When Harold Fry nips out one morning to post a letter, leaving his wife hovering upstairs, he has no idea that he is about to walk from one end of the country to the other. He has no hiking boots or map, let alone a compass, waterproof or mobile phone. All he knows is that he must keep walking... read more
“Harold felt winded. If he moved so much as a limb, even a muscle, he was afraid it would trigger an abundance of feeling he was doing his best to contain.”
“It occured to him it was Maureen who spoke to David and told him their news. It was Maureen who had always written Harold's name ('Dad') in the letters and cards. It was even Maureen who had found the nursing home for his father. And it begged the question - as he pushed the button at the pelican crossing - that if she was, in effect, Harold. 'Then who am I?'”
“The hiking man continued talking. It occured to Harold that he was one of those people who didn't require people in order to have a conversation.”
“Harold sat is silence. The silver-haired gentleman was in truth nothing like the man Harold had first imagined him to be. He was a chap like himself, with a unique pain; and yet there would be no knowing that if you passed him in the street, or sat opposite him in a cafe and did not share his teacake. Harold pictured the gentleman on a station platform, smart in his suit, looking no different from anyone else. It must be the same all over England. People were buying milk, or filling their cars in with petrol, or even posting letters. And what no one else knew was the appalling weight of the thing they were carrying inside. The superhuman effort it took sometimes to be normal and a part of things that appeared both easy and everyday. The loneliness of that.”
“He visited the cathedral, and sat in its chilled light, pouring like water from above. He reminded himself that centuries ago men had built churches, bridges and ships; all of them, a leap of madness and faith, if you thought about it. When no one was looking, Harold slipped to his knees and asked for the safety of the people he had left behind, and those who were ahead. He asked for the will to keep going. He also apologised for not believing.”
“It struck him as strange but true that tourists bought trinkets and souvenirs of religious places because they had no idea what else to do when they got there.”
“Exeter took Harold by surprise. He had developed a slower inner rhythm that the fury of the city now threatened to overturn. He had felt comfortable in the security of the open land and sky, where everything took its place. He had felt himself to be part of something bigger than being simply Harold.”
“He looked for traces of the land beneath his feet and all he found was where it had been replaced with paving stones and tarmac. Everything alarmed him. The traffic. The buildings. The crowds pushed past, shouting into their mobile phones. He smiled at each face and it was exhausting, taking in so many strangers.”
“He no longer saw distance in terms of miles. He measured it with his remembering.”
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