Glimpse

Just before four of us left for the station, there was a certificate presentation on the back of the boat. John allocates marks for boat-driving skills, navigation, driving into locks and lock management but doesn't miss out such crucial aspects of living together for a fortnight in a small space as 'consideration for others'. One of our 18-year-olds lost a mark as he hadn't offered to made tea all fortnight. Our nine-year-old lost a mark for his constant importuning of the 18-year-old who has become his adored role model.

Despite that, they've been a really fun, lively, considerate group to spend time with and I was already missing them on my bewilderingly fast train south. The RL Stevenson poem that the French student read for our performance kept running through my head.

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And here is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart runaway in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill, and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone forever! 

And so to home.

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