Something to think about

Quotes: I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. (Maya Angelou)..The destiny of every human being is decided by what goes on inside his skull when confronted by what goes on outside his skull. (Eric Berne).. Work while you work, play while you play - this is a basic rule of repressive self-discipline. (Theodor W. Adorno)

Sunday 9 July 2017

Requiem?

We write 2017 as I re-read these sketches and make small alterations. I'm in a process of catharsis, I suppose. Reading about an era long past and often barely believable is sometimes painful. Nothing is left of those days, after all.



The question is whether that is of any importance at all.
I would really like to add a few chapters, at least to see my London days through - 6 years after which I left the UK and have never lived there since.
On the other hand, I'm not sure if I can take the pain of remembering. The towering grief of losing my father is still casting its shadow almost 56 years later. The final chapter here (43) is quite an accurate memory of days I did not need or even enjoy much. Of all the characters that have featured in my sketches she is the one I disliked most. If I were to write more, I would probably come across a few additions to that list, so writing about them may just be a waste of energy.
I visited my former and by me heartily disliked teacher in 1986 to make my peace with her, entirely for my benefit - a sort of requiem for the past, I suppose.
Miss Plum, as I named her here, died at the age of 97, a pathetic, lonely old woman despite the sumptuous surroundings. She sat in a chair downstairs in her dining room in a frock with dribbles down the front. That room looked shabby and devoid of character despite the red velvet drapes and plush upholstery. Miss Plum, the woman who shared a bed with a colleague but made sure that we always knew there was a bolster down the middle, was attended by one of her old students - a nice woman who sang or had sung in the Covent Garden opera chorus and was one of very few who obviously still cared enough to bother.
Madge (another nom-de-plume) the factotum was in an institution. She had advanced dementia and Miss Plum complained bitterly about having to finance the caring for someone who had looked after her for decades. That's the sort of woman Miss Plum was. Selfish, egocentric, a bit nasty. I took my ten year old son with me that day, but she did not even look at him.When I left it was in the knowledge that I would never see her again and did not want to.
Sometimes I wonder how much of my autobiography was dominated by that woman! Of course, she took up only 6 years of my life. After I left her she actually made mischief for me in London - I know that really happened, but it is of no conseuence now. My 'good brain' (never once was she heard to say I had a good voice) has stood me in good stead, though deep down I have never recovered from her malice against me. But as the saying goes, the pen is mightier than the sword ....

No comments:

Post a Comment