Worzel here, Though at home most anywhere without beets, Godfrey loved the faded, little towns best. “I like to just sit”, he wrote. In ratty kilt, battered suitcase at his side, with the faded pink negligee’ plugging a tear, Godfrey enjoyed tea and pastries , wrote letters or journal, watched and listened as the whirled passed by..”.Daw yr haul i Bryn”, he muttered in Welsh if he felt I was rushing the given day….
I recalled this wisdom, translated for me with a rather wet “Feh” by Alice, his eccentric sister. “Comes The sun to The Hill”…like waiting for the tide, or Slibber Sauce to gel, or your birthday, especially if you fib like me, and enjoy it three times a year. eventually it will cease raining, said Alice- relax and wait.
Today I climbed a hillock, not a mountain or a tor or crag, but climb I did up to the peak. And there I rested elder-knee, looked out across the vast sprawl of what once was farms, now city.
Comes the sun to the hill, to the little towns Godfrey made home in his travels. Like Ceylon in Saskatchewan where we two met, sun comes to the coulees of Ceylon town, where the kids play outside all year round. Hear the crack of ball bat summer evening sweet, scrape of hockey stick on the frozen street. The young will leave home but the town carry on, wish we all could know a little place like Ceylon.
Cowdown- nestled deep in a vale, we welcomed the warmth of the sun to the hill as we hitched a ride. So cold the carrot in my pocket froze solid, snow blew oer the valley hiding a castle on the far river side.
I recall little of the lift that finally left us in Cowdown, only the chip shop, in the wee town. Hot slabs of good fish and chips, malt vinegar, no plates to be had, just spread out on newspaper. Come the sun to the hills of Wiltshire so old, come the sun to Cowdown on days so cold, that the carrot in my pocket froze…a journey legendary, early days on the road for The vagabond Godfrey.
Comes the sun to the hills that cradle the mighty Buller. Steeped in mist, untamed in her splendor, one of Godfrey’s favorite places, is Inangahua, on a bend in the river.
One shop and fuel pump, pub and hotel, roadside forge, imagine riding on a coach, long ago down the Buller Gorge. Sun comes to the hills, stopped and rested a spell at the ruins of a “Pub with No Beer”, all that remains of “Lyell”. Wrote Godfrey, “I felt peace there, no ghosties feared I”, as the sun was gone, and stars bright over the Buller, feared only the swarms of the nasty biting sand fly…
I thought of how I missed Godfreys’ stories- of late summer afternoon, the sun bleached, peeling murals, hum and rumble of the highway, a place discovered in his youth called “Nar Nar Goon”- East of Melbourne can be found, this mural town.
In conditioned reflex the barman wields his rag, laconic story teller of a tiger snake he shot, behind the pan in the lady’s loo. On the pub walls, photos hang of rugby teams and race horses. In Nar Nar Goon, indeed the sun comes to the hill, seek out a shady spot to rest, rest as dos the gray Kangaroo….
Oh little town of” Ethelbert-“fond in my memory, clinging to the northern edge, of the Canadian prairie….gossip in the hotel bar tonight, laughter in the diner and take away counter of the “Chicken Delight”.
Comes the sun to the low hills, welcomes spring, old billboard on the one road in” 1971 Ethelbert Homecoming”. You may be told the story from one who was there, of chaos and coins, rolling everywhere. In the laundry-mat, Janice Krame put boots to the soap and bleach machine.
“Did the cops come all the way out from Grandview”? was there five police, or just the Ethelbert town two”?. Janice went on with her laundry, – save the soap and bleach dispenser, no one was hurt and The cops did not arrest her, talk turns to crops, and till the the sun will come to the hill… life will carry on in Ethelbert.
Home now, rested and warm- I sit at my window in turquoise chair, looking out at what Godfrey discovered long ago, my “Wall of Illusion”. When the trees are in full foliage, the wall is a wall of endless amusement. Today for example, a chap in a suit, carrying a bouquet of roses and purple wrapped box of chocolates from the posh store hurried down the wall. The illusion worked, he disappeared and a street person pushing his cart emerged, Godfrey would have loved it…