Bunty

We met outside the pub and walked through the churchyard where many of her ancestors are buried.  Her 95 year old father was the village blacksmith and installed the weathervane on top of the tower many years ago.  He had recently paid for it to be cleaned and it sparkled in the sunshine 

We headed towards the river.  Down a path we'd travelled many, many times as children and teens.  Our conversation was wide and varied. We marvelled again about how strange it was to feel so at ease in each others company after so many years.

We returned to the pub and had lunch.  We looked for our names, carved in the butchers  block that served as a table when we had sat drinking in the bar decade's ago.  

One of the memories Deb shared was of our first girl guide camp where we slept, head to head in a shelter we constructed from twigs.  I have no reccollection of this at all although after some effort I did manage to find the name of our guide leader Bunty from the depths of my brain.

We walked around the village trying to recall names of people who lived in various houses along the way. 

I had a coaching conversation scheduled in the evening and we'd all made good progress since last time.