Once upon a time in another life, this seasoned old cynic met and fell for a handsome young man with razor-sharp wit and a glorious smile. His name was John. We collided in a long-gone dive in Earls Court called the Copacabana. He stayed the night and never left. Eight years into our fine romance John fell ill, quite suddenly. Within just six weeks he was dead. He died in my arms. It was quite a Hollywood moment but not one I care to reprise. That was 10 years ago. Even though I’ve been given a second time around, I still miss him.
John liked a slice of Turkey. We’d visited many times. When Liam and I first pitched our yurt in Anatolia, we bought an olive sapling in John’s memory and put it in a patio pot. It did remarkably well and bore fruit in the first year – a lean harvest but a harvest nonetheless. After we decided to wade back to Blighty, I asked Annie of Back to Bodrum fame if she would take care of John’s little twig in her Bodrum garden. Annie went one better and offered a sunny spot in the olive grove of her fabulous country pile.
My old mucky mucker, Ian, and his much younger squeeze, Matt, were our final gentlemen callers in old Bodrum Town. Back in the day, John, Ian and I had been the three muskequeers blazing a gay trail and frightening the locals from Ephesus to Antalya. Annie invited the lot of us out to her rural idyll for a spot of lunch and bit of aboriculture. She knows quite a lot about both. A gorgeous sunny afternoon of feasting, wine and gay-boy banter was polished off with a tree-planting flourish. Notice me proudly holding the big spade. Don’t be fooled. Annie’s husband did all the hard graft. All I did was plop the tree into the hole and pat it down like the Queen at an opening.
Now there is a little corner of Turkey that is forever John.
Thank you, Annie.
John’s tree is still doing fine. Not sure when my village bungalow became a country pile.
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You say tomato I say tomarto 😀
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That was such a lovely day, I think you should all come out in September and have a re-run. Ian and I might have found something good about Rugby by then.
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It’s funny, I’m just writing the final chapter of the book which includes the tree planting (so yes, you’re in it – hope you don’t mind. I’m being nice!). Alas, I think it’ll be next year now. We’re in the middle of buying a place right here in old Norwich so we have few pennies to spare. I’m sure Ian would be up for it and I’ll tell him not to be so disparaging about Rugby. Next year for definite.
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For remembrance.
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🙂
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Crap. Stop it! I can’t find my Kleenex.
Sorry about John. Happy about Liam. No wants to be alone.
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Thank you
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Lovely post Jack. And who could think of anyone better than Annie to take care of John’s tree xxx
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Absolutely. It was perfect choice in an idyllic setting. Annie is a star. xxx
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Awww, tears forming, throat closing, heart aching. Kym’s right: remembrance is sublime, and is what connects us humans across the light years
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Always remember, lest we forget.
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Garn, you old softy! What a nice, warm tale.
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Soft as they come, me. I just hide it well 🙂
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Beautiful post Jack. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you
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