You're just coming in, are you? And you're going to work?

Right.

I'm fine...

I'm just looking at the trees. It's a funny thing, you know; but, early in
the morning, I can see such a long way, even when I'm not wearing my
glasses.

At the front door, sometimes, and if it's not misty, I can see miles, where
it's clear, right across the valley. Sometimes I walk to the end of the lane
so I can really test it.

You didn't know that, did you? You don't ever see me walk, but I can you
know, I still can, though I prefer wheels. You stay in bed too long. Or you
don't come home... and I wish you would. I understand, but it worries your
mother.

I've been tempted to drive without them to see what it's like, but I don't
dare. There's a lot of metal there and it could do a lot of damage if I lost
control; but, most likely, I just wouldn't see whatever it was. You remember
that dog we knocked over on the hill down to church? We hardly felt that,
did we, though it was a big dog?

Maybe we thought we felt it, because we could see it, but even a big dog
like that hardly made any difference. I'd have known it if there had been
anything to feel.

By eight o'clock I can't really see anything much without wearing my glasses
and by nine I'm as blind as usual. But I think each day I get a bit of my
youth back, if I can be bothered to get up and receive it; just for a while,
as though my body's saying to me: If you knew what you should know, you
could live for ever. Or maybe it's saying: You never forget anything; here's
a reminder of your youth.

Usually there isn't time to walk up the road; and when there is I'm too busy
coughing. I know I should give up; but it's too late. I'm an old man. I am.
I'm an old man. I feel old anyway. My body feels old.

Do you know when I felt healthiest, fittest? When I was about thirty. In my
thirties. Before I married your mother, though I knew then I wanted to; but
before that too...

It wasn't anything to do with that. I mean, we married because we thought
that if we didn't then we might not live to do it another time, with the
war.

I never had holidays or anything like that; and I don't think we ate
properly, though there was plenty of it. All that stuff about the hardships
of the war and rationing isn't entirely true. Only a few people could afford
to eat properly before. The first time I had butter, I didn't like it; I
wanted margarine because that's what we always had. I didn't like the taste
of butter. And I think it just took me time to grow up and get my strength.

I had a bit of money then; and I had a car of course, though not many did,
unless they were rich. It was the most important thing a young man could
have then to have a car. So I was lucky, knowing a bit, although it's easy
enough to learn; but don't tell anyone that!

Cars and money. But, if you only had the money, it was better to have the
car for the money than keep the money. You can do a lot in a car.

I used to drive fast, though don't say that to your mother; and that was
worth a few rewards, if you knew just how much to do it, and not much more.

I was fearless then. I had to fix the roof once and I got up on the roof and
I was showing off to someone and walked along the ridge of the rooves half
way up the street. It's four storeys high. It was only when I thought it
might be time to come back I had any real fear. I had to turn round and
there wasn't really any room to turn round. But I did it. I didn't wobble.
They were all looking up at me. I just did this, on one foot, like this,
spun round and walked along back, up over the little dividing walls there
are up there and all the way back.

I got out through the skylight. There was a skylight there; but I couldn't
do it now. Going upstairs is enough for me.

I thought of it the other day. I drove down there for some reason when I was
in London, maybe just to see it again, though I hadn't thought of that
incident. It's so long ago. I got out the car at the pub, and that's got
memories, and I walked around, remembering all kinds of things.

Memories seem quite clear, no matter how far back it is, till you try to
remember too much; and then it gets fuzzy. And I remembered my stupidity on
the roof. It just came back, suddenly, as if it fell on the ground beside
me.

It hasn't changed much round there. New houses, of course, to replace the
ones that were bombed. It was a field out the back of our house when I was
young. It's houses now; but you may remember there was an open space. That
was bomb damage did that. Rubble. No one ever moved it because no one wanted
the space then. I don't remember there being much private building. Not
around there, anyway. When I was young, and your mother, she was on the
other side of the road, it was a field, all surrounded by houses, with a
coach arch on to the main road; and the man who owned it used to keep horses
there sometimes. It's hard to believe, but there's still a lot of horses
around, you know. Anyway, it was a field. A last bit of country. And we'd
all play in it though we weren't supposed to. If my father caught us, he
used to hit me; because he said we should respect other people's property.
Not many people owned their houses then, but my father did. He was quite
well off, I think. A clever man. Then everything went wrong for him and he
was too old to get another job. I don't think he'd expected to do so well;
and he saw trespass as a threat. If we did it to someone else, maybe others
would do it to us. He had ideas, my father. He wasn't very good with money.
No one is really, you know, so be warned. I've watched you and money. A lot
aren't anyway. I've never had any.

Like now, I'm thinking I need a new car. This one's been playing up; it just
gets worse and worse. There's so much wrong with it. After fifty years of
work, I should be able to go out and get a new one, a real new one, I mean;
but, as it is, I haven't even got the money to get one too broken down to
work so I can make it work; not properly, not if it's going to last.

And then you think, I was thinking this the other morning... I walked right
up to the main road and across it, right up to the big pond. Your mother was
still asleep. It was just dawn. You were probably asleep, and your sister,
or still out doing whatever it is you do, as if you'd ever tell us - just
don't catch anything, or get caught, and that's all I'll say...

I walked all the way up there. I felt good. I don't know why but for the
first time in a long time I wasn't coughing; and I felt young! You wouldn't
know; you are young; and however bad you feel you still feel better than I
do most of the time. Believe me. You'll learn. I walked all the way up to
the pond and watched the birds there. And I had a cigarette; and that
started me coughing. I had to come back. I had to come back anyway to go to
work; and what would your mother have thought if she'd found me gone but the
car still there. She doesn't know about these walks. It's not the  sort of
thing I am known for. You're the first I've told. She'd worry. I wonder why
she wanted to move out here sometimes. It's only isolated her. And as I came
round the corner, I looked at the car and wondered if it'd even go.
Sometimes it doesn't, especially on damp mornings; and this was a damp
morning. It was clear because it had been raining, but the mist was coming
up. Suddenly I realised that I don't really need anything special. Just
something for a few years and that'll be my last. It doesn't have to keep
going long; because I'm not going to go long.

I never felt that before... In your head, you're always young... There's
still a bit of me up on that roof...

I can still remember when I was really very young, on my bike, holding on to
the back of a cab, so it'd pull me along, up by Lambeth Bridge it was, I
didn't think it was dangerous, and my father put his head out the window of
the cab - I had no idea he could be in a cab - and he said: I'll see you
when I get home... And I worried about that all day, which was the idea.

He hit me. With a strap. Bloody great strap. I took it. I had no choice.
Your uncle stood up to him once and he put his 'ead through the larder door,
cracked it all the way down. The crack's still there. Thick wood it is, too.
It was there last time I saw it. Maybe ten years ago.

That's why your uncle's so clever. Me, I only got hit on the backside, so
I'm just ordinary...

I can remember all that. It's all there. Just like all the leaves a hundred
yards away first thing in the morning. But it can't go on. No matter how
much I remember. I realised the other day.

What I just said. One day, and soon, it'll stop. I can feel it. Maybe I'm
wrong. I could be. I don't mean to upset you. Maybe I am wrong. You can
laugh at me in ten years...

If I am right, though, look after your mother.

I'd better clean my glasses, hadn't I? It's getting on.

She's not in good shape, you know; but she won't listen to me.