It suddenly dawns upon me—several hours before dawn—that there might be a point to all this. I mean the world, as it is; the discrepancy between the yearning and the reality; the intended and the manifest; the imagined joy and the actual dissatisfaction. Might it be that perpetual motion is the whole point? I recall from long ago an explanation of human two-legged walking, as being a succession of imbalances, each one rectified by the next. We walk by moving our centre of gravity to stop ourselves falling over, after the bold discovery, made in infancy, that you can put one leg forward and then regain balance by doing it again with the other leg, and so on repeated until—you fall over. Bold just short of reckless: that’s the way we advance.
We leave home in order to find home. Our species didn’t get where it is today by staying in one place and avoiding risk. No. It’s all change and experiment. We are impelled to action, throughout space and time. That is perhaps why this blog is entitled A Wayfarer’s Notes and not “My Peaceful Thoughts Whilst Looking Out of the Window”.
A small band of space-time wayfarers converged at the weekend to an island separated from the English mainland by an ancient sea-lane called the Solent. The much-knowing hand of Fate had arranged not one, but two separate reunions, on consecutive days. Let me explain. I’d arrived on that island fifty-six years ago, when I was twelve. Divorce and remarriage meant that my mother brought me there to live with my new stepfather. Both had divorced for the purpose. Her second marriage had been a disaster. His first wife had taken their children to New Zealand. My new stepfather grieved for the loss of his own children every day. He was never able to contact them again.
Only this blog, despite my dismally-failed efforts to pretend it is fiction, has been able to bridge that sad gulf, albeit many years after my stepfather’s death. For I had written about him here on several occasions. One day, on a whim, I decided to stop cloaking it in and spell out his full name, Septimus Leslie Carr Blackett Charlton: see this post. And thus was flung a letter in a bottle, into the oceans of memory and cyberspace, from one emerald island, the Isle of Wight, to another, New Zealand’s South Island, where it was picked up by Sep’s grandson. So if you have a message for a person or persons unknown, scribble it onto the Internet. One day the person who needs to find it, will.
It just so happens that the four-hundredth anniversary of my old school’s foundation was to be celebrated on my beloved Island, on 5th June 2010. And it just so happens also that Sep’s son had decided to visit England in June to make contact with my sister and me, to talk about his father, and attempt to fill in the missing details of his life. So I said “Let’s meet on the 6th June, in East Cowes.” And he said “Under the umbrella tree, 9am”. For I had written about that tree in another post. That was more or less the sum total of our communication, because it’s his son—Sep’s grandson—who’s familiar with using the Internet. It was a point of honour to rush and get there on time, but then we had ten nervous minutes waiting for him to appear, which he did, on the stroke of 9.
And now we each have a new brother, our relationship forged from a tangle of parents’ marriages shipwrecked on islands, in this great uncalm ocean of life.
———-
PS. I’ll write about the other reunion—the school one—in my next.
a wayfarer’s notes 
It's a shame I couldn't make the journey to be in the photo too. I hope you all had a few good laughs and enjoyed walking around the area together, thinking about the past. It brings a tear to my eye's to see the photo and to think that after 20 years of looking I finally found you. Where would I be if you had not listed Sep in your previous blogs. Take care Uncle Ian.
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Nigel, I meant to email you first! I didn't think you would find the post so quickly. I shall post up some more photos on the other site later.
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I tentatively tiptoe in to this posting. I understand it so well. I hope that all connections develop so gloriously well.
There have been times when I had out-of-the-blue contacts, which radically changed my life and gave me a bunch of memories I would not have had to connect to and enjoy for the rest of my life. Some contacts have been serendipitous, others, sadly, have never got off the ground or drifted into my life and have disappeared again. C'est la vie. I would add, it makes for a really interesting and diverse life.
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ZACL, you are welcome, no need to tiptoe, but you have understood well, these things are sensitive, they are subject to Fate. Today I have been continuing to read a translation of Homer's Odyssey which expresses a fine understanding of Fate which it attributes to the intervention of the immortals – Zeus, Poseidon, Pallas Athene and other members of that lot. In short, these things are given to us, but it's we who throw the dice and take the risk.
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“We throw the dice and take the risk”. Oh yes, that's right, in the experiences you describe, and also in those I have had, others have thrown their dice and taken risks too.
Like most things in life, 'it takes two [or more] to tango'. Better late than never.
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I had a similar experience recently. I had posted an obituary for my Mother, that referenced my Father's name who had died in 1989.
A woman in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, contacted me a month ago with an interesting inquiry. It turns out her father was in the Service with a man who shared my Father's name. My Father was a supply sergeant stationed in Germany in WWII.
As it turns out after several messages back and forth including the exchange of a photo of my Father, it was determined that he was indeed the man that her Father was talking about.
The man is now in his late 80's living in Puerto Rico where he moved soon after leaving the service. They met when they were just 17, still in civilian clothes, just off the bus to boot camp.
My sister and I are now enjoying hearing the stories of their exploits in Germany.
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This is a beautiful story, beautifully told, beautifully and tenderly felt.
From a few pixels on a screen to the gift of a family meeting… what can come into our lives through the technology of our times is nothing short of awesome.
Thank you for opening this tender spot in your own life and letting it flourish, and by doing so opening the tender spots in ours.
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Beautiful post Vincent. Blood is not always thicker than water, but when it is, it is quite magnificent. I drink a toast to your reunion.
Yes, happiness depends on us surrendering to that magic that impels us forward.
Freud thought it was the “death” instinct, but no, it is the very force of life. We thrive on exquisitely thin ice.
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lovely. amazing, isn't it? I found a connection that way too….. the grandson of my 3rd cousin, Walter Hayden. We live in an inexplicably connected world. All random bits and bites that suddenly – connect.
love the comment “We thrive on exquisitely thin ice.”
so true… congrats on your new connections!
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re-reading, I am thrilled by the first para. I agree with you that motion is the answer – but not senseless motion, not aimless. “Bold just short of reckless” motion is the way of all good advances, or so it seems to me.
I was writing this morning about the sense of expulsion from the Garden of Eden – an orchard naturally – and thinking of just this sense that one must step boldly in order to find oneself. Perhaps your post encouraged me in this. It's a theme I've been thinking of for some time. Some undefined connection with these hands of ours, these unusual opposable thumbs, and our brave step across the threshold and away from safety, and into the beyond.
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Raymond,blood may be thicker than water but my brother and I share no blood relationship, being merely stepbrothers. We met for the first time under that tree. So it is a kind of miracle that in the succeeding days we find ourselves closely connected brothers. I do have a real half-brother in Australia. We never hit it off. He was worried, I think, that i am the first-born. To reassure him I have broken all contact with my natural father, whom I hardly knew in any case.
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Thank you Joanne. It is flourishing magnificently. Let all tender spots everywhere be opened – as and when people can dare to let them!
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Hayden, i haven't yet had time to read your orchard/garden of Eden post – our house overflows with visitors and i am using the laptop in bed while K sleeps beside me and the pre-dawn chorus calls from the rooftops outside. But hope to later!
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Charles, isn't it precious to get “news” like this out of the blue?
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ZACL, yes,better late than never. That could be the motto of my life!
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A beautiful reunion and recounting, Vincent. When I first read this, it brought tears to my eyes. I am happy to be able to witness this wonderful moment.
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Such encounters are rare and precious. Your account brought a lump to my throat – and reminded me of some precious encounters of my own… Wonderful that such events can happen!
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I'm afraid my post took another turn, and didn't go where expected. It's such a fecund subject, and one I meditate on frequently. Many possibilities. I always appreciate your reading, and your comments, but…. not what I was thinking it would be when I mentioned it here.
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Never mind Hayden, I liked your orchard post a lot.
Ah Gentleeye & Rebb, I'm glad to hear it! I think I remained dry-eyed but my brother is very susceptible . . .
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[…] well-defined series of chance encounters, beginning on 6th June 2010, on the occasion described in a certain post. On that day, I met my step-brother for the first time. We had “time-shared” the same father. […]
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