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Cut through in time

cc8e75654a69be49eca5c81e82ac811f.pngYesterday I took down my father's full size scythe for the first time since his death in 1990. He looked after it well, cleaning and honing the long blade, ideally shaped for cutting down the nettles at the bottom of the garden. The long wooden handle, with its two hand grips worn smooth from years of use, curves with potent elegance, making scything a kind of dance: my body twists as the blade slices, lopping the heads off the nettles as they fall to the ground. But I've never used my father's scythe before, and I haven't yet sharpened it and the blade catches on something tough in the undergrowth. He always took care never to do that. The thin, curved tip of the blade is torn and as I fiddle with it pointlessly, comes away in my hand. And in that moment I am suddenly ashamed as I hear his voice in my head: 'now that wasn't a very clever thing to do'.


  • I had a similar occurrence with an elderly Shellac 78 Record that was given to me by an even more elderly relative.
    It had survived a World War, but lasted approximately 30 seconds in my possession. Oh the shame...

  • Thanks for the comment Harry. Maybe we are too impatient these days - we certainly have far more 'things' than other generations, and don't treasure them as much.

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