Still Here

I've spent a good part of this evening reading old correspondence. Letters from decades ago, letters written from before I was born. Pearlie hoarded everything. I cannot bear to throw these old letters away without reading them first so that I can find out what hidden, historical gems they might contain.

Weddings were just as important in the forties and fifties as they are now but maybe not as extravagant. Long engagements weren't common among Pearlie's circle. Husbands were often chosen from the local neighbourhood. They didn't travel far in search of a spouse. I suppose too, better the devil you know....

Wedding presents consisted of pillowcases, bedspreads, blankets and cheval sets. Canteens of cutlery and china were popular gifts. One new bride boasted delightedly of receiving 'a fireside chair'.

They weren't just about weddings. There were letters from far-flung relations in Scotland, Canada and Australia. Some hinted, only hinted, at family scandal. I suppose 'reading between the lines' was a skill better understood in those days of paper and ink.

There was one far-flung cousin whose missives were a litany of woe from start to finish.

Recognising her scratchy hand-writing I said to Bert,

Here's another catalogue of misery from your one that's always sick, or her man's sick or the weans aren't well.

Aye. And if they do happen to be enjoying a brief spell of good health then the weather's shite and he's out of work again.

I started to read. The letter started as usual with complaints about the weather, the strikes (it was the Winter of Discontent) and the dreary Christmas they'd had. Then she started to write about her husband's old aunt. This aunt was in hospital but not doing well. It appeared the old soul had dementia although the word wasn't mentioned. The letter writer and her husband had been having a dreadful time with her. She was waking all night, going out in her nightdress and threatening her neighbours with a potato masher. To make matters worse this old doll was a keen letter writer herself and she was sending missives around all the friends and relatives claiming that the ones closest to her were neglecting her, never coming near her and worse again, hitting her. It seemed that 'cheeky' letters were being written back to to the old aunt's carers accusing them of mistreating the old girl. Little wonder the letter continued '...and I am not a well woman myself. There are days I can hardly get out of my bed.' No doubt she was deeply depressed but depression, like dementia, would hardly have been acknowledged in those days.

I finished the letter feeling a great deal more sympathy for that long dead and put-upon woman.

Our troubles all come to an end eventually.

Pearlie spends a great deal of her time in one room. Her interests have narrowed. Her conversation is dreary and uninteresting. She spends her time doing simple puzzles or reading the bible. She eats hardly anything and is obsessed with her bowels. She is negative about everything. She cares very little for her appearance. She has no interest in the past or the future. Her youngest sister died just over a week ago and it hardly affected her.

Matty is different. She's still full of beans and I pray she will always be like that. She is interested in people and interested in the world. She cares what she looks like. Maybe she's a bit too fixated on her health problems but she tries hard to stay positive.

I wonder what kind of old, old lady I'll be. If it's the Pearlie kind I don't want to get there. If it's the Matty kind it might be alright. No matter what sort I become I hope there will be no-one peeking round my door in the morning watching my shallow, sleeping breaths and thinking to herself, 'Not dead yet.'

Belfast ChilliFest 2008

On Saturday I went to the ChilliFest with Zoe and Dave. I ate Tacos and Chilli and Chilli Chocolate and Chilli Ice Cream (surprisingly good but not as good Zoe says, as her blackberry and apple ice cream). I bought Bert a Chilli Tee Shirt and Hannah some Chilli Sauces. I took photographs of lots of Chilli Afficianados. They were a pretty mixed bunch.

Bert was astonished at what the stallholders were charging for the Chilli Plants. "Six pounds! that's damnable!"

Today I had a fight with Pearlie, visited Lucy, made Meatballs with Chilli Sauce and Blackberry Biscuits (chilli free). I also did some more clearing of Pearlie's old abode. Bert was amazed that she had squirrelled away all the personal letters he got when he was living at home. He spent a happy hour or so reading through them. There was one particularly sweet letter he received from a chap called David Clay that he'd met whilst travelling. He was so struck by it that he read it out to me.

That's a really lovely letter. Did you write back?

I never did.

You didn't! And that letter was from the heart. He really liked you.

I know. I was a bastard.

That's nearly thirty years it's taken Bert to appreciate the friends he met in his twenties.

Pearlie also kept all his school reports. They were all much the same.

A fair term's work. Robert is capable of a far higher standard of work.

As he said himself,

That just about sums up my whole life.

Putting Pen To Paper

I've heard a lot of talk about how the email, the text message and the phone have killed the art of letter writing. Apparently there is nothing so delightful as receiving a proper letter among the circulars, bills and other assorted rubbish that plops on the doormat of a morning.

Imagine opening this cheery missive that wended its way from Scotland to Cully back in February 1965.

My Dear Friends,

Sorry for being so long in answering your very nice letter but Rowena* will have told you I was not in great form. Hattie is keeping fairly well. She didn't get much time to nurse her Aches & Pains since Xmas as the Dr has been in our house very often. The twins took Gastric Flu & Chicken Pox and Jackie has been off work for a week with Broken Ribs got at his work. I do hope Bertie has got over His Trouble. We have the Measles in our village just now. I do hope ours don't take them as they have had enough at present.....

And so on and so on....

Although she did finish by asking when they were coming over to visit. Personally speaking I'd not have gone near her Plague House but then I'm an uncharitable, unsympathetic bastard. At least Pearlie & Matty say I am. Except they don't say bastard.

Names, except Bert's and I do wonder what His Trouble was, have been changed to protect this unfortunate crew's privacy although they are all bound to be dead by now anyway.