"The first of a million kisses"

"Take spring when it comes and rejoice.

Take happiness when it comes and rejoice.

Take love when it comes and rejoice"

(Carl Ewald).

 

"And think not you can
direct the course of love,
for love,
if it finds you worthy,
directs your course."

 (Khalil Gibran)

 

Walking rather carefully across town today in the midst of an aggravating and aggressive dispute between Brighton Council and the city's refuse and recycling teams, I saw two families working together to clear the pavement and wash down the road themselves. Having accidently poured soapsuds all over my sandals, a lovely girl explained that her nan is getting married tomorrow and the reception will be held at her family home. The wedding was originally planned for Thursday 13th June - my own parents' anniversary. I explained this to Sarah and that was that really. Three fairy cakes, a pot of tea and a dozen introductions later and I finally stumbled back onto the Lewes Road to buy the stuffed vine leaves and olives I'd left the house for earlier.

I didn't meet Sarah's nan as she'd been taken to have her hair set and be generally pampered before her big day. Hella is marrying the typical "boy next door". Literally. The pavement in front of Hella's house was being almost surgically scrubbed by his two great-nephews. Hella's next door neighbour has never married and is now in his late eighties. I met Derek in Hella's front room, having one hand manicured ("emphasis on the Man bit you know"), while eating his fairy cake with the other. A seemingly confirmed bachelor, he moved next door to Hella and her first husband more than forty years ago.

Although he got on really well with the couple, he fell head over heels in love with Hella. Unable to say or do anything about his feelings and genuinely fond of her husband, he remained their loyal neighbour and best mate as the couple's three children presented them with four grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. He was their rock as Hella survived cancer twice and throughout her husband's catalogue of falls and strokes and his final illness; they nursed Derek through depression and after an almost crippling car accident.
They tended each other's back gardens and even had a gate installed in the back fence for ease of access. Derek will now live in Hella's house and her son, Sarah's father, will move into Derek's house with his wife. Hella is in her early nineties now and not very mobile without a steadying hand and a lot of cajoling; her son and his wife had always intended to move closer to her when her husband died. Derek said he didn't want the hassle of selling his house and this way the two gardens can just become one. He thinks of the children as his own and his siblings are happy for everything to stay in the family.

When Hella's husband died last year, Derek sat with her, cried with her and cooked her roast dinners. He spoke at his friend's funeral and was stunned when the will revealed that he had left him care of his "most precious loved thing" - his wife. Apparently, Hella's husband had known of Derek's unspoken devotion for nearly half a century. In turn, he felt that his totally loyal wife had always had a soft spot for Derek. It took Derek two more days before he could find the words to tell Hella her husband had seen the truth. He said she cried, blew her nose, told him she loved him too but had liked and respected her husband and believed in marriage "Till death do us part". Now that it had, she said, Derek had better pop the question before one of them popped their clogs. Also, she wanted to catch up with Coronation Street that evening.

The couple decided to hold the wedding after the anniversary of Hella's first marriage, in April. It was postponed from 13th of June when the families realised that one of the many nieces would be in hospital that day. I was interested that they had originally chosen the thirteenth of any month; 13th June was the date that Derek moved in next door to Hella and her family so many years ago. I'd managed to maintain an element of composure until Derek told me this: I'd been thinking last week that my Dad wold have been married to Mum for more years than he'd actually lived.
I told Derek I'd been to see Bruce Springsteen at Wembley Stadium last Saturday and taken Mum's photograph so that she could somehow be there, many years after she last saw The Boss play there, with me. This lovely old man, with his sea-coloured eyes and a penchant for having his plumber's hands manicured, told me that sentimentality was the echo of love and loveliness. He told me never to knock it; let it jolt you and you will always know you're still alive.

Beautifully, both families are delighted by the union. Derek was worried that Hella's son and daughters might think he was after her "for one thing". Money? He has his own. Her house? He already had too many rooms for one person, next door. Derek was concerned that as a lifelong bachelor, Hella's family might think the boy-next-door would be sniffing around for physical creature comforts. Derek said Hella soon sorted him out about this: "I don't just want to hold hands you know," she told him, "The kids would much rather I was tucked up here with you than going on the Lonely Hearts." Indeed.
People often trivialise the physical or even emotional power of relationships between older or elderly lovers. That upsets me a lot; I believe that love makes even a failing heart beat faster. Romance and sexual love only have a sell by date if the relationship hasn't been blended properly. It's true that as you age, you can fully appreciate that com-passion is the sustaining flame born of communication and passion.

I'll be working when Derek finally marries his Hella tomorrow, although I may pop along for the reception and more fairy cakes. Derek told me they're not going away from Brighton at all, because every day will now be a honeymoon and also because for them, Love lives in their steep little street.
I asked him if forsaking bachelorhood might be difficult: he said it would be "interesting"; seeing that Hella had found someone before him had been extremely difficult, but not being with her when she was on her own would have been unbearable. He said he was an old dinosaur but he just wanted to be loved; I immediately thought of the Edward Monkton poem that featured in the recent wedding of the youngest daughter of my friends, Ellen and Tom. I'd never heard it before, although I'd seen some of Monkton's greetings cards and cartoons. I've included it here as a childlike celebration of unconditional romantic love, with all it's simplicity and intrigues. We're basic creatures but capable of the most noble sentiments.

I didn't get my dolmades after all, although I think I found something much richer and more filling today. The deli had sold out; I was still a bit teary-eyed and I think the kind Turkish shop-keeper thought I was upset about my failure to gather supper. He gave me some veggie pate for free instead. I tried to be honest and explain but it made me blub again and he started to look wary. I thanked him, smiled and took the pate. Which was delicious with pitta and olives. See: basic creatures.

  

 

" A Lovely Love Story"

(Edward Monkton)

The fierce Dinosaur was trapped inside his cage of ice.
Although it was cold he was happy in there. It was, after all, his cage.
Then along came the Lovely Other Dinosaur.
The Lovely Other Dinosaur melted the Dinosaur’s cage with kind words and loving thoughts.
I like this Dinosaur thought the Lovely Other Dinosaur.
 Although he is fierce he is also tender and he is funny.
He is also quite clever though I will not tell him this for now.
I like this Lovely Other Dinosaur, thought the Dinosaur.
She is beautiful and she is different and she smells so nice.
She is also a free spirit which is a quality I much admire in a dinosaur.
But he can be so distant and so peculiar at times, thought the Lovely Other Dinosaur.
He is also overly fond of things.
Are all Dinosaurs so overly fond of things?
But her mind skips from here to there so quickly thought the Dinosaur.
She is also uncommonly keen on shopping.
Are all Lovely Other Dinosaurs so uncommonly keen on shopping?
I will forgive his peculiarity and his concern for things, thought the Lovely Other Dinosaur.
 For they are part of what makes him a richly charactered individual.
I will forgive her skipping mind and her fondness for shopping, thought the Dinosaur
 For she fills our life with beautiful thoughts and wonderful surprises.
Besides,
I am not unkeen on shopping either.
Now the Dinosaur and the Lovely Other Dinosaur are old.
Look at them.
Together they stand on the hill telling each other stories and feeling the warmth of the sun on their backs.
And that, my friends, is how it is with love.
Let us all be Dinosaurs and Lovely Other Dinosaurs together.
For the sun is warm.
And the world is a beautiful place.
 

 

 

 

"Love Monkey", a five minute film based on the book by Edward Monkton.

 

 

 

  

"Allelujah"  Fairground Attraction

  

"Your smile is a prayer that prays for love
and your heart is a kite that longs to fly;
Allelujah here I am-
Let's cut the strings tonight,
and we'll kiss the first of a million kisses"

( Mark Edward Nevin) 

  

"You don't have to go looking for love when it's where you come from."
(Werner Erhard)

The Mother

A great deal has been written about the circle of life and dependency; how with age the parent becomes the child and the child the parent. I wrote this poem a couple of years ago, when my mother was still alive but increasingly frail. My sister and I were worried that she wasn't the woman she had been, her fragility was unfamiliar and even alien to us. But no lapse of memory or loss of capability dilutes parenthood. I realised you can never truly lose that sense of having been carried or nurtured; of having been mothered, or fathered. We really are all somebody's baby, no matter how old. It makes some sense that when you look into a very aged face you may glimpse the infant within us all.

I was very upset when I wrote this poem, but now I find it comforting. I know I disappointed my mother in many ways; now I understand that every obstacle I overcome, every sadness I comprehend and every joy I appreciate is as much a tribute to my mother and father as my first steps.

"Mother"

There's a weakness within,

almost malignantly foetal;

it rips us at the middle.

Mother I am so much yours, 

more than flesh and blood;

my thumb-print is on the photo

you signed to my father as "sweetheart".

I kick at your sides even now,

your labour is long overdue;

now my kisses unsettle your hairspray,

but you birth me everyday.

                                                Gigi

The female of the species

"When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth."

(From "Warning", Jenny Joseph)

Many thanks to my dear friend Tom for sending the following funny, which I've had to adapt ever so slightly... Rudyard Kipling wrote beautifully about "The Female of the Species being deadlier than the male", but I want to grow into a lively and loved old lady: Jenny Joseph's poem could have been written specifically about the fabulous older girls in this corner of the world.

All women should live so long as to be this kind of lady!
Toward the end of Sunday mass, the priest asked: "How many of you have forgiven your enemies?"
Eighty percent of the congregation raised their hands.
The priest repeated his question. Everyone responded this time, except one small, elderly lady.
"Mrs Neely? Are you not willing to forgive your enemies?"
"I don't have any," she replied, smiling sweetly.
"Mrs Neely, that is very unusual! How old are you?"
"Ninety eight," she replied. The congregation stood up and applauded her.
"Ah, Mrs Neely, would you please come down front and tell us all how a person can live to be ninety eight years and not have an enemy in the world?"
The little sweetheart of a lady tottered down the aisle, faced the congregation, and said:

"I outlived the b******s."

In the oldest burial ground attached to Brighton's oldest surviving church, the original parish church of St Nicholas, there is a listed tombstone dedicated to one Phoebe Hessel. Phoebe had become something of a Brighton celebrity by the time she died in 1821, at the age of 108. She was actually born in Stepney, in East London, where her life is commemorated with plaques and in at least two street names.
Sources have claimed that her father was a soldier who took the infant Phoebe with him on missions. Certainly Phoebe developed a fascination with the army at an early age: her sex prevented her from becoming a soldier herself. As she became a young woman, she disguised herself as a man, to enlist and serve alongside her soldier lover, Samuel Golding. As part of the British Army 5th Foot Regiment, she served in the West Indies and Gibraltar. Her sex remained undetected for an unbelievable seventeen years, until both she and her man were wounded at the Battle of Fontenoy in 1745. Phoebe was by now 32 years of age. Rumbled, the couple were discharged and able to marry.
Samuel and Phoebe settled in Plymouth and had nine children; eight died in infancy. The surviving son would later die at sea. After two decades of marriage, Samuel died. Phoebe refused to submit to the life of an ageing widow. She moved to Brighton and married local fisherman Thomas Hessel. She was 80 when Thomas also passed away. Phoebe was granted three guineas from the parish funds and bought herself a donkey and cart, as you do when you become an octogenarian. To support herself, she took to selling fish and seafood around Brighton. Eventually, she would become well known and loved as a vendor of gingerbread, apples and citrus fruits on a street corner close to the Pavilion. She was forced into the workhouse but again refused to submit to age or circumstance; she discharged herself when she was 93.
The Prince Regent himself was so impressed by her character and longevity that he sustained her remaining years by granting her a pension of half a guinea a week. She would attend his coronation parade in Brighton six months before she finally died of natural causes. Her Grade II listed tombstone has been maintained by the Northumberland Fusiliers, the modern successors to the army regiment that would not officially have enlisted her. In true Brightonian style, a city bus has been named after Phoebe Hessel; possibly, this quirky city's oldest known cross-dresser.

Not quite Phoebe's donkey cart.

 Phoebe Hessel, possibly wearing purple.

"A beautiful woman may be an accident of nature, but a beautiful old woman is a work of art." 

(Louis Nizer)

"Every age can be enchanting provided you can live within it." 

(Brigitte Bardot) 

"Oh Mary Don't You Weep No More" Bruce Springsteen