I met Gilbert Gerrard today. He lives near the pub
and told me he’s 91.
He also said he’d ‘been around a bit’ during his life, and
proceeded to list the various places where he’d lived. They were all within ten
miles of here, most of them closer. I suppose if you were born into a rural community
ninety one years ago, ten miles probably seems like quite a long way.
And talking to a 91-year-old did make me feel a bit younger than I usually do.
And talking to a 91-year-old did make me feel a bit younger than I usually do.
The Pub
(near where Gilbert Gerard lives.)
Mill Lane is behind me,
and the road to the left of
-The Pub-
goes to the village of Rocester
(pronounced 'roaster')
where the Romans had a
settlement or garrison
or some such
even before Gilbert Gerard
was born.
3 comments:
Gilbert's the name I've given to the young ram here.
How wonderful to read of a real one aged 91, he must be content with his corner of the world, no need to venture far.
A real hobbit?
Perhaps he is...
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