Mr R., did I ever know him? 25 4 28
Yeah, just now in my wife's bathroom putting my grey hair in order which meant wetting it through to dry out before my first daily walk out and swim on my way round the town when I could also do some shopping on the other side of the railway tracks: reflecting on how he looked 2008 8 1, the last time I saw him, with his then white hair and white beard, a man of 79, six years my junior as of this day!
This, not the first blog I have devoted to this man who entered my life, insinuated himself into it, clearly knowing I should be easy prey. But then he was a mature man of 26 years compared to my 15 years always, at least for the next 46 years destined to be 10 1/2 years my senior, maybe now no longer figuring among the living?
And when we last met already atrifying since his meagre demeanour, his rear garden over-grown, nothing at all to suggest any progress in his situation during the 5 years of absence, since we had last met, in 2003 shortly after my heart attack of 2002 4 6, and subsequent bypass surgery.
Then he would still be grieving the loss of his partner Dorothy who died in 1998, 13 years his junior who had the audacity to predecease him and the person whom he had almost had to marry in order to get his hands on her fortune, but when she made him almost the sole beneficiary of her not inconsidereable financial legacy of the house they lived in. The house he had had the opportunity of part-buying some years before but when indecision typically had got the better of him. That she had bequeathed the sum of £1000 to each of our two boys was typical of Dorothy's generocity: that he failed to return the investmnt shares Alan, Dorothy's brother had given his sister to ensure she was comfortably off, typical of his meanness, since his need was greater than Alan's the rightful owner.
In my last letter to him following our meeting in the summer of 2003, which remained unanswered in the intervening 5 years, was an invitation I made him to jump on a bus from Wokingham to Heathrowe Airport, fly to Helsinki Airport, where I would await his arrival in my car to collect him for a week's sailing holiday in my yacht, Misti, when with my nephew, Thomas, as crewe he wouldn't need to do anything except enjoy Finland's beautiful archipelago.
That he must have thought I was engaged in the process of "keeping him warm" as the most obvious person to inherit him, once he lost his clogs, has since occured to me as the only logical explanation to explain his unusual behaviour: he couldn't possibly equate it as anything other than simple friendliness because I have come to understand such a concept was unknown for him, never ever doing anyone any favours without a pay-off. Like when on the Clarion Club Run when he invited me to his home in Winifred Street, Ramsbottom, that very first time to buy the second pair of crocheted knee-length cycling socks he had ordered by mail, unsure which of the different sizes fitted him best: me the one unwitting he chose on that occasion to off-load the second pair, rather than returning by post back to the suppliers, and asking me at the same time to return some Tubular tyres to the manufacturers as being defective for whatever trivial reason, since he had ceased to be a credible returner of unsatisfactory goods, a long time before.
In those intervening years that he left my invitation wanting a reply fitted in with his penchant for his family's habit of bearing grudges, a practice they always delighted in relating to others not so closely affected. But it was my mother who always objected to me about his habit of keeping our night-time conversations continuing long after bed-time, when it was only I who had to wake up early to go to my work the next day: proclaiming he was "no good".
When she died during those intervening 5 years in-between our last two meetings, when he had pointedly remained in contact with both my brother and my sister, I made clear my view was that she would not wish for him to be a mourner at her funeral. His £50 cheque from his considerable fortune inheriting Dorothy, sent to my sister was forwarded forthwith to one of her charities, maybe the Bury Hospice for the Aged, or whatever?
Who can tell his real reason a person one never really knew all those years!
Pic of the last classic rock climb we did together: as I arrive to summit my partner in blue sitting...
This, not the first blog I have devoted to this man who entered my life, insinuated himself into it, clearly knowing I should be easy prey. But then he was a mature man of 26 years compared to my 15 years always, at least for the next 46 years destined to be 10 1/2 years my senior, maybe now no longer figuring among the living?
And when we last met already atrifying since his meagre demeanour, his rear garden over-grown, nothing at all to suggest any progress in his situation during the 5 years of absence, since we had last met, in 2003 shortly after my heart attack of 2002 4 6, and subsequent bypass surgery.
Then he would still be grieving the loss of his partner Dorothy who died in 1998, 13 years his junior who had the audacity to predecease him and the person whom he had almost had to marry in order to get his hands on her fortune, but when she made him almost the sole beneficiary of her not inconsidereable financial legacy of the house they lived in. The house he had had the opportunity of part-buying some years before but when indecision typically had got the better of him. That she had bequeathed the sum of £1000 to each of our two boys was typical of Dorothy's generocity: that he failed to return the investmnt shares Alan, Dorothy's brother had given his sister to ensure she was comfortably off, typical of his meanness, since his need was greater than Alan's the rightful owner.
In my last letter to him following our meeting in the summer of 2003, which remained unanswered in the intervening 5 years, was an invitation I made him to jump on a bus from Wokingham to Heathrowe Airport, fly to Helsinki Airport, where I would await his arrival in my car to collect him for a week's sailing holiday in my yacht, Misti, when with my nephew, Thomas, as crewe he wouldn't need to do anything except enjoy Finland's beautiful archipelago.
That he must have thought I was engaged in the process of "keeping him warm" as the most obvious person to inherit him, once he lost his clogs, has since occured to me as the only logical explanation to explain his unusual behaviour: he couldn't possibly equate it as anything other than simple friendliness because I have come to understand such a concept was unknown for him, never ever doing anyone any favours without a pay-off. Like when on the Clarion Club Run when he invited me to his home in Winifred Street, Ramsbottom, that very first time to buy the second pair of crocheted knee-length cycling socks he had ordered by mail, unsure which of the different sizes fitted him best: me the one unwitting he chose on that occasion to off-load the second pair, rather than returning by post back to the suppliers, and asking me at the same time to return some Tubular tyres to the manufacturers as being defective for whatever trivial reason, since he had ceased to be a credible returner of unsatisfactory goods, a long time before.
In those intervening years that he left my invitation wanting a reply fitted in with his penchant for his family's habit of bearing grudges, a practice they always delighted in relating to others not so closely affected. But it was my mother who always objected to me about his habit of keeping our night-time conversations continuing long after bed-time, when it was only I who had to wake up early to go to my work the next day: proclaiming he was "no good".
When she died during those intervening 5 years in-between our last two meetings, when he had pointedly remained in contact with both my brother and my sister, I made clear my view was that she would not wish for him to be a mourner at her funeral. His £50 cheque from his considerable fortune inheriting Dorothy, sent to my sister was forwarded forthwith to one of her charities, maybe the Bury Hospice for the Aged, or whatever?
Who can tell his real reason a person one never really knew all those years!
Pic of the last classic rock climb we did together: as I arrive to summit my partner in blue sitting...
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