Life moves pretty fast

Recently I have had several experiences that have had me thinking about the symbolism of animals in our lives.

Humanity has a tradition of presenting itself in the context of creatures and thus taking meaning from those images. The initial example that springs to mind is the use of animals in heraldry. The Royal Coat of Arms contains the lion and the unicorn of England and Scotland respectively. But the great houses and religious buildings of the world are full of leopards, eagles, dragons and a plethora of other real and imagined beasts.

With the utmost respect to the finest of traditions, they are essentially medieval emjois, using an image to present a story of the traits of the bearer that they wish to present. Strength, piety, wisdom or courage can therefore be elucidated without the need for reading words.

In the world of fiction, this principle has spread into popular culture in examples such as the Patronus from the world of Harry Potter or the associate Daemons in Philip Pullman’s Dark Materials, a book I am currently reading. These are magical creatures that perform different functions but in form represent the owner to whom they are connected and their personalities.

Many a fan of the Harry Potter stories will undoubtedly have had the conversation about what their Patronus might be. In this they look into themselves and see the traits that they perceive to share with a particular creature, or maybe they find an animal to be particularly fascinating or beautiful and thus make a choice. However, it is always interesting to ask someone else what they believe your animal would be.

Had I been a medieval knight I probably would have selected a badger. I like them. I think they have personality. They are heavily linked with where I grew up in the world. I think they seem tough but wise – think Badger in The Wind in the Willows. However, when it comes to others’ opinions, I can only think of two creatures that I have ever been connected to:

The first, on a very quiet day in the office, was the time I was assigned to be the office Labrador in the “which breed of dog are they?” conversation, due to, and I quote, being “friendly, slightly over enthusiastic and a little overweight!”. I took that with the sociable banter intended – and it could have been a lot worse!

The other has been with me since I was small, and that is the charge that I am a cheeky monkey! Jen always said that was what my Patronus would have been – a little monkey of the particularly cheeky kind like a Capuchin, Tamarin or Marmoset! I’d like to think it was mainly because I am kind of cute and prone to eating a lot of grapes when they are presented!

Interestingly, not that I hold belief in such things, but a poster in my local Chinese takeaway also tells me I am astrological year of the monkey. This will apparently mean I am independent, witty, clever, curious but stubborn and easily discouraged, amongst other things. I can see some of that in me, but I’ll leave others who know me to ponder all this further and draw their own conclusions.

Jen’s spirit animal would have been a small, pretty, black and white cat, full of elegance and slinkiness and prone to snoozing on particularly comfortable blankets. Had it been the world of Garfield, it would make sense that I was the ginger tom with a love for lasagne, but maybe I was simply the Odie in the relationship! Certainly, her cat was the one in charge of that Labrador in the hierarchy of the household animals, but only ever in a way that was friendly and caring because she loved him.

Since Jen passed away however, there have been two creatures that have become symbolic of her in my day-to-day life. The first are butterflies. The second are robins. In both cases, and not just for me, these two species have appeared at times that seem to go beyond coincidence and as result, have led me to wonder about all sorts of fundamental things. A good example of this happened in these past few days.

I went on a little trip to Manchester to watch England play North Macedonia in a football international. As opposed to coming straight home, I booked myself a few days in the beautiful Dee Valley in North Wales. I visited the town that shares my name, Trevor, and the World Heritage site Pontcysyllte Aqueduct and then spent a day in and around the pretty town of Llangollen, travelling on the heritage railway and taking in the scenery.

Anyone who has read any of my previous posts would immediately see these are the sort of things I take joy from, and I did. However, because sometimes it just happens, I was also struggling with melancholy from grief. It had been coming on the previous day but, the day I awoke to ride on the railway, I was struggling from minute one. I felt lonely and nervous. I woke with a start, I think from a bad dream and struggled to eat my breakfast as my stomach was turning over. I had a sense I needed to get out of the cottage I was renting and just get some air.

This is where I need to give myself credit for taking my sabbatical and these trips to beautiful places. I put myself in a position to let the environment aid me. I walked along the river and found a quiet spot to do some breathing. From that moment on, it felt like the world started to work hard for me, as I was struggling to pick myself up, and presented me with many creatures to help me rest.

The local pigeons had spotted me eating a cereal bar on the bench and landed near my feet. These were not the two toed, greasy, flying nasties of London but plump, cooing wood pigeons. The wonderful result of this was that a couple of mums and their little ones came to this point to feed the ducks and ducklings on the water and the birds on the path. The children were laughing hysterically as the purple-grey feathered ones danced around their feet and it immediately bought a smile to my face.

I meandered to the railway station and settled in on a classic diesel rail car with my rover ticket for a few journeys up and down the line. The scenery was spectacular as the river ran past us. There were herons fishing and red kites swirling in the air above. My dad would have been in his element, and I thought of him a lot. Campers waved from their caravan steps and multiple dogs received smiles and tickles as they joined and left the train. Yet, I still couldn’t settle properly. My throat and sinuses were tight from hay fever and my stomach hadn’t really relaxed despite me managing to eat.

I planned to get off at the beautifully set Berwyn station, possibly one of the most stunning railway stations I have ever visited, and Great Western of course, to visit the Llangollen falls and then walk back the two miles to town along the Llangollen canal. Thus, as my train arrived there for the fourth time that day, I stepped down on to the platform ready to explore. I got my bearings and wandered my way to the Horseshoe Falls.

I arrived and did not want to leave. This was a truly spectacular place. I sat on the bank in a nook in the exposed roots of a beautiful old oak and from that moment I began to feel better for the first time that day. A grey wagtail flitted its way around the edge of the falls, frequently perching on the trunk of an old tree that had floated down stream. Huge dragonflies dipped in and out of the water and then, just when I was thinking I needed to share the experience with someone, a butterfly busied its way along the water’s edge and landed near my feet. I cannot explain how many times these thought processes and that occurrence have aligned since Jen passed. And yet more was to come.

After a good period of time, I began my walk along the canal. This was a leafy, tree lined walk. As I entered this space, there was only me, the water and the towpath and then suddenly, there was a robin. There had been one the day before at the Aqueduct too. It was as if I was being checked in on. I said hello and then, for the next 150 yards or so, we walked together through the trees. There was just us. Me and my little friendly feathered companion taking a stroll as if we were old chums. It was just what I needed. To see a friend. I’ll be lying if I said it didn’t bring a tear to my eye. Eventually the robin disappeared into the trees. It had collected some food on the floor and headed off as some people approached from the opposite direction, although a little later I did see another one as I rested by the water at the narrowboat quay at the end of my walk. In contrast to the start of my day, I was relaxed and felt well.

I can tell many stories, as can other family members, about such occurrences since Jen passed. How should I interpret the symbology or significance of encounters such as this? Whether they are guided by coincidence, consequence or connotation, they bring comfort and the emotions I feel at the time are perfectly valid and decent. At times, that can be a simple smile or as deep as a feeling of a spiritual connection to a garden in a far distant place. I can’t explain such things, the psychology or spirituality in many ways I think is superfluous. I just love it when it happens and, on that day, I felt comfort and friendship as little beings came to see, and as a result, help me.

Maybe that is why we like to think of animals that represent us. We then experience them, see something we recognise in a being beyond ourselves and consequently think of companionship. Those who walk with us and make us smile or give us courage. I look forward to my next encounter. If these past few years have shown me anything, it won’t be long and most likely it will be on a day when I need a little help.