I recognize those worn boots sticking out from the behind the pillar at the end of the quay wall ,pointing  skywards, legs stretched out. How many miles have those boots  covered I wondered. What stories can they tell.

​

I’ve seen him many times on the coastal paths and up in the hills and mountains, miles from carparks and civilisation.

As I get closer I see a camera lens wrapped in the camouflage material pointing seawards. Panning from left to right and left again. He’s looking through the viewfinder, both eyes open.

Sitting on the upper part of the quay wall, his legs are eye level with me.

Oblivious to the others around him including me he lowers the camera  and places it on his lap. Still looking out to sea I have no doubt he’s looking for dolphins.

​

The wind is Westerly and very harsh. The people on the quay wall are pulling their hoods up and complaining about the cold.

He doesn’t. He just sits there looking out to sea.  He eyes moving and then his head. 

With reflexes that would match a cat he lifts the camera to his face, again both eyes open and the whirring of the lenses autofocus tells me that he is locking onto his target.

A disciplined click-click-click! A trained soldier only firing enough rounds when his target has been acquired and then dropped!  Saving ammo! Years ago, saving film as only 36 shots per reel. Now with digital he maintains the habit.

An ex soldier he is. I found out on one of the many times I have spoken to him.  He told me once when we were high up on a hill top. I know he served in places that  most people only scan over and not read  about in the papers, turning  over the page to read how the image of Jesus was found in a loaf of bread. That’s if the media bother reporting about such incidents he has seen and been in at all. He’s told me where he been but he will not tell me of what he saw or did. When I ask in more detail  he just changes the subject.

​

He lowers his camera to chest height still scanning the sea to the people on the quay gasping “Did you see that? And Wow! All I saw was its tail.” I missed it.

I look up to him. The ex soldier now photographer.

He seems to know better and tips his camera to view the photos he took. The corner of his mouth curls up, No other expressions give away if the photo were of any use or quality.

I look out to sea and the wind is chaffing my face. The clouds on the horizon are dark and heavy. For once it looks like the weathermen have it right.  Rain due for the afternoon.

In the background just above the wind “Click-click-click” in very quick succession. Another quarry for his bag.

I look back and he’s back in position, camera poised ready looking out to sea.

​

“Hello” I say to him. “Hello back” he replies not looking at me.

“Any good shots”  Yep he says, “should be able to sell these, helps pay the rent” while looking over my shoulder at the rain clouds.

That’s when it starts. The heavens have opened and the rain is coming in sideways.  A couple of heavy spots then all at once. No mercy with these clouds.

​

I turn my back to the wind and rain and pull my collar up while noticing that the people that were around us at the end of the quay are heading  back to the village, no doubt looking for some shelter.

He‘s still sitting there, not in the slightest concerned that it’s raining so hard. Does he actually realise that is raining?

He shuffles a little, yes he does I think.

“Numb bum he says and pulls his legs in close to his body, resting his left arm on his knees and continuing to point his camera out to sea, the big lens resting in that left arm.

“Not being rude, I say to him, but I’m heading back to that “chippy” on the corner. “I need a brew”.

He’s still looking out beyond, his face soaking wet, his clothes getting darker the wetter they got.

“You coming?” I offer to him.

He takes  his glasses off and wiping away the excess water by pulling his t-shirt out from his waist and stretching it up to meet is said glasses.

I’m wondering how long it will be before he’s soaked to the bone.

​

Putting his glasses back all he says is “Aye! Might as well. It’s getting to be a bit of a soft day”.

Getting up and stretching, in no hurry at all he pushes  his arms out wide not to unlike he might do when he gets out of bed in the morning. Towering above me on the top part of the quay wall, standing straight he stamps his feet, his well worn boots splashing up water that puddled  near where he was sitting. “Good to get some blood back” he comments.

He leans down and puts his right hand on my  right shoulder and jumps down off the wall.

For a man who must weigh 14 to 15 stone I don’t feel any burden from him at all. He hits the ground with a thud.

“C’mon then” he chirps and he’s already at least 4 steps ahead of me. I have jog to catch up. I had forgotten how quick this man can walk.

​

Pushing his camera to the small of his back helped by the long strap he wears with it, not to dissimilar to a soldier carrying his rifle I’m by his side. “How’s you? I ask, what you been up to?” The wind catching my words whilst holding a hand to my face to shield from the rain.

“It’s been better” he says head upright and again I swear that he could be walking this quay on a sunny day so indifferent he is to the rain. It’s like he’s walking in a bubble and the wind and rain are there to bother others and not him. “You should know” he continues with a puzzled tone in his voice.

I’m almost out of breath trying to keep with his pace.

Not too soon we are the door of the chip shop! Shelter at last.

​

Entering the chip shop the smells are amazing,  I am not hungry but  I could be now. I bet chip shops make a lot of their trade by the seduction of soon to be new customers nostrils. Some hapless soul minding their own business walking down the street and all of a sudden they find themselves standing there ordering a battered sausage and chips.  Walking out with their food in a small tray wondering how did that happen?

He offers a small wave to the staff as he walks in and smiles , walking through the seated area,  glasses off and in hand wiping them again with his still dry t-shirt he chooses to sit near the back facing the door, back to the wall and near a window looking out.

Wiping the condensation of the window but only a small amount, large enough to look out but anyone passing looking in wouldn’t see too far in.

I look at him and he just says “Old habits die hard” with a half smile looking a little awkward.

I sit opposite him, not bothered about who is behind me.

​

The waitress walks up to our table as I’m taking my coat off to hang it over the back of my chair. He sits there with his still wet sweatshirt moving only to adjust the position of his camera to his side, placing it on the plastic molded seat, still strapped to his body.

I order myself a coffee. “Large cod and chips please” he says looking at the waitress, lady in her early 50s straight on. “Oh and a can of coke please”. And then I see the second smile off him since I met him again on the quay wall. Both have been in here and to other people.

The waitress turns and walks away and his eyes follows her, and then to around the chip shop and its customers.

The people who are also seated and in various stages of their meals, people in line for take outs eyeing the array of pies and sausages on the hot racks behind the glass, glancing up at the menu and prices up on the wall behind the counter. Possibly working out their budgets and could they afford what their eyes can see.

​

He has his head down now facing the table and takes out the knife from the napkin wrapped around it and its companion the fork that the waitress kindly brought back to the table along with my coffee and his can of coke he took again with a smile.

Placing the knife between above the fingers of his right hand he starts to flick it over and under his digits. Back and forth, back and forth.

He doesn’t say a word but is staring into space. In his mind he is miles away.

I look into his eyes as I sip my molten hot coffee. I wonder what they have seen. I don’t really want to know what they have seen but they are drawing me in.

Some say that eyes are windows to the soul. How deep are his eyes? I’m getting lost here. Like someone tuning a radio and running through all the frequencies back and forth trying to find the station they want. The split seconds of music and talking, then white noise and music once more and then white noise.

I can see hope and pain. I see joy and disappointment, regrets, loss and flickers of anger. Massive amounts of love given and massive amount of love lost. I see fear.  Deep fear.  Fear of what? I see loneliness.

​

The chip shop door opens and he looks up, knife still flicking through his fingers. His expression doesn’t change as he lifts his eyes, no movement of his head at all, to observe a young couple with a pram coming in from the rain ,pulling their hoods down and smiling at the line of people waiting to be served. Possibly relieved that they are not the only ones seeking sanctuary from the weather.

The lady is in first and she’s holding the door open for her man who’s walking through the door backwards pulling the pram over the step.

They make their way to one of the tables and take off their coats and also hang them  over the back of the chairs to drip dry. They then turn their attention to their pride and joy in the pram.

​

He takes a sigh while looking at the couple. He has told me in the past that he has been cheated out of being a dad. He didn’t go into too much detail but I know that has hurt him. And being single now again I don’t think he holds out much hope for being one in the future. He will tell everyone that it don’t bother him and he has his cat and she is his baby but I know he is lying.

He looks out of the window and through the gap in the condensation that he made.  The door opens a customer leaves, laden with fried delights and into the rain. His eyes move but again not his head. His eyes return to looking through the window pane.

He’s looking but not seeing what is happening outside. Again he is lost deep in thought.

I’m sipping my coffee and I place my mug heavy on the table to try and get his attention but it doesn’t work. I want to break this spell he is in. How deep is he going? Is it safe where he is?

​

The clunk of the heavy handled knife hitting the table startles me. His fingers are no longer moving.

He looks away from the window and he is back in the world of the living. Blinking fast and looking around as if he’s just woken up. A bit slow as suffering from sleep inertia but I can see the brain is working overtime.

In those eyes that offered me a glimpse of his soul I now see tears. He’s blinking hard trying to shift them.

The door opens again and another customer is leaving, pulling their hood up and try and shelter from the rain that is still pouring down.

His eyes don’t just look past me but through this time, taking in all that is happening once again.

He is always watching. Is this his nature or the result of training for the places he has had to be when he was a soldier?

​

He smiles and lifts his head as the waitress arrives with a large plate with his food! 

“Thank you ever so much” he says hands up to take the weighty looking plate off the waitress. “Diolch yn fawr”

“Enjoy” she says! Oh I will he replies!  His eyes lighting up at the food he’s placing down in front of him on the table.

I take a last swig of my coffee and place the mug back on the table. I grab a napkin and wipe my mouth. That was a good coffee!  Mental note to self! Come here again.

And by the look of the fish and chips that he is happily tucking into I will definitely make a note of trying them out next time. I just hope that I am really hungry as there’s a fair amount on that plate.

​

“I’m off then. Good to see you again” I say while taking a chance and stealing a couple of chips off his plate. They are hot and I shuffle them from hand to hand.

He looks but not saying a word as he’s busy chomping down on some battered fish. He smiles and nods.

I shuffle out from the fixed seat and he gestures to my mug, clears his mouth and states “Don’t worry fella!  I’ll shout for your coffee!  On me! “ He’s smiling.

I nod thank you and popping a too hot a chip in my mouth I pick up my coat off the back of the seat. A small puddle has gathered on the tiled floor.

Walking to the door I look back and he is back to devouring his fish and chips. I open the door, coat now buttoned full up and collar up high.

This time he does not look up at all. I raise an arm to him in a wave but he still doesn’t see. Not to worry though. I wonder when I will see him again and where.

We have a habit of meeting in some strange places. From the mountains of North Wales with no-one around but ourselves to on boats in the middle of the Irish Sea and Atlantic miles from land photographing Minke whales and Common dolphins.

​

Outside the wind has calmed and I can stand up straight as instead of bracing myself against it as earlier. The rain is now coming down more in a straight line and not sideways. Could be a nice day I think to myself as I start walking up past the chip shop and past the windows and for the second time past diners enjoying their food but this time there’s walls and glass separating us.  My car is parked just around the corner.

​

I get to the last window to where I was sitting with him. That small patch of condensation he cleared hides his face enough to not make him recognisable at anything less than a glance.  Probably by his design.

I stop to wave to him knowing that he has a clear view out onto the street and a better view than I have looking in. I wave one of the last chips I took from his plate at him.

But it’s not him I am looking at.

All  I see is myself.

Sitting in the warm and dry.  A large plate of fish and chips in front of me.

Alone.

A scene that’s played out for so long the audience know the play word for word and the actors, rehearsals are a thing of the past so tuned are they to their roles.

I look out through the hole of condensation on the window pane.......................