More thoughts from my commenting, and other journeys into the past, that I might otherwise not share.
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When I was ill in hospital and had been told that a lot of my brain will never work again. and I will never drive again and I knew I was to be poor and doing a crappy job, naturally I cried, until I heard that the young man I had been chatting to in the next bed, a man with a lovely wife and two bright small children, had passed away whilst I was asleep. Then I began to remember the others, the dead children in Bosnia for example, and I thought to myself, why am I more worthy of life and happiness than others who had died younger than I?
You don’t have to believe in daft gods to believe in the wonderfulness of life.
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Ever wondered why old people are so bad-tempered and impatient? I used to until I got old, now I realise it’s the pain. People do not say they are in pain, but that does not mean that they are not, pain is every bone and muscle screaming out in agony.
I never used to be thus, I have climbed mountains, run in the London Marathon (no proof now, bastard son sold my medal for a fix), and chased after a thief for twelve miles across moorland and caught him. Now I can’t get up stairs without fighting for life!
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I used to play rugby too, not today’s game where even the crappest of park games are full of rules, but for fun. That did not stop me getting sent off two weeks in succession. Working for a rival paper, I rarely read the local Matlock Mercury, so was amazed when I stepped into the pub on Matlock Green and everyone started calling me “Eddie”!
“You work for a newspaper and don’t read them?”
I blinked “That is why I don’t read them, reminds me of work, why?”
Why? was because the Mercury had on the front page “Elbow Eddie sent off again!”
“Eddie?”
A mate said, “They knew you worked for the Chesterfield paper but not your name, so I said it was Eddie Smith!”
Rugby was a fun sport, I was watching Chesterfield playing Mansfield once in a park that had electric pylons stretched across the pitch! I played cricket there once and whilst fielding, crashed into a pylon, I must have been one of the only fielders in history to go on record as retired by hitting an electric pylon!
Anyway, I degress, in this rugby match one of Chesterfield’s lot (they were losing heavily) kicked the ball to go over the wires when poof! the ball burst, thus ending the game and blacking out the whole of Chesterfield. Still, it was a story for me!
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The man who had founded our rugby club in the 1920′s died suddenly and left a lot of money to improve our club. We built an extension to the bar. An author and friend, wrote a book called “The Art Of Course Rugby” (a link). inspired by teams like us, teams that played sport for the beer and not for the love of the game.
Twoberry: Would Tiger Woods walk onto the links carrying a pint of beer in his hand like we carried pints onto the pitch?
One old dour Yorkshire was leaning against the rugby goal post smoking when a referee asked if he was in the game. “Nah,” he said “But my sister is, ten bob for a shag!”
The best fun of all was when Buxton rang us up saying they can’t get a ref, so we brought one with us only to find they did have one. Ever played a game with two referees on the field? Sure enough they started fighting…
As I said, they don’t play rugby like this today!
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Mondays was always my day off, and as my ex was busy making pottery most of the time, I used to take the kids out to the seaside, they always wanted to go to Blackpool for it’s trams and candy floss, it’s amusement arcades and it’s donkeys. I do have amusing tales to tell about it, but maybe another time, I need to rest awhile, and when I come back to this I’ll be thinking of something else!
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I won’t write much about being a war correspondent, it was the first and last time for me. I prefered to put my memories of that into my poetry. eg:
More Noise Than The Rain.
He returned alone,
And in rags
Shut himself in his hut
And spoke to no one
On that cold wet day.
Whom of us dared to ask him
Where his wife is now?
We approached his hut slowly,
To hear him crying
And making more noise
Than the rain.
—
Ingar Gørse
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This was based on a true event in Bosnia. And wrote there. Nothing I can ever write can be worth the suffering. Nevertheless, I am a writer, and I need to remind people how in any war, the innocent suffer more than most.
Every now and then I discover a new Xanga blogger that is brilliant! Thyme_N_Again is one, she is writing about a dragon. pure genius!
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More another day, that’s enough for you to read, the 20 or so of you. My audience may have shrunk in number but I am sure it’s a lot cleverer!
NEXT CLOWNE BLOG WILL HAVE PICTURES, I PROMISE!
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The Clown From Clowne
The next Three_Headed_Sarahs page will be about their GRANT farewell party on the 24th of April. (Free pressies!)
Comments (38)
Thoughtful, interesting and amusing
The way you speak of your rugby experiences remonds me of the days when baseball was young, and of the escapades that would happen back then!
I agree with you about the crankiness of older people due to pain! I’ve thought that myself.
Incredible post.
You were right bout grumpy old people ,a lot of them aren’t, they are the lucky ones without pain. If you lost some brain power, it does not show, even if physically you are not as strong. Do yopu realise i always try and give you your confidence back ,you denigrate (wonder iof that is the right word) yourself . You are clever ,revel in it. I love Rubby Union not so keen on league ,all that throwing it through the legs .I have gone off Soccer since watching Rugby ,but cricket is my favourite, funny because when i saw my first game I thought how boring now I love it. Cheers marj
Awww, LP you are the best.
I loved the story of how it was for you back then. I know you were amazing, no doubt about that.
Being old and cranky is exhausting. Younger people need to help older people, to assist them and care for them. We are all Gods children.
This last piece, the poem by Ingar is wonderful. You have a way of getting inside and truely feeling.
You asked if winter is over. Technically, it is, but the ground is still covered with snow — dirty, slushy, nasty snow that will not be entirely gone for a month or more.
About old people and pain, I think you’re right that it accounts for a lot of peevishness and short tempers, and not just in the aged. Too bad that more people don’t understand that suffering is optional.
Maybe I’m grouchy in anticipation of the pain of getting old. Yeah, that must be it. . .
Have a great week!
They say experience is the best teacher, but naivetee has all the fun. They also say that time heals all, but, also, it is responsible for cursed entropy. I never had as much enjoyment from organized football or basketball (which is what I played in school… baseball was an option, but I found it too slow and boring) as I did from the friendly neighborhood match-ups. The whole idea of “professional sports” has become repugnant to me. Being paid to play would make it into work. How is that fun? Competition is healthy but it shouldn’t make you wealthy. That’s what business is for. Great post!
I’m old enough to feel pain, but not yet grumpy. At least I don’t think I am. Lotsa yard work today. A little pain to show for it, too.
One of the few things good about being home from vacation is being able to read all your blogs again. Enjoy reading them so much.
The bit about the guy in the next bed dying while you were in hospital is so very true. So often I wonder “why me”?—-whether it be good things or bad that happen.
Your poem is touching. Strange, how so few words can convey so much emotion. You’ve a talent, indeed.
thank you for sharing the thoughts with us. reading you brightens my day. i wish many people would appreciate life the way you do, as it is well known that we may only live once. oh and its cool that you managed to catch a thief with your barehands once. ah.
regarding Lord Pineapple’s comment on my site:
the words “birds wings” came from a poem of a friend. that entry is a reply to his poem and those words “birds wings” came from him. im sure he has his reasons now.
thank you so much again for the comment left.
you help me realize the bits of the tiniest.
I must be careful to not talk too much of my younger days. No one believes most of it anyway. Maybe I should talk more of it. I enjoyed your comments.
Some days, it’s all I can do to get dressed and sit in this chair, cracking wise.
RYC: Thanks for keeping your remarks in English. The only members of my family who speak Romanian are either dead or still in Romania.
More Noise Than The Rain.
He returned alone,
And in rags
Shut himself in his hut
And spoke to no one
On that cold wet day.
Whom of us dared to ask him
Where his wife is now?
We approached his hut slowly,
To hear him crying
And making more noise
Than the rain.
i really enjoyed this poem.
I do not need help writing, and I am really busy, but I sure do enjoy reading your bloggs. I wrote a lot of my younger days, but now I need to make time to write of my current days.
click the link under “the art of broken lead.”
the link should read: “open the pages of my mind’s eye.”
i’m really interested in reading your poetry. do you use a lot of aliases under the poems you write?
RYC: Yes, I think many Americans are fascinated by British Royalty–it’s a whole branch of celebrity we don’t have here. And you’re right, my little friend’s name isn’t Peanut. It’s Lauren, which is much lovelier. Peanut suits her, though!
WOW it is an honor for me to get such a great comment from a poet and writer like you. I’ve read some of your posts and now sitting here, wordless.
I will be back and comment on individual post.
Thanks
The Signature Of A True Human Is The Smile He/She Brings On The Face Of Others.
LonelyPoet.
Lots of wisdom here, thank you so much for sharing that.
It made me smile….and think, too. I appreciate this post very much.
Hugs.
While I’ve never met Tiger, I have to think that (a) he’s a teetotaler, and (b) even if he imbibed on occasion, Tiger + beer + links would never never happen. He’s all business on the golf course. I try to be just as all-business (and boring as hell) at Scrabble tournaments.
It does not matter what we are climbing and what is testing our spirit by putting physical challenges before us.For one it is a mountain for the other it can be one step.Who is to say which one of the climbers has achieved more?The one that is able bodied and trained or the one that puts his spirit and heart into one step?Keep climbing those other steps.
I don’t always comment, but I do read. I am in awe of your many talents.
I’m not a God believer, in the Christian/Judeo sense, but I think there is a plan…even if it’s the Universe’s self-perpetuation, of which we are all a part. (I go futher with this theory to say that when we work in harmony with it, things go our way…and I know you can figure out the reverse. *smile*)
I believe our personalities survive death. (I have a hard time discrediting too many people who had experiences with loved ones who’ve passed on, self included.) It’s not hard for me to imagine the energy that is our “soul” either going back to the Grand Source…or being recycled. If that’s the case, I can also imagine that we know some things before this lifetime…when we’ll be born, who we’ll meet in our lifetimes for teaching/learning and how and when we’ll die. I think we have goals, too. I know it sounds sorta Fated, but I think we have the choice whether or not we meet those goals (which is why we often have to experience the same stupid things…until we get them). If you are still following all this, then maybe you can see that there is no right or wrong to death…and the” why me?” is answered by the fact that you haven’t fulfilled your contract…whatever it was.
I could be completely daft, but I have a much easier time believing this than, well, virgin births and such.
Besides, it comes now to what you are sharing with us…what we are learning from you. I know I don’t have ownership of some lofty opinion, but I don’t think I’d be wrong calling you true genius…and not to be flattering. (And being a genius doesn’t mean you get off the hook in all the other life areas…unfortunately…or I’d be pushing to better than “above average.” lol)
I know I haven’t been commenting much…You do leave me so much to read! But I enjoy it all Terry…and am always appreciative no matter who of you comments back to me.
(Tell the Sarahs I’m looking forward to the party…and free sex and money! But, um…the free sex does have me a little concerned…like…with whom??)
Peace and Love…GFW
PS…Your word is all I need to believe whatever you wish to tell me…medals or no medals.
True confession a bit sad Terry .
But you are not old !!!!
I think at every stage of life there are other things we didn’ t make before . Some activities disappear but others appear . There is a kind of balance to find at every age .
And like you said death don’ t know age . It ‘ s sure that statistically more you are old more you have chance to die !!! But at 56 !!!!
Don’ t worry my friend . I like your style . and the poem above expresses well your own feelings . It ‘ s a gift to be able to express himself with a so talented way .
In friendship
Michel
Very……… moving entry (sorry couldnt think of anything that could give your entry justice). however justice seem to mostly suck nowadays when youre past being a kid watching superhero cartoons.
M.A.
Terry i am so looking forward to your visit…
Now lets scrape up the cash and get you ass over here…
my son starts college in the fall and I have no idea how I am going to afford that, but i have been saving every penny and have about 400 $ to help the cause Liz is doing all she can and more …I cant believe its so damn expensive….
I was hoping you loyal readers would help ….a small contribution from them would go a long way…
Perhaps we can put you in a fedex box and air mail you over!
i so agree with bodiddly
you appreciate life so much more than i ever have
i take so much for granted, and i sit on my bottom every day when i coud be learning new things and i still waste so many opportunities
ive been talking about starting my band and playing my bass guitar for quite awhile now, yet i never take the initiative to call the people and arrange practices and arrange all that
you are quite and inspiring fellow
i hope someday to be able to write about my adventures, and more to actually have those adventures
i wish to see my hands weather-worn and beaten and scarred for all they have done
i wish my feet to be strong and ache at the end of the day for everywhere they have carried me
i wish my throat to be tired from telling people of life, and of teaching people
i wish to have memories that will last me forever, and to have so many that my stories to my children and grandchildren are endless
i wish to have seen so many wonders, and so many different, exciting, frightening, and beautiful things i cant even describe
and my ears to have heard so many different, wondrous things
but lo, i live in such a different time, where adventures mean nothing, and the meaning of love has faded so quickly
if only to live in a time where i could adventure, and it would really mean something, and not just bragging rights to make people feel as if they have done nothing at all in their life
i am now going to live
with reading just two of your posts, you have encouraged me to be unafraid of the outside world, and to live as ive never lived
you are truly an amazing person.
thank you. may God bless you, and keep you healthy and safe
have a most lovely day
-jula-
Lovely, sad poem. I am glad you share your life with us!
Dear Terry,
I have been a “fan” of yours since I found your Homestead site through your “Lord Pineapple” blog and marvelled at your writing prowess, your “characters” and your history. At this stage in your life, these rather personal entries are the best I have seen from you. For those who can’t (or won’t) read between the lines, you are now “laying it on the line” and these entries are fantastic.
Hang in there, keep writing. You are the living exemplar of English Literature as far as I’m concerned.
Michael F. Nyiri, poet, philosopher, fool
Wild intelligence abhors any narrow world; and the world of women must stay narrow, or the woman is an outlaw. No woman could be Nietzsche or Rimbaud without ending up in a whorehouse or lobotomized.
Andrea Dworkin lord u always educate me & i am grateful to you for that the poem u posted could be about manys life mine included & i did not go to formal war thanx magi
That is a cornucopia of stuff going on here. Though, I have to say I never realized the whole issue of pain and aging. Granted one assumes such things … yet the extent of it is not know by most.
I’m not sure I know what’s worse. The daft gods or the people who create them.
ryc: Thank you so much {{{{{{{{{{Terry}}}}}}}}}}}}} you are a blessing
Bosnia. Those war-correspondents must be either extremely brave or stark-raving nuts. That’s how I’ve always thought about them. I guess its hard to conceive of your own body’s break-down especially when you’re young and you can use it for so many amazing physical feats. Keep it copasetic. Peace.
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