Memories of a Tragedy
Sunday, June 27th, 2010When I was younger I found it relatively easy to stick with the task at hand until it was finished. Now I’m easily side-tracked and seem to jump from task to task willy-nilly as the whim takes me - a new project is always more appealing than the existing one. My late father’s history of his home village, High Spen, needed an awful lot of work if it was ever to be published, and time and again over the years since his death I’d started the task, only to set it to one side after a week or so and move on to something else which had taken my fancy. This time, I promised myself, it would be different; I’d see it through to completion. And it almost worked. The editing and checking stage was completed and I was having a final re-read to help me decide which photographs and illustrations I might need. But for some reason, when I came to a reference to Garesfield Golf Club, I immediately remembered a dreadful event there from my teenage years - the first time I saw a dead body.