Somewhere over the rainbow . . .

We have only visited the celebrated ice-creamery called Giacopazzi’s once, not that long before Uncle Jonny died. It seems like a lifetime away, although that rhubarb cone has become a bit of a legend in what has always been the admittedly thin catalogue of treats we have had on outings.  On the quayside in Eyemouth the boys watched langoustines being landed in crates, all destined for the continental market, where they are more appreciated and sought after than here. In the harbour a friendly buoyant seal caught our eye as he dodged in and out of the boats but we watched in vain for more whereas, on the beach beyond, Newman and Barnaby rushed into an extraordinarily calm sea, pushing out beyond the weed, for a relaxing and extended swim. Jonny watched from the beach, barking hoarsely, in that funny way of his, to show it was all the sort of everyday we fun we like more than anything. Snapshots were created: the darkness of the afternoon; the chandlery where the log basket came from; the seamen’s mission with its sermons in stones; the miniature lobster creel, handmade to make a bit extra by men who’ve seen monsters both scaly and watery; the glass-bottomed boat put ashore for the winter – a little bit of magic cast up in exchange for reality; a little world complete and entire into which we dipped for an hour or two: why are so many memories so meaningful? And why did we think about it all today? This morning, the wild wind from the north-west was whipping the tops of the waves into fine white spray – white ponies everywhere but not that much swell. We ran straight towards Eyemouth, catching its exhaled breath, and wondered when we might see it, or somewhere new like it, again; whether the wind is indeed changing direction at last. Routines which comfort us will continue mostly unchanged but within the warm framework I can foresee much of the pondering to which I am prone in the faces of those I love. Looking back on a short life so far, I can see things pretty clearly for what they are; it is all so simple for me. I shall soon be running free along the glorious beach in the late afternoon glow of a falling sun, gathering the scents with my ears and following the feet with my nose, looking in the rain for Jonny’s rainbow. Our fun is guaranteed and our happiness so easy to preserve, with jellies for tea after that. Somewhere out there remains the rest of our lives: in which direction, boys, shall we run? I do all I can to grasp you as we run along, holding fast with all my heart and all my soul. Come on Jonny: what flavour shall we have?