Well, it’s finally happened and Gladys died yesterday. An event waiting to happen for a long, long time, in my opinion. More shocking to note, possibly, is that all I can feel about it is a mild relief and the thought that I won’t have to schedule in my weekly twenty minute silent visit to her any more. Which, I have to say, is more than anything a scathing revelation of my sadly lacking sense of humanity. I’ve been told already by well-meaning friends what a shame it was for “poor Gladys”. Yes, well, it’s a pitiful end to a life – I don’t think dying in a nursing home in the grip of a terrible depression is anyone’s idea of a good ending – but I have to say I’m glad it’s over. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.
What’s focusing my mind most of all is (a) the nagging worry that in forty years’ time (assuming I get that long), it’s going to be me. Well, like Gladys, I’m child-free from choice and with very distant family – though in my case that’s emotionally and not necessarily geographically. Frankly, I can’t imagine anything worse than dying with my blood relatives around me. God forbid. I haven’t been that greatly impressed with the sum of them during life, so what on earth would I want with them in the dying process? Oh, and (b) no matter how much I try to reassure myself from a Christian perspective, I have to admit I’m not at all enamoured of the thought of the afterlife. Really, I just don’t want to go there. I don’t like change and Heaven, should it exist, seems crowded with people – two of my worse-case scenarios indeed. I’d far rather – if I have to think about death at all – be somewhere nice and quiet with Lord H and not have to worry about anyone else. That would be Heaven indeed. Much like being at home then.
Anyway, things I remember best about Gladys and I think are important to note, both bad and good, are: (a) I have to admit I didn’t like her that much, though in some respects I admired her and was also, at times, sorry for her; (b) she could be quite cutting about aspects of my appearance (never great at the best of times) when she wanted to be (hence the (a) note); (c) she and her late husband Charlie stole the frogspawn from their landlord’s garden when they left the flat they were in to move to Godalming, and I thought that was hellishly stylish – it always made me smile; (d) she and Charlie used to go on a lot of serious walking holidays all over Europe when they were young and once had a sing-song with Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears on a cruise ship round the ship’s piano. Totally magical indeed. Oh, and (e) she generally disliked children – which, naturally, I thought was wonderful.


A couple of our local Surrey businessmen are strapping their leathers on (oo-err, missus …) and biking in India in order to raise money for charity. You can find out more about the whole enterprise
Just popping in to say that the first edition of new historical fiction journal, Lacuna, includes my story