We Were Told Walking Was Good For Him

That Was 37 Years Ago

My grandfather started walking five miles a day when he was 60.

He’s 97 now.

We have no idea where he is.

It seemed like a reasonable suggestion at the time.

The doctor said he needed exercise. He said walking was good for the heart. Someone bought him a pair of proper walking boots and off he went down the road with the quiet satisfaction of a family that’s doing the right thing.

That was 1987.

He hasn’t stopped since.

The first few years were fine.

Five miles a day, back for lunch, cups of tea, normal life. We thought we’d cracked it.

Healthy grandfather.

Everyone was pleased with themselves.

Then the five miles became eight.

Then twelve.

Then he started leaving notes.

Gone walking. Back Tuesday.

Tuesday being, in one memorable case, three weeks later.

He’d been to Scarborough. Why Scarborough, we don’t know because we can’t ask him.. He just kept going and eventually there he was.

The Sightings

By his mid-eighties we’d stopped expecting him at mealtimes and started relying on a network of reported sightings.

A cousin spotted him in Derbyshire in 2019. Moving at considerable pace. Nodded and kept going.

A neighbour’s daughter swears she saw him crossing a field in Northumberland last spring. She waved. He waved back. He was gone before she got her phone out.

My uncle claims he tracked him as far as the Yorkshire Dales in 2021 and then lost him somewhere near Hawes.

We’ve learned not to ask my uncle about this.

What We Know

He has his walking boots. He has a waterproof coat that he’s had since 1993 and refuses to replace. He carries a small amount of cash and what we believe is a compass, though nobody can confirm this because nobody has been close enough long enough to check.

From what we know he seems well.

Better than well, actually. The occasional postcard suggests a man entirely at peace with his situation.

We are less at peace.

The doctor who recommended walking retired in 1998 and moved to Portugal.

Sometimes I think the irony.

We’ve had several family meetings.

The conclusion is always the same - he’s 97, he knows what he’s doing, and any attempt to stop him would probably finish him off faster than the walking.

So what can we do?

We keep the kettle ready. We check the postcards. We maintain the network.

Someone suggested fitting him with a tracker, if we ever get close enough.

He was last seen heading north.

We think he might be in Scotland now.

To be honest, at this point, we’re less worried about him than we are about ourselves.

We told him walking was good for his heart.

Unfortunately it also appears to be good for his legs, his lungs, his general constitution, and his complete indifference to staying anywhere long enough for us to find him.

He’s 97 and he’s somewhere in Britain.

We’re at home.

Worried. He’s fine.