My mum’s partner, George Marsh, died in August after a short battle with pancreatic cancer. Born on Bassingham Fen, 11 miles southwest of Lincoln, he owned a small farm in Bassingham village on which he worked for almost his entire life. He was 83.
To say it’s been tough on mum would be an understatement. She’s already had to say goodbye to her own mum, and to her twin sister, Michelle, who died of a rare form of dementia a few years ago. “I’ve had enough grief for one lifetime,” she tells me.
Because of this, over the past couple of months I’ve spent a significant amount of time in Scothern, the village I grew up in, and in Lincoln itself, which is about six miles away as the crow flies. I’m on my way there now, in fact. I don’t drive, but it’s not a difficult journey. I walk to Stockport station, which takes about 20 minutes, and then catch the express train to Sheffield where I connect with the service to Lincoln.
Usually, I have about 30 minutes between trains, but today my train is running late, cutting that to just 20. There should still be enough time, though, to call into the Sheffield Tap on platform one and enjoy a pint, or a half, of Thornbridge Jaipur.
On these visits this pause has become a ritual. Despite the range of choice on offer I always order the same beer. I then head around the corner from the bar and sit in the same room, at the same table if it’s free, and wait in silence with just my beer for company.
Breaking the journey, the beer acts as a form of resolve—a ballast against which to support myself, giving me just enough time to remember why this trip is important. I love spending time with my mum, but grief is a difficult emotion, one that can creep out unexpectedly with the shortest of notice. I have to be there for mum just like she was there for me when I was small; a boy who has fallen and grazed a knee.
I’ll make the same stop when making my way home. Usually I have a little more time travelling in this direction, about three quarters of an hour, so I don’t have to worry about rushing. It’s just me and my beer again, one I love to drink and am rarely disappointed by, least of all in this pub, where it tastes like it is treated with the appropriate reverence.
I know that this is a trip now fixed into my life, and one I will be making often. Making sure I have that moment to myself, always taking time to pause, in this place, with a glass of Jaipur, that’s a fixture too. A little something for myself while I make sure I’m there for somebody else.