Monday 9th October 2017

No call from either Mother or Papworth on whether she was being transferred today, which meant another long drive to the other side of Cambridge after all.

So my plan to clean the house, what I have not done this far, and wash the net curtains would have to be done around traveling.

At least there is coffee in the mornings now, which means I soon perk up. Before the drive I have to go into town to see a family friend of mum’s heart attack. Stuart is a barber and has a shop in Love Road. He is pleased to see me, but is concerned by Mum’s illness of course.

That done I decide to go for a walk as I have been sitting in a car for the last four days, so a leg stretcher would be great. The other walk my Granddad used to take me on was a walk along what was called the salt side, the downstream side from Mutford Lock, past all the old ship and boat yards that used to line the river there. There should still be a path there. He used to let me choose which walk to take, either were good as both meant crossing railway lines, this one involved walking through a passageway under the Ipswich line, then over a footbridge when the path got near to Normanston Park. I know this means nothing to you, but there are the details. I parked at the park then walked along the bottom where the swings and slides used to be until the tennis courts were put in, there was also a fine old pavilion here, but that got knocked down too. And finally at the end of the 80s, the new spine road took out a part of the eastern side of the park. I used to run round here in preparation for joining the RAF, I soon switched to road running as it was more enjoyable, and I could measure out the distance easily.

Anyway, from the bottom of the park, there is a footpath that goes beside the railway line then up over the footbridge to the foreshore. As a child, I used to love standing here when a train went past, with just a find iron barred fence separating me from the trains, which seemed huge. The top of the footbridge is also arched, meaning that as a child I used to get disoriented walking over it, but not today. The other memory I have of the bridge is Dad sitting me on the parapet waiting for a train, I was so scared I screamed as I thought I was going to fall onto the tracks.

I wait here to see trains arrive from both Ipswich and Norwich. I soon hear the sound of the automatic barriers in Harbour Road meaning the turbostar from Ipswich was coming. The points were already set to enable it to enter the junction and cross onto the down line to Lowestoft. And soon after I could just hear the bell of the crossing the other side of Oulton Broad North, and the level crossing close.

Another turbostar pulled in, not the 37s I was hoping for. I have heard them all over the weekend, every few hours. I take shots anyway, and then walk down the other side to the side of Lake Lothing.

Even as a child, the boatyards that used to line the waterside had mostly closed, and all that remained were the slipways, and to my child’s eyes, looking like railway lines leading to the bottom of the lake. Some are there now, some still working boatyards; bespoke yards specialising in reparing wooden boats in a traditional way. But where there were no restrictions on where a walker could wander, strong metal fences no line much of path, and where I sued to go and see the wooden skeletons of old wooden boats, not there is no chance of seeing them, even if they were there.

I reach the foot tunnel under the Ipswich line, where I used to run and scream enjoying the echoes, all is now just covered in spray paint. It feels very sad now compared when it was just rotting, now it is that, barricaded and vandalised.

I walk back to the car the way I had come, then drove to Tesco to get lunch before setting off for another trip to Papworth.

No churches visited today, just there and back, bearing the traffic on the A14, seeing Mum for 45 minutes, and then on the way out taken aside by her physio to quiz me on some of the answers Mum had given. Mum getting home might be some time away as she cannot pull herself up, from the toilet especially, as this would rip open her stitches. So, either the seat is raised of the toilet put on a pedestal.

Back to the car to get onto the main road as quick as possible so to get through Cambridge before the rush hour starts then onto the 143 and the hour and a quarter run home through the mist and drizzle of an autumnal afternoon.

I get home at six, just time for a shower before my old friend, Dougie, is due to call to take me out for dinner. Curry.

Dougie comes and collects me at twenty past seven, but we’re not going to Wallers, instead a new restaurant has opened up in the buildings on Oulton Broad North station. We have a table booked, and as usual with a curry house, they have house specialities; I end up having king prawns with ginger, garlic and other spices. It is good, and talking to Dougie is great, catching up on years of news and discussing the finer points of either having children or not having them.

And that is that, we eat up, he pays and drops me off at Mum’s. Evening done. I catch up on the evening’s football, with Wales beaten by Ireland. So it goes, so it goes.

And so to bed.