Continued - Bristol
Continued from 11th March.
On Sunday morning we took the train from London to Bristol to visit my family. The “quiet” car was not so much, being inhabited by a family of 3 who definitely qualified for two of the ‘cons’ mentioned in the previous post: alcohol and chatter. But fortunately there were two empty seats at the other end of the car and once re-situated we were able to gaze out the window to the landscape of past and present: the present landscape being that which one finds everywhere now; the urban, suburban creep, totally lacking in aesthetic pleasantry, and the past: the rolling hills and hedged fields, the ancient trees, little villages of cottages and spired churches, the lone manor on the hill; horses, sheep and assorted cows, a solitary walker striding along a muddy path. All of this being part of what pulls at me.
It was always nature that fed me as a child, the perfect antidote to the claustrophobic, punishing family which I grew up in and which one day in my mid 20’s I would discover was not my family – hence the sense of not belonging. Well, yes, nature for sure allowed me to be me: climbing my favourite oak tree, the seaside where I spent endless days jumping the waves, swimming, licking an ice cream cone all the while blissfully unaware of my mother sitting in a striped deckchair, knitting. But it was my dear brother who gave me love and it was really for him that we made this trip, as he had been frighteningly ill this winter and I had been longing to see him.
And see him I did - the two of us hugging and kissing and hugging some more and then looking into each other’s blue eyes and then hugging again. What a relief to see his spirit intact in spite of his still gaunt figure. His face, although still showing the ravages of the illness, still the face I’ve always loved. He’s always been my big brother. Even when I found out we weren’t actually blood-related he never stopped being my brother. And there’s my sister-in-law, his wife, stalwart and perhaps a little scared from a winter when death came a-knocking. And my dear darling niece who, like my brother, is true blood to me. And soon my nephew arrives, still the wag. A handsome man, in his 40’s, he introduces us to his lovely girlfriend. Yet you cannot hide your pain from me dear boy, joke as you might, I see you.
We pile off for lunch and fall into the habitual chatter that both comforts and distances. I feel myself pulled here and there and end up wondering if I am of any consequence while all the time feeling gratitude for this bunch of strays we call family. And I am ever grateful to Joel who brings his good heart and easy yet meaningful conversation to the table. Does he know that he’s our grounding wire?
After lunch we visit the museum where my niece works and are all impressed with the scope of her knowledge. And so it goes: Sunday tea at my brother’s house followed by dinner at a country pub. There will be no time on this visit to see my great-niece and great-nephew.
I had booked Joel and I into a luxury guesthouse for the night – our first night alone since leaving NY. And oh, how we needed to sink into the zinc tub, its enormity embracing us in its heat, the water easing the day from us. The guesthouse, situated in a lovely part of Bristol, is one we highly recommend and is called Thirty Eight.
In the morning my brother and niece join us, the 4 of us walking briefly on The Downs before the piercing icy wind sent us in search of cake and coffee. Which reminds me that I left ‘weather’ off the last post, the one element that belongs on both the pro and con lists. If it were to appear on the former it would be as a long summer evening, the day’s sun still spreading its warmth beneath a clear sky whose blueness will last till nearly 10 o’clock with only the faintest of breezes ruffling one’s feathers. Otherwise the weather can be found squarely in the con column: that raw, damp air that sets in these bones with a lonely ache. And it is here that the nation’s sense of economy can still be found, in a refusal to turn on the heat, while common sense dictates that an open window is good for the health – no matter the temperature.
Then comes the drive to the train station, which even as a write of it fills my eyes with tears. Certainly I am always sad to say goodbye to my niece, although she will visit us in NY next month. It is my brother from whom parting has always been a near unbearable wrench. For it is in our meetings and partings that we are able to most deeply connect. Our eyes truly fixed on each other, his hands holding mine, patting them, the last hug and then the eternal wave, always, it seems, on a station platform, the wave reaching higher, the energy of our bodies pushing the love out through the fingertips and then, a last glimpse, and we are gone.
