HOW TO GROW OLD WITHOUT REALLY MINDING

 Maggie Redding shares her insights into positive ageing:

I have good news. Getting older can be a liberating experience.

Imagine two images: one of an old lady, bent and with a stick.  You can’t see her face.  But she is clearly old, recognisably so.  She is like the image on road signs that warn of old people crossing the road.

We have stereotypes of old people, old women, old men, that put fear into the hearts of those approaching their later years, their retirement, a fear endorsed by jokes, birthday cards and the emails that circulate amongst Silver Surfers.

I met this lady (from my imaginatiom) in real life, staggering slowly with two sticks, her clothes ill-fitting and footwear that told me she had problems dressing.  I watched her agonising progress for a moment then went up to her.

‘Are you going far?’ I asked her.

She lifted up her face and gave me a wonderful, and unexpected smile.  She was beautiful, I could see it now.

‘No, dear. I’m only going to that car.  That’s my daughter loading up for me.  I don’t drive now, you see.  So she drives me.  Thank you so much for asking.’  Her voice was beautiful, too.  She indicated with one of her sticks a large blonde woman with unkempt hair and a hang dog expression.

Yes, she was my imagination-lady but in my mind, she had a miserable face, even though I couldn’t see it.  It is hard to resist stereotypes.

The second image I have is of someone attempting to do just that.  This woman is in denial in a big way.  She joins in everything.  She tries to act young..  Some of these attempts are most inappropriate.  She sleeps the sleep of the utterly exhausted and rises early just to make more time for more efforts to prove her point - to herself of course - that she is not getting old.  

I feel we are in danger of creating new, dangerous and really silly expectations, aims and models of behaviour for our rising older generation.  

But I have good news. Getting older can be a liberating experience.

Old age is a time when others cease to have expectations of us and when we cease to have expectations of ourselves and others.  We don’t need to succeed, improve, inspire.  We can give up work, we have fewer responsibilities, we forsake our illusions.  Retirement, old age can be a time for happiness, peace, freedom, contentment, liberation. Yes, we are all going to die. But I am not going to die until I have lived and lived to the full. I believe it is the role of older people to show younger people how to live fully.

We don’t need to do anything spectacular. Old age is a time to live, not to show off or prove something. It is a time for being who you really are, not worrying what people think.  You can do what you want. There is no need to pretend you are young.

Yes, I am old. I am getting older. I have problems. I’ll have more.

But I am learning to accept myself as I really am, faults and all. And it doesn’t matter.

All the things I used to believe were important, I realise now, they weren’t. Pleasing people, being conventional, worrying about big issues, worrying about small issues - I’ve let them go. I am less judgemental. I let people be. I realise that the world will never be perfect. In fact I could be really miffed at the thought that it might become perfect after I’d gone.

Of course, everyone has fears growing older as well as before that. We fear looking old, dying alone, being attacked, being robbed, cheated, we fear illness, not being taken seriously, being abandoned. Yes, we all fear these things and more.

But I think security is a myth. It is in the interests of a lot of people to make you feel afraid. Fear makes money - for those who are younger. It doesn’t make money for you, when you are old.  Shrug off these fears and get on with living.

I had a friend a few years ago who died before she was 60.  She was always talking about her plans for her life once she was 60.  Women of that age, in those days - those days! - could receive a state pension. She had always been a rather bitter woman, a bit angry about lost opportunities, about people she felt had failed her, about her lot in life.  She became ill and realised she was going to die. In the last six weeks of her life, she changed.  It was dramatic, impressive.  Her bitterness went, she put life in perspective and she began to live.  From her sickbed.  She became wise. She had some remarkable insights. She relaxed. Her family could not accept her demise. She stopped seeing her grandchildren. There was no point, she explained lightly.  She taught me by her example, how to live. She appreciated life.

‘We shouldn’t be moaning and criticising each other,’ she said, ‘we should be telling each other how wonderful we all are.’

It was the most important and amazing lesson of my life.

So, I would contend that even when you are ill, dying, or even in pain, it is possible to be happy.  It seems to me that life is lived on a higher level, a higher starting point or base.  These days I find myself saying things like, ‘Even when I’m miserable, I’m happy’.

My friend had acquired wisdom.  Wisdom is not the same as being clever, or intelligent.   It is more profound.  Even those who are not very clever can be wise.

I learned from my friend that death gives a shape to life. It seemed to free her, once she had faced it.

We need to talk about death a lot more.  Sex and death are still taboo subjects.  When you are older, these days, you almost feel that sex, or at least talking about it in a nudge-nudge way, is compulsory, and death you must not even think about.  But death, or the nearness of it, is what defines us as we get older.  A friend of a friend is 84 and is planning a Live Wake.  She is having a big party, inviting all her friends and will tell them all what she wants to happen when she dies.  That is brave and healthy.

I don’t know about anybody else, but myself, I don’t want to live forever.  Already I am seeing history repeat itself in my lifetime.  How hopeless and helpless to know that things would change, but only in the way they have before, that nothing is new and that that pattern would be going on and on.... 

No, I am happy to grow old and have more and more wrinkles until....

Wrinkles!  Oh, yes, you develop more and more of them, sometimes overnight even. I love wrinkles my own and those of people near and dear to me.  Wrinkles are a badge of wisdom.  Mine are my record of love and laughter.  When people die, their faces become smooth.  They take their smiles with them.  Accumulate your wrinkles!

Noel Coward said,

‘How foolish to think one could even slam the door in the face of Age.  Far better to be polite and gracious and ask him to lunch in advance.’

Coda

I wrote the above when I was 70, for a celebration of Older People’s day in Cardiff City Hall.  Eleven years later, I stand by all I said. As an 81 year old lesbian woman with, apart from my partner of 39 and-three-quarter-years, no visible family support, my views are even stronger.  I have concluded that the rejection of my family, over 40 years ago, is, in some strange way, a gift.

 There is nothing on the horizon except death, and it is not in the least scary.  Rather the opposite, suggesting completion, satisfaction.  I have no money, property, car or jewellery.

 Why keep anything, for it will all end up in black plastic bags.  Or worse. Meanwhile, I am happy, very happy.

Maggie Redding September 2020

"...without Miss Bennet to dominate the conversation ... "

 

Readers of Pride and Prejudice will recognise this crucial point in the story - and here we experience it from Anne de Bourgh's point of view. 

Enjoy this delightful extract from Rohase Piercy's Before Elizabeth

My cousins were due to leave us at the end of the week;  but to my surprise, they were easily prevailed upon to extend their visit by several days, with William seemingly the more anxious of the two to accede to Mama's invitation!  She of course chose to see this as a compliment to me, but I knew otherwise and was extremely puzzled.  Not once had William sought my company, encouraged my conversation or paid me any particular compliment; in fact he had seemed preoccupied and distant since the moment of his arrival, never offering to take Edward's place beside me in the phaeton but preferring to walk the Park alone.  I was at a loss to account for his continued presence with us, though glad to have Edward at Rosings a little longer.

Two days into their extended stay, Edward entered the drawing room where William and I were sitting – William engrossed in the newspaper, and I occupied with my needlework – with the following cheerful announcement: “You may congratulate yourself, Darcy, on having prevented yet another imprudent marriage! I have just encountered Miss Elizabeth Bennet quite by chance in the Park, and took the opportunity to make it perfectly clear that I have no intention of proposing to her.  It was all most discreetly done, I assure you.  You may express your approval, if you like.”

Mama was not present to conduct an interrogation, but William looked uncomfortable, as well he might; he hastily folded the newspaper and sat back in his chair. “What did you say to her?” he asked warily.

“Oh, I merely commented that younger sons cannot afford to marry anyone they happen to like.  Or words to that effect.”

“Well, that was hardly discreet!  What said Miss Bennet?”

“She said, 'unless they like women of fortune, which I think they often do!'  That was  astute, was it not?  I really do not think she will be pining for me.”

William seemed to find this both pleasing and amusing.  He rose and strolled over to the window, smiling to himself, while I begged an explanation from Edward as to what he meant by 'yet another imprudent marriage'.

“Oh, Bingley,” he replied airily; “At least I assume it was Bingley – Darcy, will you not confirm for us that it was Charles Bingley you referred to when you said you had advised a friend against an imprudent marriage?”

I turned questioningly to William and he did confirm it, though without further elaboration.

“And who was the lady?” I pressed, eager for details.

“No-one you would know, Anne.  A Hertfordshire acquaintance.”

“And why would it have been an imprudent marriage?”

“The usual reasons: vulgar connections, an unsuitable family – the lady herself was pleasant enough.  Excuse me, Anne – Fitzwilliam – I believe I must speak to my aunt.”  He bowed perfunctorily in my direction, and made towards the door.

“Well, Miss Bennet seems to think your interference in the matter unnecessarily officious,” commented Edward with a shrug, picking up the newspaper and preparing to occupy the chair that our cousin had just vacated. William froze abruptly in mid-stride, and wheeled around with an expression horror on his face.

“Miss Bennet?  You mentioned the matter to her?  By what right?  What on earth possessed you to speak of such a thing?”

Edward and I were equally astonished, and he not a little annoyed.  “For heaven's sake Darcy!” he retorted, “Am I now not allowed so much as a word of conversation without your permission?  Yes, I mentioned the circumstance to Miss Bennet, as an example, if you must know, of the constancy of your friendship.  I was speaking in praise of you; but I will save myself the trouble in future!”

Now, I thought, William must surely apologise; but instead he persisted with his questioning.

“Did you mention Bingley by name?  Did you speculate as to the identity of the lady involved?”

“Yes, I mentioned Bingley by name.  No, I did not speculate about the lady; why on earth would I?  I have no idea who she is!  Now, if you will allow me, Darcy, I should like to read my newspaper in peace!”  And Edward sat himself down in high dudgeon, unfolded the broadsheet and left William to wander distractedly from the room.

I remained in my seat, lost in silent speculation as to the cause of his discomposure.  The unsuitable lady, I surmised, must be a mutual acquaintance, though why Miss Bennet's knowledge of William's involvement should agitate him so I could not imagine.  There was more to his interest in Charles Bingley's affairs than he was willing to disclose;  could he perhaps be hoping to secure his friend for Georgiana?  I dwelt long upon this possibility, which fitted neatly with another that I had already considered, viz. William's own plans regarding the unmarried Bingley sister, Miss Caroline.  If Charles Bingley were to marry William's sister, might he not feel obliged to be punctilious in returning the compliment?  Could he even now be speaking to Mama, releasing himself from his supposed obligation to me?  Was that why he had prolonged his visit?  If so, we were in for an uncomfortable evening, especially as the Collinses and their guests had once more been invited to drink tea with us!

The evening arrived, however, without my having observed any ill humour between William and Mama; I concluded that I had either been precipitous in my surmise, or that William, for whatever reason, was biding his time.

When our guests arrived, I found myself greeting only the Collinses and Miss Lucas; Miss Bennet, it transpired, was indisposed with a headache and sent her apologies. I was initially disappointed, having planned to scrutinise her manner towards Edward; it occurred to me that his declaration of disinterest might have disappointed her more than he supposed.

Mama was extremely put out – she did not much like Miss Bennet, but expected her to attend upon us when invited to do so, and now Mrs Jenkinson must be called upon to make up the numbers for cards.  William seemed likewise put out, inquiring most particularly into the severity of Miss Elizabeth's headache as though he also suspected her of shamming. 

The visit progressed well enough however;  without Miss Bennet to dominate the conversation I actually managed to engage Miss Lucas, and discovered her to be, beneath her shy exterior, a pleasant and intelligent girl.  When tea was over we prepared for cards, and I hardly noticed when William excused himself and left the room.

As the minutes passed, however, his absence began to impinge upon us and at length Mama sent a servant to inquire for him.  He was not in his room; and it soon transpired that late as the hour was, he had gone out – alone, on foot, and without explanation!  Mama excused his rudeness to our guests as best she could, though her displeasure was evident for all to see; and eventually she made up a table with Edward, Mr Collins and Miss Lucas, leaving Mrs Collins, Mrs Jenkinson and myself to occupy ourselves as we pleased. 

It was a fine May evening, and I chose to take a book to the window seat while the other two conversed alone. There was plenty of light still to read by, but I could not keep my mind upon the page for speculating about my cousin's strange behaviour and current whereabouts.  Nor could I help overhearing Mrs Collins and Mrs Jenkinson, who were speculating likewise.

“It is most unlike Mr Darcy,” Mrs Jenkinson was saying, “to leave so suddenly, and with no explanation to Lady Catherine. I thought at first that he had been taken ill; but if that were the case he would not have gone out.  I do hope he has not received distressing news!  But no message has arrived this evening, and if anything of import to the family had occured Lady Catherine and the Colonel would have been likewise informed.  'Tis all very strange – do you not think so, Mrs Collins?”

Mrs Collins concurred.  “It is certainly most strange. He cannot have gone further than the village on foot; but who could he possibly be calling on so late?  We are all here excepting Miss Bennet, and he knows her to be indisposed.”

We are all here excepting Miss Bennet. I was just suppressing a gape when the jolt shot through me, rendering me fully awake as the scales finally fell from my eyes.  Miss Caroline Bingley, forsooth!  How could I have been so blind?

'Such unequal matches take place all the time'. 'It would be as well to make yourself clear, Fitzwilliam - I think Miss Bennet does find your company a little too agreeable'.  'You have mentioned this to Miss Bennet?  By what right? Did you speculate as to the identity of the lady involved?'

Oh yes, I echoed silently, grimly exultant, it is certainly most strange that Fitzwilliam Darcy should be so very concerned as he seems to be about the inclinations, opinions and matrimonial prospects of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

My dreams of you were vivid ...

This ballad by Sylvia Daly is meant to be sung - yes, really - and the Weird Sisters once had the pleasure of hearing her do it. Remember the tune to Lili Marlene? Well, that's the one. We hardly dare wonder what inspired these lyrics. Could it be based on a true story?

The Novice Mistress

by Sylvia Daly

I went into a Convent, I thought I heard the call.

That’s when I first saw you, standing in the hall.

You glided towards me silently,

You welcomed me, and offered tea -

My Lovely Novice Mistress,

Please teach me all you know!

Those weeks and months together, we studied canon law,

You were to me a mentor, and I of you in awe.

The love that I felt began to grow,

I was afraid that it would show.

My lovely Novice Mistress,

Please teach me all you know!

My dreams of you were vivid, I knew not what to do.

If I declared my love, I would surely startle you.

Then braving your wrath at last I spoke,

I saw you gasp, I heard you choke -

My lovely Novice Mistress,

Please teach me all you know!

The scandal was tremendous – you were sent to Rome.

They said it was horrendous and ordered me back home.

I left you without a fond farewell,

I missed you so, it was sheer hell.

My lovely Novice Mistress,

Please teach me all you know!

Standing by the lamp-post, near the Convent gate,

Waiting in the shadows for you to keep our date.

I’ve tickets for two to join the train -

We’ll run away, and love again.

My lovely Novice Mistress

Who taught me all I know.