Barbara:

P.S.  I know these pretty much always come at the end, but mine comes here because when I finished this, I said to Ali I don’t really know why I wrote it and she said maybe I should say that.  I suppose I just felt I should ‘say’ something, so Barbara’s death isn’t a bit mundane and her life remains meaningful, for me and perhaps others … to sort of keep her alive.  I don’t know for sure, but anyway, this is what I wrote and I’ll bung it on FB and my blog, feeling a little more at peace with the situation.  

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Some years ago, shortly after we had moved to Kerlanguet, I was sitting with the dogs, resting a while during a walk round the charming lake in La Trinite, just a couple of clicks away from the house, looking at the reflections on the water and the ducks pottering about their business, when I was approached by a very small, elderly woman who, to all appearance, was of pure-blooded Pixie stock! 

She was very slight, stylishly attired, with a little tweed ‘pixie’ hat, sitting at a jaunty angle, covering short grey hair, below which were the most striking, twinkling, magical eyes.  She held her, to be honest inconsiderable height, very erect, with the confidence of somebody who knows they need to be careful not to make people around them feel that they are short!  Her walking stick was quite obviously not because she needed it for a bit of support, but merely part of her style. 

She asked me if I was Ches.  Normally I’m a little cautious in answering, checking the likelihood that I will want the person in front of me to know who I am, and also whether I think they’ll be pleasant to talk with.  No such uncertainty entered my mind in this case, however, and moments later we were side by side, strolling along, chatting easily like old friends of many years.  Thus I first met that wonderful phenomenon that was Barbara.

Over many joyous conversations through the far too few years, I learned a little of her diverse life.  She was born in Manchester but was evacuated to Wales, to her grandma’s, I’m fairly sure, during the war, and there she developed a life long love of the place and ended up in her later years constantly – maybe a bit too constantly! - posting pictures of it on Facebook.  There was, too, a story of a sheep which always followed her to the school bus, and I think met her when she came home, and a headmistress who gave her a violin because she showed real talent but her parents – both most loving – couldn’t afford it.  She ended up playing 2^nd violin in the orchestra in Manchester.  Pretty good, eh?

When she was old enough to get a job, she got one in the Post Office but found it crashingly dull so she quit, moved south on a whimsy, with enough money for one months rent somewhere, and got a billet with a wealthy family who lived in a hotel, being a nanny.  She became immensely fond of them, and they of her, and was soon one of the family.  They often went to the south of France and she appeared to live a high old life and really enjoyed it.  It appeared that in her ‘down time’ she dined very well in the hotel and got to know the bar there, which was later to stand her in good stead, for it was when she was working in one that she met John.

Barbara and John were mature when they met, both free spirits up to that point; this, their first true love affair, was all the richer for it, like a damn good, aged bottle of  Grand Cru St Emilion which, though I never met him, I like to think John would have enjoyed.  They loved life with each other, and life for them, from then on, was a great adventure.  John captained luxury yachts, based in the south of France and then with a new contract, they lived for a while in Malta, with their apartment being on the top floor, and her receiving bread deliveries in a lowered basket on a rope which she hauled up when filled.  I think it was there that she had her first dog, an Alsatian puppy given to her as a gift from John’s crew. 

John dreamt of being a hovercraft pilot but was too old.  He was an excellent seafarer, however, and his knowledge and abilities highly sought after, so a few strings were pulled, rules were changed and he trained and became one.  At this point they were living, I think, in a caravan on the Isle Of White.  Eventually they found a more permanent home there and then a place on the mainland, and John piloted cross channel hovercraft, taking advantage, as far as I understood, on a daily basis, of duty free gin, a half bottle a day accompanying him home as a perquisite of the job.  He also did a stint in Saudi, doing military training on the use of hovercrafts.  I doubt he got much gin there!

Barbara during this time was not sitting at home twiddling her thumbs.  She ran a pre-school for a while, and also learned to swim in her 40s to encourage a friend to do so.  She ended up swimming, the friend didn’t.  She took up riding, as well, in her middle years, which she loved, and ended up owning her own horse.  There were, at this point, also 2 Alsatians in her life. Cats too found her a soft touch!  During this period she also found time to work in a school with kids who had learning difficulties.  I bet she was marvellous at this.  Certainly some of her approaches were pioneering.

She became interested in dousing, hypnotherapy and aromatherapy, studied them, completed various courses and qualifications and set up her own bona fide practice, treating some really interesting folk who were blessed by her interventions.  You see, Barbara wanted to help people – children, adults, it didn’t matter, she just wanted to help, and one way or another that’s a common thread which ran through her working life.  Oh, there was fun and a marvellous social life, but her overriding character was one that couldn’t help helping, and that remained with her, all her days.   

Then there came their retirement to France, a country which they obviously both knew well and loved; and of course where they bought and moved into the most wonderful of homes, Kerlanguet.  Here, their most joyous years were spent together, falling increasingly in love with it and each other; making it their home, enjoying many friends, dogs, cats, meals all over Brittany, John’s golf and of course, Barbara’s painting, all washed down with quality G&T and fine wines – a marriage and life made in heaven. 

Suddenly, then, after those wonderful years, John was ill and following a swift decline, died.  Barbara was absolutely bereft.  She rattled about alone in Kerlanguet for a year or so and then bought her little house in La Trinite.  She had been living there for a couple of years when I met her by the lake.

I very soon realised that Barbara’s tiny frame held not only an extraordinary mind but also a truly indomitable spirit.  That tiny, pixie frame gave her a lot of grief, the truth be told, but she was absolute in not letting it prevent her from getting on with life, and get on with life she did!

The little house in La Trin was a charming place to be; it had, obviously, elements of both her and John, including a table and chairs they had made, a beautiful grandfather clock and one of her paintings of him on the wall in the cosy sitting room, but the house was her home, and a place where she was looking forward, though her heart yearned, I know, for John, and his absence was never far from her mind.  She did not allow the grief or loneliness to overpower her, however, or hold her back.  She had, too, a hugely wide range of interests and skills to keep her occupied. 

I was to learn, during this time, about her various pendulums and dowsing, not just for water, but for every day decisions.  She practised, still, aromatherapy and continued to be into all sorts of ‘alternative’ thinking which I was either scared of or didn’t believe in; all of it had to be re-evaluated by me.  Barbara’s thinking or enthusiasm for a subject was not something one easily dismissed!  I’ve also, always made it a habit in life never to cross a witch.  So far it has served me in good stead.

She had a love for the arts which was infectious.  She subscribed to the ‘Arts Channel’ and sure got her money’s worth!  Music was a constant in her life, also, though as her hands became more arthritic, the violin had to go, but still she loved to listen.  When she was painting in her studio in Kerlanguet, apparently she cranked the volume right up and threw on the paint!  She knew how to paint and draw - technique and all that - but she was always an experimenter, and her range of work was wide and original.

After we’d known her for a year or so, her frustration with her desktop computer became apparent; she had admired Ali’s, so she got herself an ipad.  I think maybe it was a present for herself for her 80^th birthday, I can’t quite remember.  (That was a lovely, boozy celebratory lunch a little group of us had down at the Marc’h Tray in La Trin.) She loved that ipad and was constantly learning how to use it for new things, including downloading books and setting up, and very actively enjoying an account on Facebook.  She also got into buying on line. That was to be joined by a supporting smart phone which never left her side.  And all the time she was doing all this stuff, we were learning all sorts of things from her too.  You couldn’t spend time with Barbara and not learn stuff!

She, Ali and I also shared a real and deep love for Kerlanguet. It’s not just a house; it’s a way of life and thinking, and we’re its custodians for a while, just as Barbara was, but when we’re gone, it will go on.  When she made her first visit, therefore, we were somewhat concerned about what she’d think of the changes we’d made.  We knew she had little time for the chap who had bought it from her.  Though he was only here for a year, it was actually the work he’d done in turning one end of the house into a self-contained unit which he proposed to rent out as a gîte, which really appealed to us.  It is somewhere for family and friends to come and stay and not end up on top of each other … or us!  Anyway, I needn’t have worried.  She took joy in those things which were part of her life here with John, but also appreciated the new, and was very pleased with how much we care about the old place. 

She was a pretty fluent French speaker and knew all sorts of stuff about the history of the house.  On one occasion we invited Eric and his wife here with Barbara.  Eric owns the land here about, and had become a firm friend of Barbara and John’s, popping in fairly often for a Ricard and natter.  He’d been born here some 50 years ago and so had his father before him.  Barbara happily translated much of the time, as our French was, and is still, shall we say, in its infancy!  She did this for us, also, with the plumber, during hospital visits on other occasions, ordering wood – all sorts.  She was a little diamond!      

After that initial meeting at the lake, very soon we were seeing each other at least once a week; coffee and cakes, here or there, talking about life, the other worlds, horses, dogs (when she put her hand on Merlin’s sore leg from time to time he actually did seem to get some relief – witchcraft from a diminutive and benign white witch - cats, people, politics, the past, John, the future … you name it, we chewed the fat about it.  There was one sorrow for us though; since John had died she had not painted.  Not once since that awful event. 

She took up quilting as a creative outlet instead, which despite her arthritically crooked fingers she was really good at, creative, original and focussed, and she produced some truly beautiful finished quilts which she enjoyed giving to special people in her life, packages of many hours of effort and love.  She enjoyed the planning and the creative process, and once a month she attended ‘lessons’ which were social times, and fun.  She drove there, and elsewhere in her little purple car, and her independence was absolute.  She insisted that it be so, and her best and dearest friend Sue generally managed to make helping her seem like … well, just being around, as a good buddy.  Barbara was blessed with this friendship and she knew it.  She worried about Sue, enjoyed her company immensely, was deeply appreciative of the strength Sue lent, especially in times of trouble, and extraordinarily when John died.  Sue had been a golden ribbon through her life since she’d settled here, and she was blessed in that, and was most thankful, as was, indeed, Sue. 

I like to think that, though we were only blessed with a few years of her company, we hit it off rather well and would eventually have got a quilt!  Our greatest coup was asking her to teach us how to paint.  I think later she caught on as to why we’d asked her, but by then she was painting again, and so were we.  Her patience with my colouring in was lovely – “turn it the other way up and hold it for me!” - but Ali was a more diligent and talented student, and Barbara really enjoyed her work.  Thus it was, painting once a week became the norm, with coffee, and the obligatory freshly made cakes from the patisserie.  We still nattered on about this and that.  They were special times for me; sort of times outside of time.  I would ply her with questions about life and she was great in her alternative take on many subjects.

Don’t get me wrong though; this is not some uncritical and dishonest eulogy.  Barbara wasn’t perfect, thank God!  She could be stubborn, somewhat opinionated, and could make judgements on folk possibly a tad more quickly than one might wish, though in truth she was usually right!  Moreover, she wasn’t prone to changing her mind on these judgements!  Her driving wasn’t brilliant, either, though she was very careful and safe around people.  I have, however, had to tow the little car out of a ditch; Rex has done some great body work repairs, but she did continue to hit objects, once, with a previous car, apparently, rather hard entering La Trin.  Alarmed workers rushed to her assistance, wanting the Pompiers to check her out.  She was fine and wanted no fuss! 

If there were any longer journeys, to be fair to her, generally Sue would take her, or occasionally I would, and it was a real pleasure to have her company, even when she told me to defy the SatNav, and in my doing so got us hopelessly lost!  Sue didn’t have those problems, being an ‘old-hand’ at driving round Brittany … and knew when to ignore Barbara’s somewhat hit and miss homing instincts.

Over much of the time we knew her, Barbara vacillated over whether she should sell up and go to the UK or not, especially, I think, after the sister who lived here in France died.  She had some thought she might live there with one of the family, perhaps in Wales, which she loved, though born and semi-raised in Manchester.  I say semi-raised because, as I’ve said, she was evacuated to her grandparents in Wales during the war.  She also had a brother and sister still living there.  Anyway, she put her house on the market, just to see what happened.  Another ‘fault’, from my point of view, is that she thought things happened because they were ‘meant’!

Apparently it wasn’t ‘meant’ because nothing much did, as is often the case here, so she started, increasingly, to think she’d stay, and thus she spent some of her money on herself, to do things to the house and for her comfort, with electric gates for her and a bespoke cat flap.  (See below).  She then made her last trip to the UK, found that the idea of living there with a family member wouldn’t work, so came back and took her house off the market.  Her whole psychology of place changed, and she was now happier in herself, because she was committed to what she probably had known for some time was the right course.  Thus it was that ‘Lugsie’ (Short for ‘Bugger Lugs’ – an endearment John used with her, apparently!) came into her life.

Lugsie had turned up at a friend’s house, obviously tame and well cared for but homeless.  Now the chap, Michel, didn’t really want to keep her but felt obliged to, including feeding her.  Thus she started out life in a new, and as we shall see, temporary home.  Sue, I think it was, had the moment of genius, and knowing how Barbara loved dogs and cats, having owned many over the years, she took the as yet unnamed Lugsie to her.  Barbara had held back from more animal ownership; she was too old, she reckoned, and was going to move sometime … soon? … to the UK, so it wouldn’t be right.  With the main obstacle gone, Sue persuaded her, and in a whimsical sort of way, Barbara’s second love affair took off! 

Lugsie is a beautiful, large, ginger haired female.  With all the wiles of a pussycat, she soon had the Pixie wrapped round her little claw.  Barbara had again somewhere to put at least some of her love.  And Lugsie had arrived in cat heaven!  She took over her own chair; she slept on Barbara’s bed but kindly let Barbara have some of it too.  Barbara talked to her; she cuddled her and stroked her, on command; she fed her with the choicest of cat food.  Lugsie was really happy, and so was Barbara.  She had a companion to semi-share life with; company through the night; another creature to care about and give life meaning.  Sue’s genius idea paid off in spades! 

The joy, unfortunately, was not to last, and some months ago now she started complaining - no, that’s the wrong word – noticing that she was having problems swallowing and her body was reacting badly in certain ways.  To me it was awfully like the Squire’s early symptoms of oesophageal cancer so I banged on at her to go and see a doctor, but she wouldn’t.  Perhaps I should have been specific about my fears and tried to frighten her into early action, but I’m not a doctor and, of course, I couldn’t be sure. In the end she knew things were not right, however, so off she went, hither and thither, taken by dear Sue, of course, and ended up in the hospital in Pontivy, where it was confirmed, plus lots of other things.  The future looked bleak. 

I wrote to her every day, but would not visit.  I think she understood why, and apparently she enjoyed my letters.  Sue went every day!  For weeks.  It’s a journey of well over an hour each way, and Sue’s back aint all that great.  She also went and fed Lugsy* and gave her attention, daily.  Barbara deteriorated physically – she was a frail wee waif anyway – but continued, almost to the end, to believe she would come back home.  She ended up being fed intravenously and eventually also had to have that done for pain relief, as they could no longer find veins.  Shortly after they moved her to the excellent hospice care unit at the hospital, she upped and went and died on us.  The funeral was well attended; she had a strong circle of friends.  Sue organised everything.  It was well done.  Now her house stands empty, shutters closed, little purple car sitting on the drive.

I’ll not write much more about her death apart from to say this; the reason I didn’t go and see her was that I pretty much knew, right from the start, once the diagnosis was confirmed, that she was going to die there. I have been with people whilst they were dying over a period of time, and held their hands when they actually boarded the train to the next destination and left.  I have watched them die over time, and for several years afterwards I’ve found that the memory of their death was so strong that it, for me, ended up defining their life.  It was THE memory. 

With the Pixie that was Barbara, I decided, quite consciously, to be a very selfish soab and keep the memory of her as her she was when she came and painted, or when we walked around the lake that first day of meeting.  She had plenty of people who visited, one flying up from Italy, plus family from the UK, and she of course always had Sue, whose loyalty, care and commitment was way above and beyond the call of duty and friendship, again, as usual.  And she had my daily letters.  

I feel guilty for not going, though, and did so at the time, but - and that’s an enormous but, too large to capitalise - I’m still really glad I didn’t go.  Her life is not defined by her death and when I drive past her house, which I still make a point of doing, part of me thinks there’s been some kind of huge, foolish mistake and actually she’s in there, painting whilst watching the Arts Channel, and perhaps I should just pop in for a coffee and natter. 

It’s bizarre, because it has never happened before, and certainly, on balance I prefer it this way.  It’s really a sort of doublethink, of course, because within my belief system she’s back with John and truly happy again.  Though she was a wonderful, positive person, she had said in an unguarded moment that she’d never been happy since John died, not that deep down, complete joy within, that only being with the right person can bring. 

I’m not totally selfish though; I know she’s happier by far where she is, but I’m happier by far, sort of absurdly, but easily, thinking that the little purple car will pull up at the gate some time soon, she’ll poop the horn, come in and demand to see our latest painting efforts, and I’ll know we are in for the mellowest of mornings.  Let it be so, and amen.

      

* Lugsie decided after a couple of weeks of Barbara’s absence to return to Michel’s under her own steam, where she is busy training him to treat her as Barbara did.