The joy of BEING JIMMY

As free as a bird, but this gentleman of the road didn't realise just how much he was loved

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Old Jimmy didn’t see himself as a tramp. A ‘gentleman of the road’, yes, or even a wild wanderer like Gandalf from his favourite book, Lord of the Rings, but definitely not a tramp. So when a boy from the village shouted it at him, along with some other things that weren't very nice, Jimmy felt upset and a bit puzzled.

He couldn't say how many years it was since he'd slept inside a house, the past was all a bit hazy. He must have owned a bed at some point, but he didn’t really remember it. All he knew was that every morning when he woke in the hollow under the bramble hedge and saw the sun rise over the fenland fields, his heart lifted.

That morning, Jimmy was up and about before the sun had really woken up. The distant hills were hidden by mist, but there was the promise of late summer warmth in the air. With any luck, sunshine by lunchtime. That was good enough for him.

Smiling contentedly, Jimmy straightened his overcoat and tied the string belt carefully into a neat bow. His stomach was grumbling, so he looked inside his canvas backpack. There wasn’t much in the way of food in there, but it didn’t really matter. Yesterday, when he was heading towards the village, he’d noticed the delicious smell of a roast dinner drifting out of a farmhouse window, along with the sound of a family at the dinner table chatting and laughing. The lady of the house might have a bit of leftover chicken for him today, and maybe a pint of milk. They had never spoken to each other, as far as he could remember, but the woman’s nod and gentle smile were enough to show Jimmy that, somehow, she understood why he lived as he did and was happy to help.

Now, Jimmy headed in the direction of the farm, arms swinging, breathing in the good clean air. He didn’t have a watch, but could tell it must still be early. Too early to expect the roast chicken? Probably. Well, he had lots of time.