This list of people I knew, all now dead, may seem smallish but it is limited to those of my generation (ie, a group of individuals born and living at the same time). Thus it does not include parents, aunts and uncles and so on. One salutary fact: almost all were younger than me
RR FAMILY Brother
Nick and his wife Anne. Brother Sir Hugh’s wife Anne. Cousin Janet and her
husband Johan. Cousin Everard.
VR FAMILY Sister
Diane and husband Mike. Brother Ron
CLOSE FRIENDS Richard
Ruffe (dating back to 1959). Joe Hyam and first wife Sally, second wife Deirdre,
partner (?) Heidi, brother Ken. Pat Coyne (journalism), Ron Faux (journalism),
Mike Raftus (US journalism), Pat Dukes (French teacher)
HEREFORD NEIGHBOURS
John and Beryl Brown, Dennis and Ivy ?,
George ?, Mabel Edwards, Dave Roberts (electrician).
Might this morbid list suggest that at 89 I am some kind of
survivor? If so, why so? One hint cropped up in a Michael Mosley TV programme
last night. Mosley deserves more (see below) but, in brief, he suggested those
who prepare for retirement may well live longer. More specifically, those who –
post work - plan for change.
At first it didn’t click. I made no such plan. Like many
other couples we intended to move home, travel extensively, attend more concerts,
eat out. But Mosley was referring to internal changes: attitude, thought
processes, disciplines. It took me a while.
Throughout retirement I have written: freelance articles, blogs,
a parish magazine, novels, short stories, verse, long typed-out letters. But
none of this represented change; merely an extension of my working life on newspapers
and magazines which began on August 19 1951.
A couple of weeks ago, as we lay together in bed, VR asked: “What
are you reading?” Somewhat ashamed I admitted it was one of my unpublished
novels, stored on a Kindle. Yet the house was full of books by other authors.
Self-indulgence, then?
I pondered for several days. The question: Why was I reading
Blest Redeemer? became: How was I
reading it? The answer: To assess its style. Another question : Why was this
important?
And then I realised. Retirement had meant an end to
deadlines and scribbling out 750-word articles on the 105-minute train journey
from Birmingham to London. I would have unlimited time, not to waste any of it
but to use it judiciously. To write better today than I did yesterday. I could
afford to do this and therefore I had to do it.
Is my stuff better? Yes, but that’s only my judgment. Never
mind, it’s something I can – and must - concentrate on, causing statistics
about bowel cancer to fade into the background.
Then, just eight years ago an unexpected bolt of lightning splintered
my consciousness and shouted “Learn to sing”. The change was complete. I’m not
the person I was and older than I expected.