Mateship needs few words

I lost a friend half a dozen years back. He didn’t die; our friendship did.

M moved to the UK, more than 40 years ago. On the way, he lived in the Middle East; learnt Arabic; also learnt all he could about its peoples.

In the UK, M became a staunch supporter of an independent Palestine. When we visited, he’d talk with authority and passion about his group meetings, letters to media, trips he’d made to help rebuild houses in conflict zones. I’d listen, ask uninformed questions, admire M’s commitment as much as his cause.

Then, with no warning, I received a letter (yes, we actually wrote to each other on paper) telling me I hadn’t properly acknowledged his