Reflections on a Simple Past | 06

In our quest to capture and preserve the present moment, so that in the future, we can remember affectionally the past, do we miss out? Perhaps we need to relearn the art of simply noticing?

In this series, I look back at some of the people, places and things which have so richly influenced and inspired my love of all things simple.

---

This Rediscover · Reconnect · Re-Emerge post is free to read; however, to dig deeper and access the full range of posts and resources, you can become a paid subscriber for just £4 a month, or £40 a year. Paid subscriptions help me to continue creating new content, affording me time and space to explore new ideas, and allow me to continue supporting others to do the same. Every paid subscription has a big impact 🙏

---

I can remember a time when almost all shops were closed on a Sunday. Perhaps you can too? Eventually, the large, out-of-town stores and supermarkets began to open, and soon, smaller shops in towns and cities followed. In the 40 years I’ve been alive, Sunday, once a day of rest, has changed beyond all recognition. As much as I hanker after those slow and simple Sundays of the past, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to occasionally finding it useful to be able to shop on a Sunday. Nowadays, we can often nip to the shops after church on a Sunday morning; who’d have thought we’d ever be able to do that?

One of our many Sunday afternoon visits to Gloucester Docks. Here, the tall ship, Kaskelot, in 1994.

I don’t know about you, but I still to refer to ‘Sunday lunch’, even though we nearly alway eat it in the evening. In some quarters, I note it has been renamed a ‘Sunday roast’, losing the name of the associated mealtime completely. In the days when we ate Sunday lunch, the afternoons were almost always set aside for ‘walking it off’. Perhaps you still do this? When I was growing up we lived in Gloucester, so Sunday afternoon was often an opportunity for a walk up on Rodborough Common or by the Gloucester and Sharpness Canal. Sometimes we ventured further afield, to the Forest of Dean, Severn Beach, or to The Cotswolds.

There were, of course, fewer technological distractions in those days, something I find myself writing and thinking about a lot. If we went somewhere for a walk, we went for a walk. We didn’t go to take photos and selfies in the way we do now, with phones in our pockets every step of the way. Perhaps we were better at enjoying the simple sights in front of us? Maybe we noticed the changing seasons in the trees and hedgerows? All said and done though, it’s easy to romanticise these things. Sometimes, a Sunday afternoon walk was not welcome. It felt like a chore, like a routine, something to be done because it had always been done.

A Sunday afternoon walk to see the River Severn in flood; 1991.

I wrote last month about spending time outdoors, a mainstay of my childhood, but something I’ve come to value once more as an adult. I remember us doing very few indoor activities, so even on the occasions we went to, shall we say, an ‘attraction’, it was, more likely than not, to be outdoors. We often went on a Sunday afternoon to the National Waterways Museum in Gloucester, of which we were friends and members. Somehow, I found nothing boring in seeing the same exhibits with an almost alarming frequency.

After our Sunday afternoon walk or outing, much in the vain of Victorian ladies taking the air after lunch, Sunday evenings too had a predictable rhythm. I was brought up on the BBC’s Sunday teatime dramatisations of children’s classics, such as Five Children and It, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, The Phoenix and the Carpet, and latterly, The Borrowers. Even if the intention wasn’t to calm us children down, to lull us towards bedtime, it seemed nevertheless to be the outcome. Then there seemed to be familiar Sunday evening programmes for adults, all of which came and went periodically, such as Ski Sunday, Rugby Special, and One Man and His Dog. We look back on so many of these times with affection, and let’s face it, with a huge dose of nostalgia.

A more adventurous outing to see the Second Severn Crossing being built; 1995.

Looking back, it all seems rather slow and simple, ironically, exactly what so many of us crave now. It’s always easy to see the past through rose-tinted spectacles, but if nothing else, I think we can all agree that it was certainly different. As I’ve said many times previously, our understanding and appreciation of the past can impact the present. We can’t recreate the past, but what is it we look back on that we can take with us on our journeys now? Perhaps at its simplest, we might think of time spent with family and time spent outdoors, enjoying the simple things in life such as a beautiful view, a seemingly magical forest, or the little details found in nature. Those things we once captured with our eyes and memories, can now be captured in photos and videos. This isn't all a bad thing; if I scroll back through my phone’s camera roll, I can see the changing seasons, and the memories of happy times spent with friends and family.

Perhaps it’s too simplistic, but I think that in the past, there were moments when we weren’t as rushed as we are now. But even now, we rush to capture life’s moments on our phones. I wonder if, ironically, in our quest to capture and preserve the present moment, so that in the future, we can remember affectionally the past, we miss out? I’m as guilty as next person, I know. My word for the year in 2023 was present, and the full 12 months were a lesson in how hard it is to live in the present, just where our feet are. My word for 2024 was space, and perhaps that’s an opportunity carve out space, not just in our busy schedules, but in our minds too; space to simply be, to observe, and to remember.

A more recent Sunday afternoon outing, to Cannock Chase in the snow; 2010.

Perhaps we all need to relearn the art of observation, of simply noticing the moments of the present. I think that

Laura Pashby

captures this so perfectly in the introduction to her 2021 book, Little Stories of Your Life:

‘Little stories are small, but they shine bright: like fireflies, or sparkling water droplets on a winter branch. They concern the people that we love, the details that we observe, the small secrets that we keep and the memories that make us glow inwardly…These are stories of moments that we share, moments that we quietly treasure and that somehow make us who we are.’

I wonder which the little moments are which you will remember with the most affection in the future?

---

Incidentally, by the time you read this

Laura Pashby

’s latest book, Chasing Fog will be out:

‘It’s easy to get lost in fog, but sometimes it’s where imperceptible things can be found, including in ourselves. Chasing Fog is a captivating meditation on fog and mist, a love song to weather and nature’s power to transform.’

I’m sure that you will enjoy this as much as I will.

---

If you’re not already doing so, I’d love you to follow me over on Instagram. You can also visit the A Life More Creative website, where you can find out more about My Story, and read articles from my online Journal. Subscribe on Substack to receive new posts and to support my work: