Tuesday, 21 July 2009
We passed this memorial bench on the way round Linacres the other day. I've seen such dedications before, of course, notably in Bakewell, Derbyshire. There're quite a few benches down by the riverside. I expect most parks have them. But this one, I thought was special since it's hand-made and the words simple, yet moving.
In my novel, The Cuckoo Club, the hero, Alex, decides to honour his late father, William, in such a way by donating a bench complete with brass plaque to William's beloved bowls club. What happens next is one of the major turning points in the plot. Maybe that's why coming across the bench on Sunday had such significance for me. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. Probably.