Diaries of a Vincentian: The Voice of the Survivors

Diaries of a Vincentian: The Passage

A diary reveals much about its writer; especially read in retrospect some time later.   It’s not your diary I am thinking of – it’s mine!  The hand-eye-brain co-ordination creates a muscular memory of events that is both cathartic and illuminating. A strong...
Diaries of a Vincentian: The Voice of the Survivors

Diaries of a Vincentian: To die like a dog…

August 18th 2003 I was running between two emergencies. We were Red Cross volunteer lifeguards. We first attended to a man with a stab wound and took him to hospital, but it was a struggle to get him admitted: we knew neither his name, nor of any relatives who could...
Diaries of a Vincentian: The Voice of the Survivors

Diaries of a Vincentian: Rocco

I knew him as Rocco, his nickname. Every week, we’d chat. His ‘patch’ was outside Sainsbury’s, the main supermarket in Cambridge. He sat unimposing, legs crossed, greying beard. He always wore a woollen hat, even when the sun was shining. Rocco was up early and stayed...
Diaries of a Vincentian: The Voice of the Survivors

Diaries of a Vincentian: On top of the World

And suddenly I felt her little hand in mine. She had stood next to me for a while; staring up at me with her curious eyes; her bright smile framed by dusty, tangled hair. We were in the middle of a small square; surrounded by little houses; a buzzing community on the...