Taking a Walk Mum’s last walk in Norfolk

patrick barkham

The Walk is a lovely poem by Blake Morrison, in which the narrator ‘can’t remember what we talked about’ but won’t forget a last walk with a loved one. They don’t forget the place either, or its midges, thistles and cowpats as large as plates of Irish stew.

I don’t remember what Mum and I discussed on our last walk, but I remember every detail. Our weekly walks were in retreat. The six-mile coast walk we did last summer was not possible by autumn. The uneven slopes of Sheringham Park slipped from view by midwinter.

The cancer in Mum’s pelvis was gripping tighter, causing wincing pain. She was a contradictory mix of courage in the face of agony and an allconsuming focus on her health.

Her large filing cabinet became stuffed with a decade of documentation about her failing health; her fine mind bent, laser-like, on perceived imperfections in her treatment, her local surgery and the NHS.

It’s easy for me, the casually pain-free son, to suggest she would’ve benefited from looking outside herself. But she couldn’t. Until she took a walk.

Whenever I quietly mourned the Mum I used to know, I’d be surprised on our walks. Here, she shrugged off anguish and rekindled her former fascination with the beauty of the world and the doings of the seasons.

She’ll send me a thunderbolt for this comparison but it was almost as abrupt a transformation as when I used to carry my screaming children outside and a pigeon would woo-woo and suddenly they were calm. Walking made me a better person too, fortified with sympathy for Mum’s woes.

One sunny day in early February we took a short walk up Skelding Hill.

Norfolk is notorious for its flatness, but its north coast is studded with vertiginous little slopes – eskers, mostly, a gift from departing glaciers. Skelding Hill is half a hill now, its north flank washed into the sea, and it rises with a short, sharp shock west of the genteel Edwardian resort of Sheringham.

We parked by the boating lake, emptied for the winter, and Mum cruised off with customary determination, her grandchildren skipping like little ships in her choppy wake. To our right, the sea was gunmetal-grey. To our left, golfers braced against the wind.

By the time we reached the foot of the incline, Mum was struggling. She never usually complained about pain on a walk. Now she tottered and gasped. Lisa, my wife, took her arm and shot me a glance, implying, ‘This is mad – we need to take her home.’

Mum sat on a bench to recover.

‘This might be our last chance,’ I whispered. Like mother, like son: we share a compulsion to get things done.

I ran back to the car, drove to Mum’s, picked up the folding wheelchair she’d renounced and raced back. I found she had continued to ascend Skelding Hill, and had reached the next bench.

I assumed she would reject the chair but she clambered in and we continued, Mum now the recipient of my walk. When it got really steep, I enlisted my children’s help. The three formed a crocodile to push me, who pushed Mum. It made a funny image. And Mum criticised my wheelchair-driving less when the children lent a hand.

We reached the top, took more photos and exclaimed at the view stretching west past the towers of Blakeney Church to the pinewoods of Wells.

What did we discuss? Probably a bit of the state of the nation, the sea, geology, geography. For all I tried, Mum didn’t want to reflect on her life, or dying, or death.

We rolled down the hill, glowing with a sense of achievement. The next weekend, I took her in the wheelchair to admire the snowdrops at Walsingham Abbey. And the weekend after that, she died.

Take a walk with someone you love, while you can. You won’t remember what you talked about but you’ll remember the walk and you’ll remember it was worthwhile.

Skelding Hill is a little hill with a big view just west of Sheringham. An even better, wilder hill, with a bigger view, is Muckleburgh, three miles further west

Across

8 Runs in frantically shaping choice of words (8)

9 Female just after a fling ... (6)

10 ... gutted, but left us expectant at first (4)

11 Conservative, having lost seat and status (5)

12 Measure of beer (4)

13 Sort of apparel that makes people curse? (8)

16 Fake European art’s strangely unknown (6)

18 Couple caught out Bank of Scotland (4)

20 Victory is given to the Spanish singer (5)

21 Exposed duck enclosure (4)

22 Agent set task returning to collect witness (6)

23 Current device succeeded in dispersing rioters (8)

26 Raise game, exhausted (4)

28 Is 20 due for a change? (5)

30 Turner loses hotel, being in arrears (4)

31 Wacky Races must include parking accident (6)

32 Design of lace gave a degree of separation (8)

Genius crossword 427 el sereno

Down

1 The girl Olivier regularly used will be put off (6)

2 Just heard there’s something to eat (4)

3 Motorway traffic broadcast featuring second error (6)

4 Language skills taking a long time (4)

5 Unjustified when beginning to eulogise in praise (8)

6 Dodgy sort of bag with no opening (4)

7 Newly-developed attire eg, that’s worn on the head (8)

14 Take court action and defence’s case becomes material (5)

15 Mars explorer runs no more (5)

17 These may be worn as small gardening tools (5)

19 Economise, seeing ditch with soldiers in the vanguard (8)

20 Celebrated once informed verbally (8)

24 One’s employed by mostly strict worker in hospital (6)

25 Power cut may see resistance lost during scandal (6)

27 Drop rent (4)

29 A grip on immorality? (4)

30 Nothing may be raised during devolution (4)

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Moron crossword 427

1 An auld (anag) carriage

(6)

4 Hospital carer (5)

8 Immobilise (car) (5)

9 A desire (7)

10 What things vanish into?

(4,3)

11 Midge (4)

12 Flightless bird (3)

14 Yonks (4)

15 Filth (4)

18 Period

Moron 425 solution: Across: 7 Stanza, 8 Sighed (Stands

1

10

11

Genius 425 solution

One of the most venerable worldchampion bridge player players was Pietro Forquet of Naples, who died in January aged 97. Forquet was a mainstay of the Italian Blue Team of the 1960s and ’70s, renowned for his accurate cardplay and steely temperament. Watch this piece of Forquet magic from the European Championships in 1975.

Dealer West North-South Vulnerable