All that way and the greatest pleasure for me was being in that small warm room waiting for night to come. There was much pain but much joy too. And I was lifted by the novelty of being there in a place that was both familiar and now strange. We visited our haunts seeking light and warmth. We found sun between the showers. And there were hugs from a dear friend, meetings with strangers (like the grieving ex-beautician from Eccles) and opportunities (he always calls them that) to draw. I saw her briefly – a too thin face looking haggard and scared. And one of the little ones, so bright and open. I want to help but she won’t, or can’t accept it. All I can do is be there, steady if she needs me. Which she won’t but might. A legacy. I can do that. I will do that. And now we are home and I am shattered. Just stay in the lines today, Ellen. That’s all.
I forgot to say that the little, rather tatty, odds & sods, bric-a-brac shop on Northgate Street where we got Edith (the bust) and on of my many many radios (a repro one but it is such a nice shape) has had its window smashed. I saw it this morning as I walked home. The glass had huge jagged holes in it and someone had banged in two strips of wood to stop further looting. It was a shock to see it. She (the owner, I think) can’t have much money, it is, as a say, a tatty affair. I am saddened. This is a peaceful town. It was a heartless act. Shame on them.
