Does it seem macabre that I wanted to get as close as I could to the place where in 1963, at the age of six I found my dad, laying on the ground, either dying or dead? I couldn’t to the exact spot of course. Not only would there be no markers, but the place had been built upon since that date. But I did try.
The ticket machines of the car parks in Wareham are not as sophisticated as those in Gosport. They don’t have contactless payment. I ended up going to the ATM to take out £10 then popping into the shop and buying a bar of chocolate (actually a duo bar of biscuit & raisin Yorkie) which I ate later, on the way home). I bought a ticket for two hours. Would that give us enough time to do what I wanted?
We walked over the causeway, pausing to chat to chap working to lay broadband fibre. Seems to be happening in a lot of places. He was happy to talk.
We walked past my old primary school. Strange, but I don’t really have many happy memories of any of the schools I attended. Actually, I am hard pushed to recall any happy memories, but I am sure there must be some there…somewhere.
We met a chap who says he remembered be from the estate where I used to live. We talked for a bit about names from the past. He got on with repairing his frost-fractured bricks. We walked back the way we came.
I spent a few hours with my family. People whom I love. If my wife had been there it would have been perfect. She wasn’t able to today. Still, it was lovely. I ended the day happy/sad. More happy really. I had done what I had set out to do.