Feet First

Walking the talk

‘Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood’

Maggie Hambling

Here’s the thing, Feet First was never my intention for this week’s post. I had settled down to write, a whole story waiting to be aired and shared. I opened Pages and noticed a ‘waiting’ message under a blank page. I clicked it and Maggie Hambling’s words were written there. I’d  typed them in as an aide memoire some time ago and forgotten about them. Having seen them again, the inspiration for ‘feet’ was an instant and not to be ignored necessity. Feet walked right out onto the page and to hell with intention.

Our newborn entered the world on Friday, not feet first, but by C-section. Something that seems to be increasingly common these days. No longer reserved for difficult birthing problems, but rather a way in which medics can control stats, budgets, staff ratios and theatre time and sometimes because there is good medical justification. Cynical? Maybe, but not one of the three of our young mums in the family has had a natural birth. There have been 5 births….. There is much talk of birthing plans and mother’s rights, but eventually all ended with a Cesarean.  We delight in the safe arrival of this new little person into our lives. He’s positively angelic and there is deep gratitude to the professionals but it sparks a curiosity in me as to whether each generation feels the need to improve upon our species in its own unique way? That we are now reinventing the human; no more vaginal births those aren’t manageable, but let’s time-table and plan.  Let’s dispense with gender and give children a decision in what sex they want to be, furthermore let’s be magnanimous and allow anyone who expresses the desire for a child, to have one. I fear we may have opened another Pandora’s box and we all know what happened there. Change, progress and innovation are a necessary part of human evolution and I’m fully on board with that, but the repercussions of our cleverness are yet to be realised, we cannot put the lid back on. The original model isn’t broken, but it appears that we’re still going to mend it, time will tell if curses have been released or blessings found in a new way of being human.

An infant’s feet are such a thing of beauty. There is the pinkness of them, the unmarked perfection of their soles and tiny shell-like nails on each tiny toe. That’s intentional attention to detail. A grand design. With the birth of each of our grandchildren I look to their tiny feet and wonder the walking journey they will have through life. There is immediately a story in them. So many thoughts tumble around in my mind, will they walk across Arctic ice, through the hallowed chambers of Oxford or Cambridge, over the Himalayas, tread the aisles of an Amazon warehouse, pace the corridors of a specialist hospital or the streets of nowhere to go. Will I see the onward path of these tiny feet? A whole future is held captive in them and as they grow, will move and walk into the shape of their lives.

Our feet bear the weight and burden of us. Carry us through the different stages of life, sometimes showing the journey in their transformation from perfectly formed to misshapen, arthritic and bunioned with maybe in-growing toenails, hard cracked skin, corns and callouses. They reveal your life. How hard they have worked. Taking us through doorways at first school,  university, job interviews, church aisles, delivery suites, to gravesides and everything in between. Up escalators, down stairwells, in and out of taxis, gangplanks, over bridges, on pedals, across air terminals, off trains. They suffer the first shoes our toddler feet are ever held in and the ill-fitting fashionable shoes we force upon them in the upsurge years of making ourselves into someone. Theirs is a life of burden, work and service, with sometimes the freedom of release to walk on soft green grass or warm white sand, shallow rippling sea water or a cool running stream. Earthing us.

When my first grand daughter was born, such was my delight in her feet, I wrote a little book about them, Wriggle and Tiggle.  I named each of the toes on her right foot: Biggle, Wriggle, Tiggle, Jiggle and Piggle. My plan has been to follow those feet through the stages of her life and write a book noting their adventures. These books are only for her… so far there are 3 of them and she celebrates her 5th birthday very soon. I know those feet will dance, there is a twirl and pirouette in them.  They already hop, skip and jump. They have carried her into nursery, pre-school and now infants. To ballet lessons and birthday parties. There will be nightclubs, bars, restaurants and so much more. In heels, trainers, pumps and flip flops. A future in feet.

I didn’t notice this in my own children so much. Far too busy trying to be a ‘good’ mum. More fool me, or perhaps this is precisely the special advantage of being a grand parent, having time and standing back to really look at them. It is my grandchildren who are the teachers and have shown me the precious quality of frame and the brilliance of each individual part. I look at my gnarled feet in the shower and love them.

At the prison I worked with the inmates on walking as a form of prayer. They spend some time each day treading link corridors from one block to another. It seemed a good way to lock in some quality time in Presence, to distract from the boredom of a never-changing route over long-term life sentences. Our walking prayers culminated in a ‘pilgrimage’ to Jerusalem through Lent. We washed their feet on Maundy Thursday and on Good Friday we drew out a labyrinth in chalk on the carpet tiles of the chapel with a large cross at its centre. We encouraged the men to walk it at their own pace, to tolerate others who may be slower, exercise patience, be ready to pause and wait. I realised, along with them, that walking carries great import and much was gained by all of us in undertaking this internal walking journey together.

This year The Big Lent Walk was initiated by Cafod, 200k over 40 days, I signed up. This walk is to support Cafod’s continuing task to erase global poverty. Put shoes on feet and so much more. I’m averaging 5 kilometres a day and have found it a time of fascinating reflection. Tougher than I first thought. There have certainly been wilderness moments. Walking is a meditation in itself, it frees up the soul with every step taken. My own feet are doing well, we’ve climbed slippery hills and marched through rivers of water and mud - there has been so much rain. I have sturdy engineered boots - a luxury afforded me by my life here, now. Years ago my school friends and I undertook a 24 mile sponsored walk for charity around the outer circle bus route, I wore my indoor school shoes. No-one had trainers or specialist footwear then, but we had strong feet and youthful blustering enthusiasm, it was enough to get us round. There is a sense of history repeating itself for me in all this with Maggie Hambling’s words ringing in my ears each time I set out and expect my older and wiser feet to do their work. I’ve come full circle. My feet are doing the talking. I think they always have, carrying me on to so many different pathways both metaphorically and in reality throughout the 66 years of life.

Spare a thought for your own and all they’ve done for you. Look with love upon them, think of the moment they entered this world and made themselves known in their brand newness. Value any crookedness with affection and humour. Where have they walked you? Are your steps slower these days? Do your feet hurt? Have you adjusted your own pace to keep step with another?  Let me have your foot wear and tear….Till the next time,

Alice