… wandering about up here on the interweb can be a melancholic sort of thing. You hit on a site like 20six that you haven’t seen for a long while and think ah yeah, this used to be a bit of a fun place. But then you look more closely and you see the changes time has brought – some subtle, some very much in evidence. Missing people. Broken links. Whole swathes of those incognito years gone. Digital silences. Aching emptinesses… dust blown from high shelves in long neglected rooms to reveal only absences.

A real sense that the party has moved on. Especially so when even the ‘WayBack Machine’ can’t take you there…

You know you should have archived all that stuff. All those posts and blog entries that tok your breath away. Meant to. But good intentions and adverbs litter those busywork nights…. 🙂

Here’s one that survived though, tucked away in a remote corner of a distant web.  From Daisy who was (is?) one of those teachers you always wished you had:

14 January 2005 at 19:26
And then…
..a 14 year old boy stands up in front of the class and tells you how his great grandfather was in the first world war. He reads you extracts from his letters about how he misses his wife, and how sometimes he feels cold and lonely in the trenches at night and you feel like you can almost smell the rotting bodies and hear the guns blazing over-head… and the fourteen year old boy finishes the letter and turns to you and says ‘He died the day after he wrote that letter miss, but my grandmother says he was a lovely and cheerful man and I never knew until you told me to go and find out.’

And there is a silence as everybody in the room thinks about this cheerful man, all alone and homesick and suddenly one by one the boys burst into applause …and it takes Miss a couple of minutes before she can speak.

Advertisements