Enduring Friendship?

          “If all men knew what others say of them, there would not be four friends in the world.”

          (Blaise Pascal, philosopher and mathematician, died 1662.)

          The other day, I went for walk with two of my old friends. That may not sound significant, but it matters to us because in the more than fifty years since we first bonded, our paths have diverged to the extent that we would never see each other unless we made a point of it. So, the walk has become an annual event (covid years excepted) and one that we look forward to. It also leads me to ponder the nature of friendship and the forms it takes, sitting as it seems to me, on the continuum of human interaction somewhere between acquaintance and love. And, like them, friendship can be fluid, fleeting and fragile or solid, serene and steadfast, Pascal’s observation notwithstanding.

          But first, why a walk? The obvious answer is that the three of us share a fondness for tramping across the country and – it has to be said – would like to keep doing it for as long as we’re able. Fortunately, we are still fit enough to manage more than a stroll through the park. On this occasion, we did an eight-mile stretch of the North Cornwall coast from Boscastle to Tintagel and back, climbing down into then up out of several inlets. It being the end of the holiday season, the young families with children had disappeared from the scene, leaving it to our generation to enjoy in tranquillity and with traditional pasties to give us succour. And while we walked, we talked about old times, new times, family, literature and politics (though we had no need to dwell on the last of these, as there has always been a consensus in favour of socialism). There will come a time when strenuous walking will not be on our agenda, so what will we do then? I would rather have a wheelchair rally than see the end of our reunions.

          Friends – and old ones in particular – are a part of me: without them, I would not be what I have become. The nature of friendship may be hard to pin down, but its value is evident. As children, we pal-up with playmates instinctively. Then, as we grow older, move schools, start careers and settle in new neighbourhoods, we begin to appreciate the need to make friends: they are the seasoning of social life, the key to our mental wellbeing and the means of navigating life’s difficulties. Hence, as adults, we make a more conscious effort to acquire and, if we’re prudent, keep them. They say that as we grow older it becomes difficult to make new friends, perhaps because of retirement and the subsequent diminished daily contact with others. If that’s the case, it makes sense to hang on to the ones you have.

          It seems anachronistic that friendships originating half a century ago can endure many long years of minimal contact, but maybe that is just why they do. By not being put through their paces – the ups and downs of everyday life, disappointments and disillusionments – they are never tested to destruction. Rather, they become idealised, elevated to a place they may or may not deserve. I shall see how this goes when I go to Australia later this year and meet up with more old friends of whom I am deeply fond but don’t see from one decade to another.

          So, while Pascal’s assertion explains why friendships may fail or, worse, turn to enmity, it also implicitly acknowledges the natural inclination to make friends in the first place. So, on reflection, it’s maybe as well to be insulated by time and circumstance from the eroding effects of intimacy.