A phone call, accusing ‘You’re abandoning us, can we come and see you?’ We last met over a year ago. This lady, British, is an arch scrounger. Mutual friends, invited to supper before a concert, said ‘Can we bring M, she’s so lonely’. Sure. M is hard done by, a son lives nearby and takes her shopping every Friday. Grand-children also nearby, but they don’t care about her (She claims). Her car is always broken down, kind people always give her lifts (with a bit of muttering). During Mr G’s illness I had loads of offers of help, and being prayed over. I received no help, not even people dropping in for a chat, French or British. I wanted to do a final lecture, a generation spent in the town. Librarian would have loved it but it became the responsibility of the cultural councillor. She told me, at length, of her personal problems, and the awful stress of her job, therefore no chance of my giving a lecture. But that is the last of my moans, I promise.

There seemed no bright moments spent in my last house, from 2016, Great danger of letting those years cloud our life in that town. It was just people, people, people. There were three separate newspapers. Everything Mr G and I did was reported in all three, with photos, quite a thick press cuttings file. That’s the printed version. One chap of the computer firm came to install a new lap-top, been updating my communications for 15 years. Photos going by, he remarked what a lot we had done for the town. They had never had anybody open their house and garden. No home-grown writer/historian. A history of the town was done in 1946 by  a bigoted priest who called protestants ‘Heretics’. His information was dodgy, and he never gave his sources. Associations gave formal dinners, but nobody had 100+ people in their house and garden on 14th July. 

When I cleared my house last year by a series of sales every week-end so many people came and bought something, ‘to remember me by’, so touched. Librarian took a silver collection, another lady went proudly off with a Laura Ashley tea service, so British! People made detours on their route home to see the flowers on the facade. There was a convent opposite, Sister Veronique said her day was made opening her window and seeing my flowers. Grand-children came so often, one claims record for visits, 22 times. Another for pancake  consumption on market day. We went to several weddings where we had never met bride nor groom, just the parents. The most touching, and memorable, was Mr G’s funeral, a book of condolence and loads of cards are the proof. But the people! Unbelievable, the notary who sold us our first house in 1981, plus his wife. My family stood and watched the people file past the coffin. Most remarks ‘you were so respected’.  I shall get on my train Southwards with those words. How have you met with huge moves? 

The Gardener

A Moodscope member