I wonder how many of us recall the famous first line by Wordsworth?
In the past week, the line has an added poignancy for me.
Shortly, my mother -- who is in her mid 80's -- will be going into a care home. I realise it is for her best. She has been unable to care for herself for many years and hardly eats enough to feed a mouse.
My mother has lived in the same house since we moved to Clevedon in 1963. When we moved South, we had to spend several months with my aunt in Southampton as the house wasn't ready.
My wife and I think my mother won't see the year out. We think the house she is in and its memories are keeping her going and the move at her age will be too traumatic.
When she dies, I will have no roots. When we moved South we lost all contact with our family in Yorkshire, my mother remained in contact with her sisters until recently. But, I lost all contact with the family.
My children have roots, they were born in Bristol and have friends in the area. I never fitted in with people in the area, for some reason I felt like an outsider. Even though I have lived in the Bristol area for close to 50 years now, I still feel as though I don't belong here.
There are many things I wished had the opportunity to find out. One of my uncles was awarded the Gold Medal for bravery by the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, for saving the the lives of Polish seamen trapped on a sinking ship stranded in the River Tees, in the late 1970's.
I dedicated my novella "A Sailor's Love" https://www.draft2digital.com/book/34522 / http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HVHY6PU to the families whose lives are on the coast, and are involved in the fishing trade. Families like my ancestors in Yorkshire.