F
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Familiar sight of Hans Memling on his
Woensdagmarkt pedestal.
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As I
sit and type I hear the lovely clopping sounds of horses’ hooves as
four carriages pass along Genthof en route to the Markt for the
happily-increasing numbers of tourists. When I came to live here in
early February 2015 I already adored Brugge but it was the soundscape
from my flat which unceasingly enchanted me. The sounds of the hooves
trotting rhythmically along the road each morning ; the register of
different church and convent bells, some muted some tiny and hesitant;
others triumphant;
the tumbling notes from the Belfort tower; these were new and
delightful to me and they continue to please enormously. In
fact, these sparkling melodies are addictive and have become part of
my every day pleasure. They remind me daily of how good life here is and how we need to nourish the present by referral to the past.
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The familiar Markt with the Belfort in the centre,
horse-drawn carriages to the right and the statue to
commemorate the Battle of the Golden Spurs, 1302. |
I shall
miss these familiar Brugge sounds when I go back next year to live in
England. I was dipping into previous blogs earlier this week and
came across the one I wrote a year ago after I had stayed briefly
with my daughter in Bury St Edmonds.
"I
hope not to have to leave Brugge till the Final Curtain, but if I did
have to return to the U.K., provided the mind remained open, I would
now choose Bury St Edmunds for its gripping historical continuity and its
beautiful old stones and walkways. It is an historical and aesthetic
gem."
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18th century houses within the ancient abbey walls.
Bury St Edmunds. |
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| Visitors exploring Bruges by horse-drawn carriage. |
But in one short year I have changed my mind about remaining here till The End! I guess that Lockdown has
played its part as I haven’t seen family for between a year and
eighteen months and I have missed them. It didn’t matter pre-Covid
that I lived here, as friends and family visited quite often and it
wasn’t difficult for me to return or someone to come here. But now,
it is still impossible without quarantining which no one wants to do.
But there is more, and this is the most important strand. I have
aged during this last year; not at all disastrously. I do not need
any medication; I walked, chatting
with a friend, for two
hours this morning along canals and empty streets, slowly it is true,
but surely. As far as I know, I don’t have anything disastrously wrong with my health. The memory is a little less effective; annoying
but nothing to worry about. I don’t think I look a year older but I
DO feel older! Chiefly,
my balance is less good and that is irritating but also impossible to
change. No but importantly, I do feel strangely more vulnerable and
have also discovered an unsuspected desire to live closer to family. I always listen to my feelings and now they tell me to move closer to family! So, next year, when I can find somewhere beautiful to live in Bury St
Edmunds, I shall go and have been busy telling family and friends of
my as-yet vague plans.
I can’t begin to enumerate the things here which I shall miss; it
will be a
removal
from a subconsciously -sought haven of
beauty and tranquillity. But I need, at my age, 87 at the end of July, to
try to keep ahead of the curve and place myself in the best place for
me, Old age is a time for self-centredness and forethought as well as
poor balance and the increasing difficulty of remembering names! And
I comfort myself with the worthy thought that my living in England
will make it easier for my children as I stumble towards the Final
Waiting Room! This honourable thought should not detract from the
original intention of self-preservation; I mustn’t pretend to be
too worthy! So it will be adieu
Beloved Brugge next year. I predict a long, and possibly tearful, good-bye. That said, I already feel excited about the move to live near my daughter and grand-daughter in Bury St Edmunds.
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| Along the Coupure, a favourite walk. |
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| Sunset, Brugge. |
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Part of my terrace which has been a constant
joy during Lockdown et al. |
