Ear, Hear!

The double entendre of the sound of these two words is not lost upon me, but was not the reason I chose them as a title. When we are lucky enough to be born with normal hearing, we so take it for granted, that we don't give much thought to the way our ears are on non-stop duty.

Yesterday, all I intended to do in Havant was post a letter, buy more stamps and try to find a chemist that stocked the kind of razor that holds the ever more scarce, double sided blades. And no, I haven't started shaving my chin! I wanted to shave some particularly bobbly, poly cotton garments; in particular an almost new, knit fabric nightie, that after a couple of wearings had begun to develop those tiny, annoying blobs created by friction with every twist and turn amongst the bedclothes. Truly, they are almost too small for the eyes to notice, but the fingers tell a different story, and the slight roughness they create makes me cringe.
Using one of these razors, I've discovered, brings the fabric back to pristine smoothness in next to no time. I thought shopping for this article might take a long time, as disposable razors are the norm, but to my surprise, the chemist had one lone, left-over razor, reduced to 61p - a bargain!

My shopping was done in a flash. It was too nice to simply head back home- blue sky, sunny, light breeze - and I decided to literally 'watch the world go by', and I parked myself on one of the wooden seats that stand back to back in a strung out line through the centre of the precinct.

I had the intention of watching, with maybe the possibility of a poem surfacing as a result, but gradually I realised it was listening I was most intrigued by. Most footsteps of the passers by were muffled by latest shoe technology, i.e. soft soles, but once in a while the stomp of a dressy pair of heels punctuated the quieter sounds of casual shoes or trainers.

Many people passed singly, maybe a slight cough or sniff marking their individual silence; others, in companionable duos, held desultory conversations, while some more animated couples nodded and laughed, deep in relating some incident, one to the other.

Every size and shape of pushchair, or buggy as they are called today, rattled or creaked or slipped silently by, depending on age, plus mood of the one pushing. A frowning Mum, with at a handle-holding, second offspring created twice as much noise as that of an obviously new Mum, pushing her tiny offspring in a gleaming white and chrome concoction.

Snippets of disjointed conversations plopped out of the air as people drew level with my bench.

'We'll have to phone up and find out..'

'Never! I don't believe...'

'I've got to get some money out to pay me Mum...'

Behind my seat, a pigeon's deep throated 'Vroo-croo' softly interjected punctuation marks from time to time, while a muted rumble of traffic on the busy road at the end of the precinct added its distant monotone.

Suddenly, the high treble of a very young voice rang back from the walls of the buildings on each side, much clearer than the adult voices in their lower registers.
'Mum.... Mum.................Mum! Where are we going now?' No answer. Mum was far too busy pushing her double-width buggy, alongside her friend who was similarly encumbered. The women nodded and talked to each other, their long hair swinging around their nearly touching shoulders, as they leaned inward, deep in conversation, totally ignoring the question from bored offspring.

Once I'd processed as much information as I thought I'd need from the sauntering public, I started on my homeward journey. At the drop off point outside St Faiths Church, a car had its motor purring; then the metallic opening click, followed by the louder, closing clunk of one of its doors added to my sound picture. A small white van, unloading flowers, chimed in with a sliding side panel being rasped shut, while another car did a staccato toot on it's horn as it turned at the corner ahead.

My own feet make no sound on the uneven pavements as I turn down alongside the church, but there is a snip, snip, snip of shears coming from amongst the old gravestones, as grass edges are trimmed, somewhere out of sight. The closer I get to home, the quieter it becomes, until a motorbike's hurtling roar momentarily shatters the silence. As the air is disturbed by its passing, I become aware that the wind is curling past the curlicues of my ears, and adding its own gentle hushing, only now audible as the town center sounds recede. A lady bangs her spade edge on a concrete surface, one loud, metallic clang; a far off strimmer is like a dentist drill, whining up and down as intensity varies.

Turning the final corner before home, there's my good neighbour vacuuming his car, adding his pennyworth to the morning's symphony of noise, but he silences it as I draw level, and the only sounds remaining are the birds in the trees and our two voices, as we greet each other with a cheery 'Hello!', then wind the morning up with a friendly chat. My ears have had a good workout.