Lost – a wind-up watch that I had bought from China. I have elasticated sleeves on one of my macs and it must have caught the strap buckle and the watch fell off my wrist somewhere on the hills around here. I had bought the watch because like so many other clockwork devices wind-up wristwatches have been replaced by digital, all powered by polluting batteries. And hardly labour-saving: such small effort to wind them up – toys and timepieces – keep them running.
It was losing the watch that got me to thinking on all else lost.
Pubs for instance that I once believed were a fixture of British life. Gone. (No-one, life has taught me, goes broke faster than a pub licensee or a jobbing builder.)
Has to go without saying that most of the hair on the top of my head has long gone. Given my paternal ancestry that loss I had anticipated. But who stole my eyebrows?
Lost – independent publishers. Either gone bust or been absorbed into conglomerates.
Lost – so many green fields, scraps of woodland. Disappeared under concrete, housing estates of detached box-houses, their streets named after the meadows, orchards and the wildlife that used to live there.
Lost – this year, two peregrine chicks to the forest fire here.
Lost – local shops. Since Margaret Thatcher's encouragement of US-type car culture most shops have moved to out-of-town retail parks.
Lost – the local bobby. Which wasn't always necessarily a good thing, especially if you got on the wrong side of him. Was still better though than the impotent and overweight Community Support Officers, and the police car that occasionally pays a visit.
Lost – a free press. Not only is the national press now owned by off-shore wealthy individuals and corporations, but even their freedom of expression is curtailed as they seek to avoid being sued, lawyers now their in-house censors.
Lost – a belief in justice. British courts were always weighted towards the establishment, but have become even more unbalanced: justice now depends on who can afford to go to law. Has become a bit like football's Premier League, the deeper the pockets of the owners the more likely their team is to win.
Lost – faith in Herbert Marcuse, 1898-1979, author of One-Dimensional Man which became a bestseller in the 1970s, and allowed us authors, who had failed to achieve at an early age, hope. We could believe that ours, like his, was going to be a long hard road but that come our seventies we too... But here I am in my late seventies, my youthful genius having failed to be recognised, struggling on still, and now with grief for the self that I never was and now will never become.
Lost – mature elm trees. Soon to be followed by the ash and larch.
Lost – cheap jazz clubs and cafes. In 1963 there were jazz clubs all along Oxford Street. Come 1966 all had gone.
Lost – a dependable postal service that went worldwide.
Lost – paths. So many rights of way have been fenced off. 'Private Property' notices abound.
Lost – ease of travel all over Europe.
Lost – public lavatories, resulting in piss-stink alleyways, human crap behind park bushes.
Lost – some teeth. Lost – many dentists.
Lost – those politicians who had at least pretended to tell the truth.
Lost – sounds from outside, double-glazing having sealed us in front of our screens.
Lost – species, of flora and fauna by the million.
Lost – chances. I never did astound my offspring with my expertise at conkers or with my uncanny knack for finding mushrooms. Unfulfilled boyhood fantasies. I did though sail 3 of the 7 seas. That said I have no affection for my past selves.
Lost – a sense of purpose, hope. Kept – grief for the many worlds of my imagining.
Lost – in editing, every refinement removing spontaneity.
© Sam Smith 25th August 2023
It was losing the watch that got me to thinking on all else lost.
Pubs for instance that I once believed were a fixture of British life. Gone. (No-one, life has taught me, goes broke faster than a pub licensee or a jobbing builder.)
Has to go without saying that most of the hair on the top of my head has long gone. Given my paternal ancestry that loss I had anticipated. But who stole my eyebrows?
Lost – independent publishers. Either gone bust or been absorbed into conglomerates.
Lost – so many green fields, scraps of woodland. Disappeared under concrete, housing estates of detached box-houses, their streets named after the meadows, orchards and the wildlife that used to live there.
Lost – this year, two peregrine chicks to the forest fire here.
Lost – local shops. Since Margaret Thatcher's encouragement of US-type car culture most shops have moved to out-of-town retail parks.
Lost – the local bobby. Which wasn't always necessarily a good thing, especially if you got on the wrong side of him. Was still better though than the impotent and overweight Community Support Officers, and the police car that occasionally pays a visit.
Lost – a free press. Not only is the national press now owned by off-shore wealthy individuals and corporations, but even their freedom of expression is curtailed as they seek to avoid being sued, lawyers now their in-house censors.
Lost – a belief in justice. British courts were always weighted towards the establishment, but have become even more unbalanced: justice now depends on who can afford to go to law. Has become a bit like football's Premier League, the deeper the pockets of the owners the more likely their team is to win.
Lost – faith in Herbert Marcuse, 1898-1979, author of One-Dimensional Man which became a bestseller in the 1970s, and allowed us authors, who had failed to achieve at an early age, hope. We could believe that ours, like his, was going to be a long hard road but that come our seventies we too... But here I am in my late seventies, my youthful genius having failed to be recognised, struggling on still, and now with grief for the self that I never was and now will never become.
Lost – mature elm trees. Soon to be followed by the ash and larch.
Lost – cheap jazz clubs and cafes. In 1963 there were jazz clubs all along Oxford Street. Come 1966 all had gone.
Lost – a dependable postal service that went worldwide.
Lost – paths. So many rights of way have been fenced off. 'Private Property' notices abound.
Lost – ease of travel all over Europe.
Lost – public lavatories, resulting in piss-stink alleyways, human crap behind park bushes.
Lost – some teeth. Lost – many dentists.
Lost – those politicians who had at least pretended to tell the truth.
Lost – sounds from outside, double-glazing having sealed us in front of our screens.
Lost – species, of flora and fauna by the million.
Lost – chances. I never did astound my offspring with my expertise at conkers or with my uncanny knack for finding mushrooms. Unfulfilled boyhood fantasies. I did though sail 3 of the 7 seas. That said I have no affection for my past selves.
Lost – a sense of purpose, hope. Kept – grief for the many worlds of my imagining.
Lost – in editing, every refinement removing spontaneity.
© Sam Smith 25th August 2023