It’s that man Eliot again! So often he seems to be able to sum up my situation. I’m writing this in bed in a very comfortable small hotel in the Shropshire town of Oswestry, driving back to Bradford after collecting my piece from the exhibition in Machynlleth.* We have had a very good dinner together, and the predominant feeling is that life has (at least for the moment) come to a restful standstill. I have arrived at Eliot’s “still point”. I have a rather diffuse awareness that the autumn ahead will be very busy. I have left behind, however, all the vigorous activity of the Italian trip, and for the moment at least there are no demands on me at all.
Memory is odd, isn’t it. I was last in Oswestry many years ago. Quite suddenly tonight, during dinner, that resurfaced in my consciousness. It was at the time of the birth of my younger sister, when I was perhaps eleven years old. I was sent to stay with my uncle and aunt, who lived here at that time, during and shortly after the birth. I am not sure for how long I was here, but I did attend school here for a time. Suddenly tonight, that all came to the surface again. Perhaps it is only in moments of stillness that some things can resurface in our memory.
*No: dont ask me to explain how you pronounce that!