“They are there, silent custodians, in all weathers: the beating sun, drizzle and torrential rains, ice and snow, quiet breezes and stormy winds.” HUGH SELBY writes in praise of the humble park bench. 

Can you imagine us years from today

Sharing a park bench quietly?

How terribly strange to be 70

–Old Friends, Simon and Garfunkel, 1968

I’ve never seen them standing close together, not like the solid seats in classrooms or meeting places.

They have solitary lives, rarely will there be two, even three of them gathered together, but always separate, never touching, as fixed and silent as the statues on Easter Island.

Such optimists, always looking out to the view, whether that be from beach sand to the crashing waves, garden splendour of murmuring trees or a lake backed by mountains.

They are there, silent custodians, in all weathers: the beating sun, drizzle and torrential rains, ice and snow, quiet breezes and stormy winds. 

In their youth they are sturdy and bright, gleaming with newness. The timbers are straight, true, and unmarked. The metal shines, its cast patterns are timeless. These days those made from recycled rubber and plastics send the message, “We’re here for the long haul”. 

In their middle age the timbers are splintering and greying, the metal ends are dented with bits missing, the concrete bases are cracked, and, alas, often the talentless carriers of spray paint have daubed crude slogans on the seat or back rails.

In their old age they are as rickety, gnarled and misshapen as those who wonder if the risk of injury from sitting down warrants the attraction to ease their aches and pains and rest awhile.

Children don’t use them. They rush to the edge of whatever, or the fence, or the wet line on the sand, eager to be active. Their parents, if they sit down, can do so for only a moment before they must keep their children safe. Parenting and enjoying the view don’t go together.

When the parents and kids sit down then they want either a picnic table or they spread a cloth on the ground. There may be an ambience of adventure, but the view is of the food.

Teenagers may sit briefly to take breath, down a can and some take-away, and if the time is right, get close. The distant view is secondary, at best.

Young adults sit on the wall or loll against the car or bike.

Spies exchange information and leave important information near or underneath them.

Dog walkers sit down, then attach the lead firmly to an end frame or a slat.

But when both we and the benches are old then we have common cause.

As grandparents we can take in the view as we see the young’uns on the play equipment: climbing the rope ladders, squirming through the tunnel pipes, pushing down the slippery dip, and squealing on the monkey bars.

As retirees we can sit and watch the sailboats and the paddle wheeler on Burley Griffin, the hustle and bustle on Sydney Harbour, the changing seasons in the botanical gardens, the rowing crews on the rivers, the wonder of the cliffs and gorges around Katoomba, the view of the coast and ships from the scenic spot above Bulli, and share with the sightless interred the timeless views from the headland cemetery at Gerringong.

As travellers near and far, we can sit quietly in city squares, in gardens old and new, outside museums and galleries and ancient tombs and monuments. We are quiet observers of past and present lives.

If churches, meeting halls, temples, shrines, synagogues and mosques are made for contemplation, then the humble park bench opens the natural and man-made wonders of our world. It gives us time to engage our senses.

One can sit on a park bench alone or in the company of one or two others. It can be a time of silence, gazing at the view, or a time for reminiscence and conversation.

On a park bench the living can sit and talk for ages with the departed about what was, what was planned, what brought laughter and what brought tears. No one interrupts.

With two seniors sitting on a park bench there is room in between for what passes for a meal in our dotage.

I’ve heard tell that the grieving have brought the urn of a recent dear departed and placed it between them on the bench until the coast is clear. Then the urn is emptied on the waters, or the garden bed or even a hallowed sports ground.

The ways of the world need not be noisy or showy. The bywords for a park bench are memories, peace, serenity.

Hugh Selby is a CityNews columnist.