Partners in the dance

"It sometimes takes a state of solitude to bring to mind the real power of companionship." 

(Stephen Richards)

Maurice with Evelyn

This Wednesday morning sees the funeral of my brother-in-law's stepfather. Maurice survived on his own for only six months after the death of his beloved Evelyn, Gordon's mother. I tried to gently warn Gordon this might well happen: sadly, I've seen this too many times when one half of a close and longstanding partnership dies. Maurice took to his bed at Christmas, his first in around forty years without Evelyn. Always a capable and proud Yorkshireman, strong in mind and body, he seemed to be broken somehow.
Admitted to hospital in February, he'd made it known that he didn't want to be fed, would not want to be resuscitated; didn't really care to go on. Maurice had survived Dunkirk and the trials of World War II in North Africa; his first wife had given up waiting for him to return from war and literally found someone else. Maurice married again and had two children with his second wife; when she became ill with cancer, he nursed her through her final months.
A hard-working weaving over-locker in the Yorkshire mill industry, he met former mill-girl Evelyn after the death of Gordon's father, Harry. Maurice and Evelyn had a courtship of tea-dances and a dancing partnership that continued into their eighties, when time began to slow their steps. My own humble experience of ballet and other dance has confirmed to me that the harmony and companionship of dance partners requires chemistry, understanding, respect, commitment and practice - rather like marriage, I would guess. Maurice was a devoted husband; Evelyn relied on his presence when they were both largely housebound during the past few years.
My brother-in-law pronounces himself an unequivocal atheist but has found some comfort that his mum and stepfather, as well as his dad, are all now resting in "eternal sleep". I have thought to myself that this is more than I've ever heard from other self-professed atheists; and actually very close to the sentiments of the Catholic "Requiem Eternam". Even though he's recently retired himself, I understand that Gordon is gazing into the void that inevitably gapes when your parents or step-parents pass: I know from experience that you're never too old to feel orphaned. I hope he and Maurice's son and daughter will take comfort that both Evelyn and Maurice were blessed to find devoted companionship not once but twice in their lives. I hope I've planted a tiny grain in Gordon's mind that his mum is to be reunited with the two great loves of her life. Her dance-card is complete.

"Eternal rest grant unto them Oh Lord

and let perpetual light shine upon them.

May they rest in peace,

Amen."

"When the years have done irreparable harm,

I can see us walking slowly arm in arm,

Just like that couple on the corner do:

Girl, I will always be in love with you.

Then when I leave this Earth

I'll be with the angels standin';

I'll be out there waiting for my true companion,

Just for my true companion."

(From "True Companion", Marc Cohn)

"Gallant Hussar" Eliza Carthy

Still as stones

"Trees and stones will teach you that which you can never learn from masters."

(St Bernard)

 (Photo: Gigi, album)

"He puts an end to wars all over the earth,

the bow He breaks, the spear He snaps,

He burns the shield with fire:

Be still, and know that I am God;

supreme among the nations, supreme on the earth." 

(Psalm 45 :10, from the Grail Psalter; Psalm 46 other versions)

A naturally tactile person, I really like stones. It might seem strange to say that I can find objects that are almost iconically inanimate comforting, but I find the strength of stillness very reassuring. My pot plants have a stock of stones, pebbles, shells and bits of detritus that I've found or collected over the years. I have stones that have been shaped or painted, others that have their own stories in their natural mouldings or bands of minerals. I also have a couple of fossils. Stones and rocks, like trees, are silent witnesses to history. We dismissively kick the pebbles out of our path: something infinitely small in the scheme of Important Things, yet something that may have been formed over many lifespans and thrown or plucked out of the solid layer of the planet. From the Stone Age, we've used rocks as tools, weapons and other implements; now we manufacture these from the metals we've discovered in the rocks: the blueprint for everyday living. 

I've often asked friends to bring me back stones or shells from various places they've visited; I've collected them myself from Australia, Malaysia, Ireland and various patches in England. I have stones from the garden of my parents' old house and from the former houses of friends and their parents. I got to thinking about this last night after I emailed a friend currently visiting an area of Australia unknown to me, asking her to bring me a stone: far better than a boomerang key-ring This is clearly the same sentimentality which lends me to thinking that strangers are friends I haven't met yet, but there is vague science running through it: I may never get to that beach, forest or mountain; stones bring a little bit of the mountain to me.

I've been looking at some of the bits and bobs I've collected this morning as I water my plants; ironically, I'm "grounded" again in another sense of the word, by a secondary chest infection. My kind but quite hyperactive GP has told me to "keep warm and stay still". I was quite dismayed by this initially. Staying still, particularly when you're self-employed, often sounds like a sentence of imposed idleness. I realise that I need to give my body a chance to repair itself. When I'm fully fit, I have a lot of energy and I generally like to be doing something. It takes some resolve to be still and stay aside from our routine chaos and the daily rush. Stillness also causes others to pause and pay attention; most probably because they're wondering what the hell we're doing; doing nothing. 

When I worked in London, I once watched a woman on a Victoria Line train who was clearly praying in her seat, eyes closed and hands clasped. I was fascinated and very moved by it, but other rush hour passengers weren't as charmed. In a carriage crammed with the usual mix of damp clothing, body odours, unforgiving outfits, thumping personal stereos and eye-flicking newspapers, this woman sitting very still was the centre of attention. The girls opposite her were nudging and giggling and the woman next to me leant over and whispered that she must be "a bit funny". Worst of all, a man who was standing seemed particularly affronted, continually muttering about seats being taken by people who simply wanted to "******* pray". When she got up at the same stop as me, she smiled to let me go first. Very soberly dressed and probably unremarkable looking to a chap on the Clapham Omnibus, or indeed the Victoria Line, her serenity was absolutely stunning.

Surrounded by the stillness of stones this morning, I've been trying to let go of the anxiety of not earning any money at a crucial time of the month. Last year, I acquired a little Grail Translation Psalter; my favourite psalm has quickly become Psalm 45, more usually Psalm 46 elsewhere. "Be still and know that I am God" feels very pertinent and personal at the moment. I need to get well and I know that I will; I know that the bills will get paid: I just have to be still in that knowledge, and trust. On reflection, surely that's just faith, beating under a lot of unnecessary clutter and spluttering.

It's odd that when you wake at dawn with an agenda of enforced rest, you become aware of the rhythms and energies in the minutiae of morning, even within your own front room or back garden: I think I understand what T.S Elliot was getting at, letting the stillness be the dancing. Have a kind and peaceful day.

"There are plenty of ruined buildings in the world but no ruined stones."

("Hugh MacDiarmid" - Christopher Murray Grieve)

"As in nature, as in art, so in grace; it is rough treatment that gives souls, as well as stones, their lustre."
(Thomas Guthrie) 

"Old Pine"  Ben Howard

"We stood

Steady as the stars in the woods,

So happy-hearted,

And the warmth rang true inside these bones;

As the old pine fell we sang

Just to bless the morning.

And we grow, grow, steady as the morning,

We grow, grow, older still;

We grow, grow, happy as a new dawn,

We grow, grow, older still."

...as though no-one is watching

Photo: Gigi, album

Visitors to my fally-down house in Brighton are greeted by an assortment of eccentricities, even as they proceed down my little hallway. Among these is a small woodcut that serves as a mission statement from the householder. It's an adaptation of a much-loved verse: often accredited to Mark Twain, one of my favourite authors, it's also been credited to Father Alfred de Souza and William W. Purkey.

A couple of days ago, my friend Coral's angelic but totally precocious four year old daughter Ronnie was pirouetting around in an empty room, only pausing to curtsey to her unseen public. She didn't miss a beat when I asked her why she was dancing: "Because Nobody's watching, Gigi!"
When I was slightly older than Ronnie, I would frequently embarrass my parents by singing all the way along the aisles in Safeway supermarket - for some reason, "Puppet on a String" was a huge favourite - and by shouting "Ding ding! All 'board!" at every stop on the old number 94 buses through Lewisham. Nowadays of course, I wouldn't dream of bursting into a Eurovision classic in the middle of Aldis: but is that really progress?
I'm often told that various aspects of me, from my voice to my clothes to my sense of humour, are childlike and therefore un-befitting someone of my actual years. Until quite recently, I used to be insulted, but now I understand it as something rather precious. I love Mark Twain's verse because it perfectly sums up how I hoped to live my life: not in selfish hedonism or at the expense of others, but with a lack of vanity and an essential feeling of joy and optimism. After another year of whingeing about myself and most people around me, I realise I've fallen far short of that goal again. We generally tend to disregard others' opinions until we question how they're regarding us. I've promised Ronnie that I'll go dancing with her out on The Level park when the weather is warmer, something she'll hold me to with the fluffy tenacity of a four year old. My other resolution for the New Year should surely be to pay more attention to the writings on my own wall.
Lee Ann Womack's song "I Hope You Dance" is a country favourite of mine and a regular number to warble in the shower, only witnessed by Ginger the-cat-from-next-door and God. Apart from that, Nobody. Why does Ginger the cat insist on sitting at my bathroom door when I have a shower? Well, he's a Brighton cat. Maybe he's read Mark Twain.

"I hope you Dance"  Lee Ann Womack (ft. her daughters)

"I hope you never lose your sense of wonder, 

You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger; 

May you never take one single breath for granted, 

God forbid love ever leave you empty handed. 

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean; 

Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens. 

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance 

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, 

I hope you dance" 

"Sing, Dance, Praise, Love"

Thank you to my lovely friend Cat for sending me St Teresa of Avila's prayer for inner peace on a rather stressful Wednesday afternoon

St Teresa's Prayer

May today there be peace within.

May you trust God that you are exactly where you

are meant to be.

May you not forget the infinite

possibilities that are born of faith.

May you use those gifts that you have received,

and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be content knowing you are a child of God.

Let this presence settle into your bones,

and allow your soul the freedom to sing,

dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of us.

"Primavera" Ludovico Einaudi