I went for a walk on Hampstead Heath today.
It’s a sensational place to visit, and only a stones throw from central London, it’s a haven of peace and tranquility despite being absolutely buzzing with people.
I sat on a bench and it had an inscription: “This bench was placed here in memory of Jack Cinnamon by his brothers and sisters 1955-1982”
I love people, and I love history, and I found this simply inscription moving and it got me writing.
Jack’s in the Park
On Jack Cinnamon’s bench
a cooling breeze
on the second hottest day of the year
carries the chirping of crickets
and into the wilds of the heath.
Grandparents encourage toddlers,
dangerously close to the lake edge,
to throw bread
for the ducks
who are so well fed
that they look on impassively.
as far gone now
would recognise the scene.
A parity in class,
revelling in the grass,
the well aged lands
free to the community
and visitors alike.
I wonder if Jack was a remarkable man,
or if he just liked a view