Summer is coming. The Prom is showing visible signs of its onset. One of those huge deckchairs has been nailed to its pavement and the lifeguards’ huts have also been put in place. I’ve never seen them arrive, do they wheel them out there in the dead of night? And the students are beginning to migrate home. I saw one, or at least I heard the wheels of her suitcase first, scraping along the tarmac – a kind of chundering. Bless her, a stocky little thing, she was in tiny shorts and a t-shirt, and it was cold this morning. Coming down Penglais Hill from one of the campus accommodation blocks no doubt, her suitcase whirled about chaotically. Should I help her? I thought. I wobble about offering aid. It’s a selfishness on my part, I want to stay within, I don’t want to talk. I used to be the same when I’d see P. at his window smoking. My heart would fall, as no doubt his did. We both valued peace, silence, I think. May he rest in peace. He was kind.
