We don’t know his name, but the friend concurs with Eric, a partner in restoring their Dunkirk boat that saved ten lives. This hard and soft dichotomy has stretched meaning beyond an endurance of its shared elasticity. Never normally using the term, I find myself shouting That’s right dear as the woman in her wheelchair demands we forget all of it because of the lies. It is a northern town where 70% voted to Leave. It is a northern town blighted by Loss. That boat is worn and rusted by age and salt from the sea, its one crossing abroad no more than distant memory.