months or so younger than me and their names were included in a list of nine old boys who have died since March 2020. In the way of the military we three had not kept in touch, but I knew that Wally had served a full time career in the Signals, even though he could have become a professional footballer, and that when he was stationed in BAOR he played part-time for a German soccer club. Nat, I learned, had left the army to become a Customs and Excise officer in Scotland. Had I not chanced upon their names among the attendees at a 254 OBA meeting reported on the net (I had no previous idea such an association existed), it would never have been my intention to revisit the past. Not much given to nostalgia so far as work is concerned. A job is just a job. But I then decided I really would like to see how they were faring. Thus it came about that Mo and I went (maybe ten years ago) to our first OBA AGM to meet them: in her case, for the first time. Now they are irrevocably gone and, as I later wrote to Pat, though I recognise the inevitability of it, their departure has shocked and deeply saddened me. That, I added, is another problem with growing very old...nobody, even fractionally younger than you, is supposed to die before you do. I really should be used to it, but I’m not... There is little more left to say. Our deepest sympathy goes to Wally's wife, Claire, to Nat's wife, Moira (who is in a care home), and to all those mourning the departure of a name on that list. WE ARE ALL MORTAL.

ANY IMAGININGS OF IMMORTALITY I may have had were further shattered a few nights ago when I suffered a fall in the back garden. The cat Spike, having completed her evening session of beating the bounds, came indoors with a gift for us: a live grass snake. She tends to do that. My Leader gently declines these kind offerings and returns them to their natural habitat. On this occasion she was not immediately available so I, wishing no fuss, lightly brushed the little snake onto a dustpan and went outside with it. It was dark, but the courtesy lights came on as I left the back door and I took off across our substantial car park, confident in my ability to tip the unwanted visitor out of harm's way. I never made it to the fence fronting the sanctuary hedge. Those outside lights ceased to be courteous and I lost my footing on the new concrete path. I went down heavily, just managed to deposit the snake back onto the car park, and struggled to my knees to discover I was never going to regain my feet unaided. Mo eventually found me, Roz and Ellis, by torchlight, got me up and back to the house and between them they cleaned me up. There was plently of blood and I now have a huge bruise on my left hip, but nothing was broken and I soon stopped shaking. All in all it was a bloody silly thing for me to do and I shall be good and sure never to attempt anything like it again. AND FINALLY It was exactly a year ago today that we said our final farewell to the irreplaceable cat Shadow. No other of our treasured feline companions over the years ever climbed into my arms in quite such a proprietorial way. His death has left a void that none of the dear creatures currently with us can ever quite fill, though they do try.

Sorry about the sadness. More media stuff next time. That's always good for a laugh.