She was Beautiful Once...

Today was a bank holiday, true to form the weather turned from the beautiful warm day of yesterday into high winds with the rain simply hacking down. I have been tired today, my head enduring the dull ache that nags and drains you. I usually dont mind the rain and am happy to kit up and enjoy my walking but today I was just not motivated.

By mid afternoon the rain had eased and I took the chance to don boots and jacket and venture out for a little fresh air to see if it lifted the lingering lethargy and the remnants of my sore head. I knew that a lot of the pleasure boats were now on their moorings and decided a quick run to the river may cure my Blipping Blues for the day... so it was to prove.

Today's shot is unremarkable, but maybe today the journal is more important than the shot; two old boats both having seen better days, both beyond redemption and remediation to their glory days, a sad sight.

As I was shooting I was aware of an old man coming ever slowly towards me; he shuffled, walking with he aid of a stick not a prop but a staff that gave him balance and confidence. He had a face that had lived every day of his elderly years; lined, stubbled, but eyes with a sadness in them. He called out to me, he needn't have, I was not leaving, it took him a couple of minutes at his slow shambling pace to reach me. He asked how I was doing and what I was up to, saying I'm Harry by the way. I explained about Blip and about documenting my journey for a year. Harry had one of those faces that to shoot him in monochrome would have been a great portrait especially against the anger of the sky but he politely declined saying Nae bugger would want to see me! Harry sighed and hung his stick on the balustrade that separated us from the mighty Clyde and he lent forward elbows resting on the top rail looking at the boat in the foreground of today's shot.

She was beautiful once... and once she belonged to me!

He had a far off look in his eyes as if transported to a different time, a time when he was the captain of his ship and the Clyde estuary his oyster, he spoke of cruising to Millport, Kilcreggan, Dunoon, Rothsay, Ayr, Brodick, Campbletown as well as just pootering about the bay!! He spoke of putting in and going to the dancing , he spoke of the paddle steamers that used to ply the river taking city folk Doon the Water

He spoke with a love for this boat, his face dancing with the memories and then I realised why, Harry asked, can you see what she's called now son? I said that I couldn't see a name on her, he looked at me sadly and said she was named for my wife once, she's gone now, he added that he too would soon be gone, he wasn't well, but while he was still able he liked to come to the river and be still for a little while; the sadness returned to his eyes, and he unhooked his stick and said that he would just be moving on now if I didn't mind. Maybe I am like Harry, the river calls me as many of you know; a place of memories and solace for me too but I hope that, unlike Harry, this remains for me for many many more years.

It struck me as I watched Harry return the way he came, that with his wife gone he may have nobody in his life, maybe I was the only person he would actually talk to today and that made me a little sad but in those few minutes we spoke he seemed alive, at one with his memories , he talked of his boat but I am sure in his mind eye he saw his wife as the young woman she was back when they went cruising and dancing and full of life.

Memories, both good and not so good, help define the people we are, so as I write this I think fondly of Harry, I will probably never see him again but as I look at this shot or walk by those moorings I will always have a memory of that gentle old man