Saying goodbye to John
John’s daughter rang me to say that her dad had died. John and I had been great friends when we were young. John’s dad came to our village as the local vicar, and we met at church when we were both 10 years old. For the next five years, we were inseparable. We spent hours together playing football, darts, and snooker. As budding athletes, we built sand pits and long jump run-ups in the massive but overrun garden of the vicarage. We enjoyed riding our bikes and experimenting with smoking. He was the close friend I had always wanted, and I was very upset when he had to leave the village. He moved to Sunderland where his dad had a new job. We kept in touch and visited each other but it was never quite the same after that. Eventually, John’s dad started a new career teaching religious studies at my school. I was in the upper sixth and John came into the lower sixth. When I married he was my best man and our friendship continued on and off throughout the remainder of John’s life. We spoke