.”“No buts! I’m doing this,” John had insisted.He had. We had reached this point in our English lane. He had taken my hand and held it as he d...d every time we sat at this bench.+++Over sixty years ago John had first taken my hand. We had been on a walk organised by the University Rambling club. John and I were talking as we walked. We were at the back of the column of walkers. I had fallen off my bicycle a week earlier. My right leg was bruised. I had thought it was sufficiently healed for this. She stayed inside and opened the artificial Christmas tree. (We’d decided to get real trees in the future, but it seemed impractical this year.) An hour later, she came out to inspect my work. I’d hung a set of lights from the corner of the roof, over the door, to the bedroom window. She was wearing a denim shirt and jeans. I insisted that she put a sweatshirt on before she stayed out for any length of time. ‘That’s why you get to call me Sam,’ she said. She came back out and gave her approval.. More

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