Newark Now and Then

It's been a couple of months since we bought our apartment in Newark and I'm beginning to get a handle on the place.  From the windows of our apartment there's a good view of the main town-centre car park next to a bridge over the river Trent.  It's packed during the day and empties out completely after the bars and restaurants have closed around 11pm.  Now sunnier weather has arrived it's become a popular spot for bikers to come for a drink at the pub/barge moored next to the carpark.  I guess many of them are from the nearby city of Nottingham and they make me feel at home here.

Also from our windows we can see the massive spire of the church of St Mary Magdalene which was finished in 1350 and is a landmark for miles around.  It's strange to think it's been there for nearly eight hundred years and sometimes one can hear, that most English of sounds, the pealing of church bells, crashing out from its bell chamber. Strange as well to think that at the time it was built Newark was governed by a regime which would have had more in common with Islamic State than a modern "developed" nation.  Indeed, during the English Civil War in the seventeenth century most of its stained-glass windows were kicked in by what the BBC today would probably describe as "terrorists" or "insurgents".

Walking round the town today it's a very civilised place full of antique warehouses, upmarket food shops, cafes and the usual high street chains.  There are lots of wrinkly old folk moving around deliberately, like tortoises dressed by Marks and Spencer, looking for ways to kill the time.  I kill time observing them and they make me uneasy.

For me, the most unexpected thing about the place is that it is still affected by the trauma of a war nearly five hundred years ago.  Newark was a Royalist stronghold in the English Civil War (now known as the "British Civil Wars" I'm informed in the "National Civil War Centre" based in the town museum) and was besieged several times.  The town is dominated by references to the seiges - part of the defensive earthworks (the Queen's sconce) are now a park, the spire has a cannonball hole in it and Newark Castle is a ruin part-demolished by the victors after the capitulation of the town in 1646.  Apparently it was saved from being razed to the ground because the plague broke out in the town and the fearful occupiers buggered off.  And here it still stands today, "one of the ruins that Cromwell knocked about a bit" and a gaunt reminder of just how shit the past really was.

Back to the Blog

It's more than six months since I last wrote up my blog.

I've thought a lot about why I stopped and it's definitely connected to dad's death and my leaving of my father's house, physically and emotionally.  At one level I never wanted dad to read my blog, but in another way it actually was for him.  I was accounting for my actions to my parents, like I'd done throughout my life.  Do we all do this or am I queer?  An issue I've come to reflect on in a more general sense since dad died.

I shall tell the story of the last few months in pictures.

In September 2015 I moved from dad's bungalow to temporary digs in Lincoln with Harry and Zack and their delightful dog Oscar, with whom I enjoyed many excellent runs along the banks of the River Witham.

In November Sue finished her contract in Borneo and returned to Puglia, where after a gap of some years we finally did our olive harvest together again.  Also that month I completed a Humanist weddings course.

In December we spent Christmas with Sue's mum and dad then returned to Puglia to celebrate the New Year with our friends Mat and Sarah from Washington.

In January we went to a memorial get together for Sue's friend Keith Ramptahal at one of his favourite haunts - the Jamie Oliver restaurant in Islington.  It was a chance for Sue to catch-up with old colleagues and we also got to hear more of the story of his final few months.

In February I took Sue for a mystery break, paid for by some old reward points on a credit card, to a rather grand palazzo in the beautiful town of Matera, an hour and half's drive from our home in Puglia.

In March we bought a two-bedroomed apartment in Dobson's Quay, an old Victorian warehouse conversion in Newark, Nottinghamshire, with the proceeds of the sale of dad's little bungalow.  It's in a great spot in the centre of town with views over the River Trent.  That month I also led my second baby naming.

Also in March I travelled up to Peebles in Scotland to conduct the funeral of our good friend Carole's dad Jack, a fine man who set a great example of how to grow old while enjoying what you've still got rather than mourning what you've lost.  I've not done a lot of funerals this year so far, but the ones I have done have been very rewarding, including my first "ashes-centred" funeral in a hotel in Lincoln and a ceremony in a restaurant near Mansfield for a fascinating man whose feisty daughters were burying him at sea the following week.

I'm currently at the apartment in Newark, while Sue is at home in Puglia experimenting with being "retired".  My head is full of stuff - plans for upgrading the apartment, which has had a hard rental life for the last fifteen years and trying to make sense of my new lifestyle bouncing too and fro between Puglia and the East Midlands.

It's a funny old life.