The Green Man

Today was a good day. Many, many people came to St Luke's Church, at the Royal Hospital Haslar to say goodbye to Steve Sharpe. His family, friends, field-gunners, Commandos, Medical Branch staff and combinations of all those were there. There are few people who were as friendly or as generous, and this was reflected in his wife's tribute.

In a way, it was a good day for Steve.. The demons - let's not mess around - the PTSD that had been affecting him as a result of the action on RFA Sir Galahad in 1982, and later an incident in Norway, and had caused him to take his own life, can never affect him again.. In that way it's good and we can now associate Steve with the Green Man - not the green of the Commandos, but a symbol of rebirth, and believe he's happily bimbling around some wood or forest. But without a 'house' on his back and a PRR.

This was the closing poem - a favourite of his mum-in-law:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft star-shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

Moving on.....

Some Sunday Afternoon Thoughts

It's strange how the mind works. In this past week, I've finally sorted out my business accounts (with the help of a Quickbooks expert), I've attended one interview, have one booked and hope to get a third. And since all that has come to pass, I feel a little more relaxed, a little less anxious. Weekends are always easier but this is a much stronger feeling.  What a pleasant and novel sensation.

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I attended my interview as an London 2012 Olympics Games Maker yesterday afternoon - a volunteer helper in everyman language. My brief and easy interview was undertaken by a lesbian ex-Israeli army sergeant tank instructor who works for McDonalds. Who'd have thought?

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A friend ended their life this week. Whilst it became necessary for them to separate from their partner because of the effects of their troubling condition, their love for each other was, never  has been, in doubt. My friendship developed over a few short weeks, and was curtailed by 2 distinctly separate careers. We met a couple of times over the following 25 years and that friendship seemed to persist. I met the partner but once having tried to help at a troubling time. Since the suicide I see their posts on social media and I wish I could help more.
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I'm edging back into my running again, and it's almost enjoyable! (I have a place in the 2012 Virgin London Marathon). I seem to have got into a habit of running in the dark in the early evening. It seems to make the run shorter but sooner or later, as I up the miles, and as the days get longer, I'm going to have to venture, blinkingly, into the daylight. It just means a change of a barely formed habit. All do-able.
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Friendship's an odd thing. You can meet someone for a short period and then go your separate ways for many years and yet be permanent friends. Other friends come along and the friendship endures over many good years, and you see them intermittently but enjoy the time you spend with them, and wish those opportunities were more frequent. But then there are those people with whom one strikes up a friendship, who are likeable and whose company one enjoys and then you find out they're not quite who they say they are. It's clear it's a pathological thing that makes them fabricate but does that make them any less likeable? Time spent is enjoyable and a break from the routine and provided they don't perpetuate the stories they've spun, it seems churlish to cut the tie, even though one has been misled.

Stephen

CHILLY!!
He’d shout, when we’d meet
(And that wasn’t often)
There was such a grin on his face
And a welcome in his paw

We first met in that cold, grim place
And worked so hard to match the pace
Then. at night,  the bus to Plympton
To eat egg and chips and dhobi our denims

Later, he’d succeed and I would fail
And, after 30 miles, I'd smile from the back
As he donned the green felt
And stumbled away to faint

I saw him once (at the ferry).
We chatted, we parted.
I saw his note
And we chatted a lot more
Later, I saw him.
(I took Starbucks muffins)
We hugged as old friends do.

CHILLY!!
He yelled when we met
(And that was in Plymouth)
There was such a grin on his face
And, obviously, a pint in his paw.

Much later, came the message, the call.