A Day Away

So it is almost the end of the year and I am sitting down and writing something. I just have not done very much for a long time. So back again? I have missed my bit of bleak and today I got it in spades.

Today I took a deep breath and went to the seaside. I had been promisinging myself a trip like this sine we came back from Germany in August, unfortunately events had conspired against me. Finally today I managed to get out. I drove from Walsall along the M54 and on toward Shrewsbury. After following the ring road I headed toward Welshpool, stopping off for a bacon sandwich at Dinkys Dinah in it village of Ford. Sited on one of the laybys at the Welsh end of the Village, they do a mean bacon and egg sandwich and I was set up for the day.

I drove on into Wales and headed first to Welshpool and then on towards Dolgellau. I realised that my car a small engined Ford Ka really was not as happy with climbing steep hills as I had hoped, but it got me there. From Dolgellau I followed the Mawddach estuary to Barmouth. I love driving along these roads, I have to think and even change gear occasionally as you go along. From Barmouth it was a short run up the coast to Llanbedr and the left turn that takes you to over the railway line and passed the RAF station to the end of the causeway leading to Shell Island. You can go and park by the camp site, but I like to park up and walk across the causeway.


I suppose I should mention the weather at this point. During the drive, showery, was probably an optimistic turn of phrase. However as I had come down into Dolgellau and beyond it had brightened and the cloud base had lifted.

So having parked, I walked up along the causeway towards Shell Island and the beach. The causeway runs through a salt marsh and on this occasion the tide as high as I had seen it and channels on both sides were full of water and in places took the short cut across the road rather than flow through the drainage below.

Having made it along the Causeway and through the closed campsite, I reached the beach and sea beyond.

So I think this just about sums up the view. The wind was roaring in off the sea, though it was not very cold. The breakers were great and if I had been a surfer I might have looked further.

I start to walk along the beach and quickly realised I was the only person I could see. It was a calming realisation there was only me.

There were a number a birds scattered around almost oblivious to my presence, as long as I stayed out ot their way they were far more interested in the sea and what it could bring than they were in me.

After another couple of mins and at least one heavy down pour courtesy of the wind. I came across one my favourite birds a sanderling, and once I got my eye in I saw more bombing up and down on the surf line. I am always impressed by the way they just seem to keep going no matter what.

As I walked on I realised that the last shower was still going on after what seemed like an age. so when does a "shower " turn into just rain. So I carried on walking, all wrapped up warm and dryish inside. I eventually decided to head back and get the other side of me as windswept.

On way back I did pass and very determined man with a ruck sack going along the beach, and in the distance I saw a couple and their dogs. On the whole this was about me and blowing out cobwebs and getting back in touch with my " bit of bleak". By the time I got back the car, I was begining to get cold and I knew there were parts of me that the outside coverings had not qite protected from th eelements. It was time to leave and go home. "until next time"?

To My Father, Antony Levesley 1941 - 2011

What follows should explain itself.

To My Father

So where to start about Antony Levesley, my father. I suppose where I first remember him reading me stories tucked up in bed. Telling me of lands far away, how Odysseus outwitted the monsters and came home. We lay and listened and usually interrupted.

As I sat down to write this and reflect on how I knew my father 2 things came to me. My father liked his patterns, his routines, especially if they involved beer wine and family. For as long as I remember he played chess every week with his brother Fran. I understand his bacon sandwich at the golf club was a major weekly landmark also.

On the other hand he could and often would decide to do something. Why, most of us who followed on behind never quite understood. Recently he decided that Sky did not offer the service he wanted so he switched to Virgin.

How many cameras did my Father go through, let alone the ones he misplaced. He did like his gadgets.

One Easter Sunday many years ago, as the children lay sprawled around after Sunday lunch, he decided that we would all go to Beacon Park and play golf. He dragged us complaining all the way to the first tee. I would like to report that he showed us all how good he was and was able to pass on to his children his golfing wisdom and skills. Well once we had all hit a ball once or twice it became apparent that he was as rubbish as we were.

There is a thing about my father, it did not matter how good or bad he was at something, he would have a go and enjoy doing it. He did not care if he got it right. He would do his best and enjoy it whatever it was.

He did many things did my father. His job took him all over the world and when he came back he would tell us of what he had seen and done. My father had many adventures, few to be honest involved life threatening moments or true heroism. They were funny and warm accounts of the places he had been and they almost always involved the almost missed flight, missed boat, missed train.

I came back to Walsall and married and settled down. My father was always there for me, even when I did not need him and occasionally when I did not want him, but he was there. He was involved.

He always had an opinion and usually a story to go with it. He was very proud of all his grandchildren and wanted to be a part of their lives.

My father was to be honest rubbish at some things. He found it very difficult to be wrong, once he had made up his mind, he had decided and that was that.

Secondly, he was rubbish about telling people that he was unwell or hurt. I suppose if you think of the Black Knight in Monty Python, that was my father.

When he told me he had cancer, on top of his heart condition. I was brave and he carried on. He still played golf, he still went to Columbia for Christmas.

He wanted to be normal, to carry on. I saw him more and more of him, well he did offer to buy some of the beer. I became part of his routine.

It was when he said, he could not go out that I was really worried. I went around to his house and we sat and talked.

Two nights later he went into hospital and this time he stayed.

I sat with him on the Tuesday night and we talked and told each other stories. I held his hand while he lay tucked up in bed.

He was asleep when I left.