Today came news that Sir Edmund Hilary had died.  Stuck in stationary traffic due to an accident on the M1, with my car engine swtiched off, I listened to a radio phone-in where people were sharing their memories of 'that day in 1953.'

First we heard from a famous person who had been at her father's club in Pall Mall to watch the coronation, and how the conquest of Everest and the Epsom Derby later that week were so fascinating and memorable.  Another media person spoke of being in Park Lane for the coronation.  And so it went on, people who'd owned TVs, people who had travelled to London to see the coronation...  Then the one that for me said it all, was a man who had been a ten-year-old boy living in a 'religious orphanage' in Liverpool who'd heard the news on the only radio in the home.  With no hint of bitterness, he recalled how this has made him realise how big the world was and that he too could aspire to great things (not his exact words, my reporting).  Living in a community behind high brick walls, he had assumed that heaven literally lay beyond them, now, he recalled, he dared to think differently.  This man never became famous, but in his own words 'had done quite well,' and I'm glad.

Lots of people think they are mourning Edmund Hilary, and maybe they are.  Today a friend of mine conducts a funeral for an elderly lady whose life was well lived whilst coming to terms with the loss of her own father-in-law who died yesterday.  The rich and famous have their place, and maybe they inspire us in some ways.  But it is the little people whose stories we never know, or know only in part after they've died, who actually shape the world.  True courage for me is not standing on a mountain top, but conquering pain, fear or sorrow to do what is needed of us. 

On Monday an 89 year old loosely linked to my church died; most of my own people didn't know her, no-one will ever remember where they were when they heard the news, but her life is no less valuable in the grand scheme of things.  I may have a tougher job constructing a eulogy than whoever buries Edmund Hilary - but the job we both do will be same.

It's still nice to be too young to remember the things that are spoken of in hushed tones by radio reporters, but hopefuly I'll never be too young or too old to be moved by what I hear or see on my own doorstep.