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for Ronald Hindmarsh-Midwood 
                                         (24.O5.30 - 17.01.92)

To recall a friend 
                        is never an adieu
  he has merely stepped across the landing
     the light still beams      the door's ajar
 you can hear him pacing   humming   swinging the windows
     to let the street in                the warmth 
                                                        the wind ruffled 
                               through his half-opened shirt

Across the spare digs halfway to the Schloss
    austere in the shaded light slanting on drab curtains
   the bare table     rough-hewn        the dishevelled books
       the gaping porcelain jug and still wet basin
    the whiff of fresh-bitten soap          the close shave
   and the stiff white collar excusing the day-old striped shirt

A gentle tap       the door opens to a glass of port
                                                                 cut bread 
                 and even if you will not                  cheese


"Beware! Beware you don't become an Hasbeen!"
  he made no bones of his luck from stipends through Reading
  the wideopen eyes commisserating through the flailing sheaf
                         fallen on his ample brow 
     the hand ever brushing aside
                   that wilful unconcern in your life
     in your little worries       your mishaps
And you knew you had mattered in his life 


To recall a friend 
                        is to give body to form
    to words that bind muscle to bone   
                                                   those mutual moments


You may come back a quarter of a century later
And he is still there         a trifle stumped by your aged face
      the mutual moments flow without break 


You had driven through four sleepless nights
  your eyes peeled beyond weariness 
                   your mind bristling and in the red

"Take care! Take care", he said, "lest you burn both ends!" 

Other worlds       other duties
  keep you from bringing up his face
  keep you from keeping mementoes: 
                                        "Never excuse, never apologise!"
 yes     you might have penned a word
                                 when the stolid face swung back
 you didn't        for that would've been abrupt
       too flippant     unceremonious        requiring tact


So you turn up à l'improviste
    the mutual moments flow over coffee at the Konditorei
   the same cream curtains 
        the same goldbraided periodlike chairs
            over neatly folded ceremoniallike lace
                                   the irreal flood of filtered light 
                                                 outside 
 no more the tug and grating pull of trams to dull your words
 

Again the same attentive stare         the same empathic vigil
        for your fresh worries         for your private imbroglios
    while he foregoes a meal at the mensa

Only you hadn't known nor suspected
       the stealthy pain gnawing away at the bones
              nor did he let it be shown
 

  Only the stoic face and the pained look
              
                                  for your own blasé pain 

© T.Wignesan, July 4, 1992 [from the collection: back to background material, 1993] Published as a "Preface" to Ronald Hindmarsh's commemorative writings: Mr. Hindmarsh is not writing a book. Heidelberg: Department of English, 1993. Ronnie taught English at Heidelberg University when I first met him, during the summer semester, in 1957.
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