Keeping fit is a constant challenge, and whilst the popularity of boot camps amongst those young enough to take the punishment continues unabated, there are those who prefer a more sedate approach.

My late father was born in Seaham in 1914, a world away from these health conscious times, and by the time he was 7 he was smoking.  In my formative years his weapon of choice was Capstan full strength, and to his dying day a succession of doctors and other medical professionals told him he should give up.  Their advice fell on deaf ears and he passed away at the age of 89.

That’s not to say that he was immune to some of the health effects of his habit; in his late sixties he suffered a thrombosis, which was enough to scare him into taking more care of himself; not through discarding his tobacco habit, but by taking up walking.

Everyday he would drive himself to the same stretch of coastline where I take most of my photographs and enjoy a brisk walk for a mile or two, braving whatever weather came his way and stopping to chat to the local characters.  It became an obsession for him for many years, and one to which he attributed his continued health.  His name was Arthur.

Which is also the name of today’s subject, encountered in the same locale.  Thank you Arthur for bringing back some happy memories.



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