Veronica 6: Sorry about the length

Why the “four-letter word” is proof of linguistic laziness and could lead to misunderstanding, courtesy the 1642-page New Penguin English Dictionary:

(1) A strong feeling of attachment, tenderness  and protectiveness for another person.

(2) Attraction or devotion based on sexual desire

(3) Warm interest in, and enjoyment of, something.

Thus, could you be sure you met all three qualifications for No. 1? No 2 would be inappropriate addressed to an English bull terrier or a 90-year-old grandpa. And No 3 doesn’t fit a Big Bird glove puppet.

Nota bene. The English language has 170,000 active words and over 470,000 total entries. Take pride in being precise. Eschew in particular the two-word, out-of-the –corner-of-the-mouth grunt ending in “ – you”. Heck, you got past second grade didn’t you?

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The coat cost zillions; worth every groat

Strangely enough the first years - during which we might have expected ecstasy - were not the happiest. We lived in London and were desperately poor. It's not good to be poor in London. Birth of a daughter meant Veronica could not work for money. We lived on the upper floor of a Victorian (Edwardian?) semi with very high ceilings. Freezing cold in winter, our only source of heat, an oil stove.

It wasn't in Veronica's nature to complain, but she did behave oddly. Regularly, on Sunday afternoons, for no good reason, we argued violently. And, hey, Veronica argued to win. These were arid times.

Out of nowhere I conceived a fantastical plan: to work in the USA. I wrote letters and got many answers. Why? Because I didn’t say “Wanna job.” and just asked to be interviewed. Amazingly I convinced the American Embassy in London I would not fall back on charity.

I left for Pittsburgh on Boxing Day 1965 and Veronica joined me in April. The flat I rented had central heating and the Sunday arguments ceased. Were they triggered by the icicles of the London semi?

We lived comfortably; I changed jobs; made more dough. The American way.  Mutual agreement? Well, another daughter arrived.

Pure delight occurred when I volunteered to supervise publication of a 300-page book about control valves - a project which had languished for years. My boss’s son, normally brutal, was astonished at my competence and work rate. Said: fly out to San Francisco to do a final MS check with the author, take your wife, hire a car, have fun. He may have said there were vineyards in California but I already knew.

Who were we? Both voracious readers; in the US we didn’t bother buying a TV for the first two years. We enjoyed the same cuisines (eg, abalone on Fisherman’s Wharf); shared lots of great classical music (eg, Isaac Stern) at the Jewish Y.

Initially our US neighbours saw us as foreign – yet friendly – oddities; later they had to agree we were cleverclogs. For one thing we'd travelled. The adventure ended after six years when I was invited to launch a new magazine but my ambitious friend made the enormous error of paying me more than the guy who should have sold the ads; good editorial, but not enough income. I phoned a pal in London; yup he had a technical editorship vacant.  The two daughters were sent (stewardness accompanied) by plane to join their grandparents in south-eastern England and we followed - with the car - on the SS France.

Retained for the expressive O

And here the soft life came – temporarily – to an end. SS France was a huge luxury liner run by the French, ergo. a litre of white and a litre of red on our table-for-two every lunch and every dinner. Yet the sense of confinement and the lack of intellectual diversion had us screaming with anger at each other. The old arguments were resurrected. The five-day crossing seemed to last five months. Driving along the Channel coast though Hampshire and Sussex calmed us down.

Human beings rediscovering humanity, at least in one case. Property prices 12 miles from central London, where we ended up, were punitive and this led to an act which may hint at why we stayed together for 66 years. I was being paid reasonably but it was Veronica who saw it wouldn’t be enough. Without telling me she looked for work that would fit being a mother of two. Briefly she became a store detective, a later source of great hilarity, but it meant working Saturdays. Eventually she entered a highly technical part of the Civil Service and became so expert she was able to refuse a promotion because it meant giving up this newly won expertise.

All without initially consulting me. Protecting me from inadequacy.

Later we were able to rent villas in France with sufficient rooms to accommodate family groups up to eight if they wished to come.

Is this an example of how we felt about each other? Presents were a real bastard. We were living comfortably, if we wanted something we bought it. Veronica once bought me an expensive bottle of wine which was also a rarity. How did she know and where the hell did she find it? I bought her a year’s subscription to a leftist weekly magazine which suited her politics. So much appreciated I continued the subscription, year after year. Two days ago, in a moment of sadness, I cancelled.

Before Veronica went into the nursing home I looked after her for six months. As dementia developed she became more and more fractious, forcing herself to be negative about everything in life, refusing all forms of change. Did she approve of what I was doing? Dementia had her wanting to growl “No.” Something deeper had her whisper “Yes.”

I have gone on too long but it’s a complex tale.

Nobody is going to get this far.

For Pete’s sake we were a couple. Coupling has a vulgar meaning but it also means connection. Death alone broke it.