I did a post earlier called ‘That Sadness I cannot name’.
I have had a bit of response to that.
People mentioned the reservoir and the woods, and of course my old haunt up by Corbiere.
Yes, beautiful and I loved the rocks behind the Highlands Hotel,
but even those places were rarely lonely, with tourists and other people around at all times of the year.
Thankfully no tourist ever climbed right out on the rocks with me! 🙂 (because you have to be like me to dare to go right out there).
I mentioned David Essex’s Video of ‘A winter’s tale’, which led to me looking it up this evening, which maybe wasn’t such a good idea, because that video makes me cry.
Because it reminds me of that cold winter in Jersey, a freezing cold St. Clements Bay, frozen still in my memory forever.
And it reminds me that for a while, in that heartbreak, a man who was like a brother to me was there alongside me, and the times we shared.
And fainter memory of the real heartbreak comes through then, the previous Christmas, the man who called himself ‘Daddy’ walking through St. Helier with me, holding my hand, and snatching his hand away every time he saw someone he knew, ‘in case they talked’.
I thought it was to be the best Christmas ever, but it was my last Christmas, in a land where it is always winter but never Christmas.
Dear Jersey, I don’t think they can reverse the building, but I pray that the government changes, so that money goes into education and welfare instead of into the wrong pockets.
I pray that the children of Jersey will see grass and trees and wild flowers and be able to treasure them rather than focus on material things, as all the children in Jersey who I met, did.
I am standing on the frozen shore of St. Clements, my eternal memory of Jersey, the one that came back to me in dreams when the Dean was suspended, even though I knew nothing until weeks later.