Today ,while walking my dog she in the forest,I heard “the Cuckoo”.It seems that those two words have less amplitude than in previous generations,but it’s funny how the words of family members long departed reappear in our minds.
To say “The Cuckoo”,seems to imply that I’ve heard the only one.As if there isn’t another Cuckoo to be heard,but it’s how I remember it being said.Personally,on May Day,my thoughts are centred on the fishing harbour of Padstow in Cornwall,where,as a child,I would always visit ,either woman the Brass Band that I was in,or with my sisters to the Obby Horse celebrations.Although it’s decades since I’ve been now,the first of May still has echoes of those times.With the sheer noise of the parade,the excitement,the indigenous nature of the day-Cornwall at its most intriguing and its most superstitious too-always attracted me.That day was always a time when whole families would be ur on the streets,enjoy No themselves.
But today,on this bank holiday,life seems quite a sedentary affair,quite a downbeat pulse to it,but the hearing of that solitary bird in two splendor,in is forest idyll attracted me,allowing my mind to indulge in its own brand of escapism.
As we get older,we are apt to reflect on previously us anniversaries,with all their memory prompts and now as the years creep by,I’m happy that these memories can still come to the surface.We can all be negative at times,and in that state,that glass half full and so easily erode the good that we have with th our life,causing us to miss the truly important things.
So,my Cornish family will,no doubt ,we raising a glass or two,or three at Padstow today and well into the evening,and I will think of them,and that solitary Cuckoo,and ,to me,it will be what it is to me,not a Cuckoo,but,The Cuckoo.
Thank you .