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Thursday, 17 October 2024

A (possibly useful) footnote

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 Somewhat ashamed I admitted it was one of my unpublished novels, stored on a Kindle.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.

He was a great guy:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Mosley

3 comments:

  1. I never turned notifications on to alert me to your posts - it’s always been a hunger for more that’s brought me down to “bookmarks” or “favorites”. Not that it’s a long list to scroll through. A handful of weather forecast and radar sites, Cassandra Pages, and ToneDeaf. A few others I don’t recall and am unable to access w/o fear of losing my response here. This is an interesting synopsis - nothing much new for regular readers but the list of credits to the deceased. Reflections surprising only in that they arrived, in defiance of intimations (a vow?) that we should expect no more. Why have I checked ToneDeaf once every couple weeks? Did I doubt you’d abandon it without at least a discernible whimper? If any of the listed friends and acquaintances were somehow accessible to you would you not access them. Such is ToneDeaf. Undead for a moment, and I am able to reach out across the abyss - perhaps just once, but a chance to be leapt at.

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  2. It is nice to have you back.

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  3. MikeM/Colette: I fear this is not a true Second Coming. A tractor was hired and Rictangular Lenses was freed from the mud, 1846 words have been assembled and added; the rough shape of a further 3000 words floats numinously in my frontal lobes. It is to this end that my diminishing powers as a wordsmith will be directed.

    Tone Deaf will act as a repository for any abstract ideas that crop up but which offer no potential for the novel. Their incidence cannot be predicted.

    Even so I was more than pleased at these two comments - "from beyond the grave", as it were.

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