I would normally have spent this afternoon preparing and writing a preview for Sunday’s women’s and girl’s football in the region. Instead, I attended the funeral of a man I met for the first time little more than two months ago but whose work helped influence the writing you see on Sent Her Forward.
The last time I saw John Samuel was exactly a month ago, when he popped his head around the door of the room where I had been giving him a massage just a few minutes earlier.
“Please forgive me – so rude of me. I forgot to ask how you were,” he said.
John Samuel, 86, but in fine fettle, save for a dodgy back which had deprived him of much opportunity for his beloved golf in recent months, had traipsed back, probably from the car park, through reception and up the stairs to my room to enquire after my health, knowing that my mild arthritis had begun to give me pain when performing massage. Continue reading