I don’t usually use names in my posts, not really. I have a thing for vagueness and ambiguity. So much of what inspires me is hidden within elaborate paragraphs and passages. I conceal often blunt facts so as to protect myself and my sources. I thrive on the story telling but I’ll probably always have a totally different version in my pocket.
When this artist first started courting on the East Coast of Scotland a few years ago., it was a cold, hard shift breaking the ice of Edinburgh folk. Of course it had its delicious charm in a particular someone but as far as the general population went, it was a wee bit barren. This Glasgow artist had a tough gig.
But, as some of you may know, I don’t stay quiet for long and I eventually found conversation to brighten my journeys. An unexpected friendship arose. On the pavement at the top of the Waverley steps sat a man. With the kindest of faces, held up by weary shoulders, sat a soldier.
We conversed as the months trundled on and I saw that there sat the most humblest, intelligent soul. We spoke of art and determination. I told him of my blossoming love interest….He encouraged my creative progress. He accepted my money and my sandwiches. My children shared their chocolate. We bought him lunch.
He said I inspired him to keep going; that made me cry. HE inspired me, that’s the real truth of it. I abseiled down a lighthouse to raise money for Bethany Christian Trust, who’d helped him. Ten minutes out of my easy life raised nearly £500.
We talked about mental well-being and he shared brief sharp, knowledgable insights into the aftermath of war. In what were my darkest days, not that I realised they were at the time, I clung to trying to help others as a way to survive. Didn’t always work. Sanity is hard and to hold on to sometimes.
The last day I saw him was one of the darkest of my life. I barely remember it. But as I made my retreat, I made a detour and found him on the pavement. We talked about the lighthouse. I thanked him for his friendship. He told me to live, to keep going, to be happy. I promised. I waved as I left.
Today I found out he’s gone from the pavement. He was 47. His name was Danny, a champion, of this weary world
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