It feels very strange that having lived for three decades feeling virtually outside of any family circle (during my twenties, thirties and forties - apart from my parent-child relationship with my own kids) I suddenly find myself in my fifties feeling pretty much within the circle of a great big extended family, and family life has become extremely important.
Throughout three decades I had only semi-regular contact with my mum and dad, aunts and uncles, and cousins. It’s not that I was particularly estranged from them in any way - I’ve always felt very fond of them and very proud of them and their values - I was just too busy and too geographically far apart from them.
I’d make the effort to visit mum & dad, my sister and her family, my godparents, aunts & uncles, two or three times a year, during school holidays, but that was about it. None of them ever came to London except on very rare occasions. My sister has never once been to visit. My cousin H has been the only semi-regular visitor and overnight guest, and it’s always a pleasure to see him.
I’ve never fallen out with members of my immediate family, and have never had any major issues with any of them. Though it’s probably true to say they I’ve lived very differently from the majority of them, and they’ve tended to see me as something of a rebel, somewhat unconventional, and a bit of a weirdo, living down in ‘that London’. Though I still feel we all more or less share the same values, i.e. the ones we grew up with.
I guess my work and my school became my extended family, with me at the head of it, and God knows they needed all my time and attention. Now that this is no longer the case I’m able to find the time and the energy, and also have the motivation, to play a full and proper role in the lives of my blood relatives.
Sunday was a brilliant day. I spent the morning chatting to mum and taking care of her needs, though of the two of us she was the first to rise (with the arrival of her carer to give her the morning tablets) - and she brought me a cup of tea in bed, as I lay reading the Buddhism book. Just like old times.
She’s now back to being her ‘old self’, which is to say she’s no longer clinically depressed, miserable, and frightened. She now experiences the normal range of sadness and anxiety from day to day, but she’s also able to experience joy and laughter again.
Though at 80+ she’s become a self that’s very aware it’s now in a different stage of life to the ‘old self’ - the self that was energetic, outgoing, supportive to others and self sufficient. But at least she now accepts that along with the shrinkage in her stature and the increase in her wrinkles and infirmity, she must of necessity shuffle and go slowly with the aid of her stick, she must resign herself to being looked after by carers, neighbours and family, and she must spend more of her waking time just sitting quietly, doing nothing, as the Taoists and Buddhists say.
We watched the London marathon on her new digital TV, switching back and forth between the women’s and men’s races. Ah those teeming, cheering streets of my adopted city - feeling so far away as I look out over the valleys and hills of beautiful South Devon, from mum’s little corner of Bungalowland, where the pavements are empty save for dog walkers and the occasional electric buggy bearing an elderly person on his or her way to the local shop, or to the post office to pick up some money or a stamp for a letter.
In the afternoon I met up with my daughter and her daughters and her partner, and did some walking on the beach and along the sea front before going up to see mum and have tea with her. It was breezy but bright and very bracing.
At 4.00 I drove S & N down to the local pub, The Old Manor Inn, so that they could watch the big match on Sky Sports - Arsenal v Man Utd. I stayed for a quick pint and then drove up to the farm shop to buy some food for dinner. Arriving back at mum’s I put the chicken in the oven, and peeled the vegetables, and then went back to the pub to see the final stages of the football and pick up S & co to return them to mum’s to eat.
When we arrived we found my sister had turned up with some presents for the new arrival. She insisted she didn’t want to eat with us, and busied herself in the kitchen, possibly to prove some point about what a big help she is in mum’s life.
At least she’s sounding much more positive and more level headed these days, though I still have big issues with how much time she spends with the so-called invalid she lives with, and how little time she lavishes on visits to mum, in spite of the fact that mum has bought her another car. No matter - it was good that she made the effort to come and see S & N and the children.
As the sun sank below the distant hills I drove S & co back down the hill to Paignton, pausing at the top of Preston Down so that N could take some photos looking down and across Torbay, which looked beautiful bathed in the evening light.
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On mum’s birthday we took her down to the sea front for a short stroll and then to Shaldon to have lunch. The Clifford Arms is a very pleasant pub with a good atmosphere and lots of character. The serving wench recommended a foaming pint of their finest cask-conditioned ale, which was called Yellow Hammer and was from a local brewery, O’Hanlons, based at Great Barton Farm, near Wimple. And a brilliant pint it turned out to be too. The food was also excellent, though mum had a hard time deciding what to eat, before settling for sliced duck’s breast with vegetables.
There was a big menu written up on the blackboards with a very wide choice of dishes, but S, my wonderful Libran daughter, chose exactly what I’d decided to have - whitebait starters followed by lasagne and salad. A perfect lunch. It was beautifully presented and perfectly cooked. Very rare that you find a lasagne cooked to perfection. Even in Venice last month the lasagnes were nothing really special.
We sat in a large and very sunny bow window looking out on to a very pretty garden with lovely old houses facing us across the street. I haven’t really taken much notice of Shaldon as a built environment when I’ve been there previously, but it really is an exceptionally beautiful village, in a very beautiful setting, right next to the estuary dotted with boats tied to their anchorages, with just a few yachts sailing in the middle distance.
After lunch we took a stroll around the village, which mum managed quite comfortably. The air was still and warm, and the Spring flowers and blossoms quite stunning. The atmosphere was totally relaxing. A few children and adults were on the beach, playing or just sitting. Every house, every building seemed like an understated and modest little masterpiece in domestic architecture. The village green consists of a lovely little children’s playground and a bowling green that’s manicured and rolled to absolute perfection.
By contrast, Teignmouth, just across the bridge over the estuary, seems like a busy, thriving, humming metropolis. Lots of shops, cars and tall buildings. Lots of people in the streets. We drove around it, but decided not to stay.
Back at mum’s we had tea and birthday cake, and little K was busy with her box of creative odds and ends - beads and glue and glitter and feathers and crayons and felt shapes - cutting and sticking and colouring and chatting.
It’s amazing and quite new for me to be in a room with four generations of the same family. Mum looks very content. Such a pity dad’s not around to experience it.
Yellow Hammer
http://www.ohanlons.co.uk/index.php
The Clifford Arms
http://knowhere.co.uk/3178_eatdrink.html
http://www.tastebuds-devon.co.uk/m_78.asp
http://62.128.130.113/CountryPubsDevon/Chapter4/CPD30235.htm
Shaldon
http://www.shaldon-devon.co.uk/
http://www.torquay.com/New_Torquay/local/shaldon.htm
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