BRICKS

Sylvia said profound stuff, like, 'Never pass up a brick!' and she always managed to find one or two before we headed home. 'Never return without a brick - that's my advice.' She was full of good advice. And now there's a skip outside her house...

I met Sylvia by chance one sunny autumn morning when her large white greyhound, Robert, came flying over to me, followed shortly by one stout, twinkle-eyed owner, and Spy, Robert's blue sister. 'I see you walking past my house every day,' she panted, and I said, 'Yes, you live in the end one - with the pretty garden... I recognise you.' We walked on for about an hour. My cocker spaniels, Silly and Spam, had a wild time crashing through scrubby grass after the greyhounds, disappearing off the paths to return all damp and tongue-lolly with bits of twig and moss, stuck to the mud which caked their legs and bellies from repeated dips in stagnant puddles.

Sylvia and I made an arrangement and met up the next day. This time we headed deeper into the forest to where you rarely bump into a soul. We didn't bump into a soul, but on our way back, Sylvia spotted a lone brick nestled in the grass, and without pausing for breath she confused me somewhat, by bending mid sentence to pick it up. Then she slid her rucksack off, popped the brick in, swung it back on, and we were off again. I didn't like to ask, but she saved me the embarrassment - 'Never pass up a brick,' she announced emphatically. When I asked her why, she said, 'Because you never know when it'll come in handy. I've got tons at home. Use um round my flower borders, make paths. Love um. I very rarely come home - go anywhere without a brick in my bag.' 

I'd never really thought about bricks before, but for some reason, I kept noticing them everywhere; one or two, sometimes a pile of them dumped by the wayside. I picked up the odd one here and there at first, and then I started finding stacks of them - outside people's gardens, in the woods, and if I was lucky, heaps of them in skips. Sylvia and I would usually find at least one each to bring home from our walk and feel it had been a successful trip, even though we never admitted to actually looking for the things. Sylvia had a sharper eye than me, but I was developing a talent for spotting the quarry.

By the next summer, I had started to spend more time on my garden, counting and arranging my bricks to border the veg patch, and so forth. Sylvia found herself busy, too, and so we hadn't been walking together as much. I feel a bit guilty saying this but if on occasion, I saw a brick lying around, I sometimes selfishly thought, 'I'd better pick that up before Sylvia gets it.' But in my favour, there were always plenty to go round. 

I hadn't seen my friend for a couple of months, when I bumped into her at the council offices where the people in our neighbourhood had met to protest in order to save a local woods from being chopped down. She seemed her usual self otherwise, but had turned bright yellow. 

I said, 'Sylvia, you're bright yellow!' She said, 'I know.' Her husband, Harry, laughed and quipped that he had been calling her Marge Simpson since a week last Wednesday. She laughed about that and talked as well, about having been to the doctor, and about the bother of having to attend forthcoming hospital visits to see if something was up with her liver. But she didn't feel too bad. She said, 'I'm more worried about this bloody palaver...' Man, were we upset about those trees! But thankfully, we won the battle that night, and Sylvia was thrilled. 

I watched her dogs for her when she went into hospital at the end, and Harry was with her most of the time. He looked so lost at the funeral, then afterwards, we hardly saw him. Even though we neighbours, tried to talk to him, he just seemed to want to shut himself away. Sylvia had been his strength, a great friend and a lot of fun - a brick! And now there was nothing left for him.

Grief takes it's time and these were early days for Harry. They say that time is a great healer; I'm not sure that's true. Maybe you just get used to the absence of a loved one after a while. Harry didn't hang around long enough to find out. Within a month they were together again, and the dogs went to live with the son. 

I still enjoy my forest walks, and often think of Sylvia. I sometimes bump into other walkers, like the other day, my dogs ran over to this girl and her two Springers. We got chatting and walked for a bit. She must have thought me odd when I bent mid sentence to pick it up. She looked confused, but didn't ask, so I saved her the embarrassment. 'Never pass up a brick...' I said, and of course, she asked me, 'Why?'