Perspective on Life

My life and the period that I have grown up in have been put into perspective by an all too brief conversation today with an 88 year old lady.

I do try to make time to hear the stories told by the older generation because they have experienced momentous times.

They may not have realised it at the time because they were just trying to lead a normal life. It is only with longevity and those protracted hours of loneliness when thoughts, long buried can resurface that the mind brings back actions and events that seem as real as they did at the time.

My new acquaintance, of active mind but failing physical state, was obviously keen to talk and I was pleased to spend a few moments in her company and to hear the fascinating chapters of her nearly nine decades. I think that I may have been her first contact for some time as the cul de sac where she lived was deserted with everyone out at work all day. I qualify that I was the first human contact as regular visitors were a couple of ducks who would sit on the roof ridge of the bungalow opposite to check for any perils before swooping down to waddle into the lady's back garden where they resided in a couple of upturned and water filled dustbin lids. Company, conversation and interaction was important but with specific limitations. She was adamant that she would not make her way down to the Village Hall once a fortnight to attend the Women's Guild meetings because frankly she had nothing in common with the group, the blue rinse brigade.

Her circle of friends had been enough to provide a social life and a support structure but this had rapidly become diminished with a series of recent deaths. These had included her oldest friend whom she had first met at senior school in 1936. They had remained in contact ever since and her relocation to the bungalow after her retirement in 1980, in which I was now perched on the settee. had been at the insistence of the friend who lived in the same area and felt that in the absence of any close family it would be the best thing.

In 1925 it looked as though the lady would be born with India stated on the birth certificate but her mother, 5 months pregnant, had made the long and arduous trip back to England. Her father was a doctor with a practice in Hackney, London and she grew up in a large house with a housekeeper and nurse as befitted a middle class profession.

Tragedy struck when her mother died from pneumonia and as an 11 year old she found herself alone for long stretches of time but these forged her strong self reliance and independence which I could still see as prominent characteristics even at her advanced age.

At the outbreak of the second world war, as she said, everything became messed up. Initial thoughts on becoming an architect were postponed as the phoney war in 1939 saw the closure of her school in Edgware, North London.

Her father thought it best to send her away to relatives in Edinburgh perceived to be as far out of range as possible from the anticipated enemy bombing of English cities and towns.

Unfortunately this move actually put her directly in harms way as the Luftwaffe decided to carry out its first bombing raid of the war on 16th October the form of an outright aerial assault on Rosyth Naval Dockyard and the red oxide painted Forth Rail Bridge, both prominent landmarks giving propaganda value and well as potential to severely damage  strategic elements just to the north west of Edinburgh.

Then aged 14 she vividly remembers the sights and sounds of that air raid. The temptation to go outside and see such unprecedented things for yourself overrode any fears or anxieties of actually getting hurt. She was staying with relatives in the area of Portobello on the Firth of Forth shoreline. The house, in a densely populated terraced area had a long, narrow garden with a mature pear tree at the bottom. This served to conceal, somewhat, the local landmark of the huge chimney stack of the power station.

On this day the prominent brick stack was obviously being used as a navigation aid by the Luftwaffe crews in their Junkers 88 Bombers. As she approached the tree a black shadow loomed up followed immediately by a deafening roar as a low flying bomber, guns blazing was being frantically pursued by two RAF fighters. The garden and local area were strafed by enemy and friendly fire and it was considered a miracle that no civilians were hurt apart from a house painter up a ladder who took a bullet in the leg.

The Luftwaffe lost a number of aircraft and the salvaged bodies were interned in the local churchyard and not repatriated until quite recently.

The attack on Edinburgh was considered a one-off and the city became the temporary home for the young lady as she was, for the next 12 months before a return to Hackney.

After the war there were thoughts again of a career in the built environment or map making but the usual constraints brought about by austerity and prejudice were in play and the only option left open was to go into teaching. A long period of service to the education of the primary school age children of the London Borough of Hackney followed only being interrupted by a posting with her new husband to East Africa.

This was due to his assignment to the Groundnut Scheme which began in 1947 in Tanganyika and was intended to generate wealth for the host nation and wider commonwealth in the cultivation of peanut oil a time of a world shortage of fats and natural oils.

The scheme was abandoned as a failure after only 4 years and the couple had to return to England to resume their life and careers. A life in Africa had made quite an impression and the bungalow was adorned with memento's, pictures and photographs of that time.

The lady was widowed 20 years ago outliving her husband like many of her generation.

She had no close family and so her network of friends became very important. Her health had started to fail in the last couple of years and a fall on her doorstep had been most debilitating as well as shaking her confidence. Depression had set in and she expressed to me her real fears for the onset of dementia.

I had, by being engrossed in her story, lost all sense of time. It was difficult for me to steer the conversation towards my leaving not that I wanted to anyway. In eventually standing up and preparing to make an exit the lady was intent on prolonging her present company. We both went into the garden to check that the ducks were comfortable.

I did feel that her spirits had lifted somewhat by having someone to talk to. I had not spoken much during the afternoon because I realised that in my own 50 years existence on the planet I did not really have much to contribute.