These
days it seems I never have enough time to read. What keeps me from
it? At night it is the need to sleep; during the day, everything
distracts me. I always bring a book (or two) when travelling, even if
it is just to pick up the grandchildren. I do not mind waiting if I
have something to read, no matter how long I am kept waiting.
Train journeys are another good opportunity to catch up on my
reading. When I was at university, I always carried something
entertaining, never anything related to my studies as that would have
been far too dry. I was not the only one. Almost everyone travelling
alone would be reading something, even if it was only a newspaper or
magazine. I would always try to sneak a look at the cover of whatever
book a fellow traveller was reading, and of course I would judge them
on it. Nowadays, readers on trains are rarer, as most people are
glued to their smartphones. If I do see someone with a book, I am
impressed, no matter what it is.
On my most recent trip to London, when Zoe and I were travelling
for Jonny’s funeral, I brought TransAtlantic by Colum
McCann. It was a ridiculously early flight and we had agreed not to
chat on the plane journey - there would be time enough for that
later.
Instead, I read. The first part of the novel centred on the pioneering flight
taken by Jack Alcock and Arthur Whitten Brown in 1919 when they flew
from St Johns, Newfoundland to Clifden, Ireland. That year alone was
enough to captivate me, as my father was born in September 1919.
Alcock and Brown’s was the first non-stop transatlantic flight
ever completed. They flew in an adapted Vickers Vimy, a former First
World War bomber chosen for its ability to carry heavy loads. The
plane was flimsy by modern standards and freezing cold. Of course, I
knew they were going to make it, but even so I was gripped. The final
push towards Ireland, when they hit a fog bank and briefly lost
control, was nerve-racking, and the bog landing, rough as it was,
felt like a triumph.
It was only a few days later that I realised, as I had been
reading this thrilling account of an earlier flight, that I was
actually sitting in a plane myself. Although it was nowhere near as
precarious and uncomfortable as Alcock and Brown’s Vickers Vimy,
the seats weren’t that comfortable and I did have some concerns
that my hip might start to cramp. Which it did, but the walk from
plane to train soon loosened it up. Compared with Alcock and Brown,
we modern folk are softies - most of us, anyway, and I certainly am.
