Remembering Dave Marris whilst visiting York ...

The park and drive bus dropped us off near York Minster - we'd left the red Peugeot in a car park off the ring road - the vista of stilled cars reminded me of a bleak airstrip - the bus took us first through grey edgelands - gentle rain fell upon the small houses and driveways - industrial units were like abandoned temples - 

Later, we drove past noble Victorian villas - there were glimpses of mysterious gardens, guarded by dense laurel - I kept a sharp look out for the National Railway Museum - there it was - I remembered how Dave Marris had often come here - 

When we got off the bus, I stood for a while, looking up at the pinnacled towers of the Minster - the top of one tower was wreathed in scaffolding - 

I thought about Dave - he'd appointed me Headteacher of Portchester School - he'd been like a father to me, tolerant and hopeful - I hope I justified his faith in me - 

Dave loved travel - he had a shelf of Rough Guides in his house - he'd peered into the Grand Canyon, flown over oceans - but York was a place of special pilgrimage - 

I imagined Dave, hurrying past the Minster, on his way to the Museum - he loved trains - I could see him, in my mind's eye, awestruck in the presence of those beautiful gleaming monsters - 

Dave never went to Peru, as he'd planned - he was very brave when diagnosed with cancer - I still think about him - I can hear, very clearly, his chirruping laugh -

I thought about my own cancer - how some are saved and others die - I stood, under a willow, next to a shattered church, remembering Dave -