That schoolchild of days gone by is always with us

Friends are in our hearts, Whether near or far, They lift the darkness, Like a silver star. Friends are with us, In kind words or deeds, They blossom and flourish, From a tiny seed.

Lucy’s and Ian’s family used to have a traditional living room – a couch and two chairs, all facing the TV.

When I visited the other day, I saw the TV had been relegated to the back of the room. The centrepiece is now an ugly (sorry, Lucy and Ian), over-varnished, blocky in its construction, but big dining room table. And it’s busy!

There’s a chess board there, two jigsaws, several books, some wool and a painting that might be of their dog. There’s also a dog blanket beneath the table, which they bought for a few pounds from someone who was going to dump it.

“Our electricity bill has gone down since the TV has mostly been off,” Lucy told me.

“Our anxiety has decreased, the children’s attention spans are growing, and we’re a closer family. All because of a table. Oh, and we have dinner on it as well!”

There was nothing left for the ambulance crew to do. She’d had her time. The family and the undertakers would take over from there.

But I met the carer who had found her in distress and called the ambulance. She was locking up the house afterwards.

“I’ve cared for her for years,” she told me. “And we didn’t always get on. Still, you don’t ‘do’ for someone for that long without, in some way, getting attached to them. But it was just a job, and she wasn’t mine. That’s as far as I could go with her. Still...”

I was at a loss for words, so I simply asked: “What’s next?”

“I’ll sit in my car,” she said. “I’ll have a cigarette to calm me, and I’ll have a wee cry. Then... on to the next client.”

Caring, I thought, it’s a tough job. And who cares for the carers?

I thought Paul was getting nostalgic when he changed his social media picture. The new image was black and white, a close-up of him aged five.

He had a tousled short-back-and-sides haircut, innocent brown eyes, and lips that might have been a healthy red colour. The boy had an open and curious expression, like a child anticipating an adventure.

These days, Paul is different – 6ft, hefty, bald, with half a dozen grandchildren older than the boy in the picture.

Like I said, I thought he was being nostalgic. Then I read the caption he’d typed beneath the photo. It read: “Still here!”

It’s a special thing to be of retiral age and still be in touch with the newly-minted schoolchild you once were. Have a look. It might be more difficult for some. But, trust me (and Paul), you’re still there!

“It was just a ‘fender-bender’,” Scott, a police officer, told me. “One car hit another as they stopped and started in a queue.

“We had to attend. It should have been a formality, but the people involved escalated things to a ridiculous extent. It took a long time to get peace restored.”

But, all the while, Scott and his colleagues were being watched by someone completely uninterested in the fracas.

“A little boy was there with his grandad. He was wide-eyed at being so close to a police car and a police van.

“Before we left, we stopped to say hello – although he hid his eyes behind his hands. Then, as we left, we put on the flashing blue lights for him.

I heard him squeal and saw him jump. Then he waved.”

“When the grown-ups disillusion you,” Scott told me, “the children will always restore your faith in people!”