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A Brief History of my Xmas Cards


1 Minute Read

Cards mean a lot to me. Birthday cards and Xmas cards particularly. I love both giving and receiving them. For me, it’s an opportunity to write personal messages, or long drawled out, hieroglyphic-looking paeans to family or friends.

Yes, it’s not the cards per se. It’s the messages, the hand-written words of appreciation and love. The chance to reflect on a year spent with this person and to acknowledge those little adventures in friendship, vulnerability, travel, laughter.

Since the demise of the letter and the upsurge of the email and text, it feels to me all the more important to send cards. My French friends, Les Pougnets, are bemused, nay bewildered by the British dedication to the card. They don’t have the same tradition. However, last year they sent me a couple themselves. You see I’m converting them.

Xmas cards, it turns out, were invented in 1843 by two men – Sir Henry Cole and John Horsley – who were trying to popularize the use of the Post Office. They designed a card, sold it and encouraged people to post them. As printing methods improved, costs went down and more people were able to afford to buy and post them.

The first cards usually had pictures of the Nativity scene on them. In late Victorian times, robins and snow scenes became popular. In those times the postmen were nicknamed Robin Postmen because of the red uniforms they wore. Snow scenes were popular because they reminded the public of the very bad winter in 1836.

Hmmm, well I was always a bit of an Xmas rebel. I didn’t do Xmas every year with my family. I just found it all a bit stifling and repetitive. Not really fun. My mum used to go on Caribbean cruises, my sister and her family would go skiing, Marlon and I would seek out other friends who wanted to celebrate with us. I was a single mum and I sought out other mums with kids. It felt freer that way. I wasn’t the 2.4 family and back in the 90s, that mattered more.

But Marlon – he’s 32 now – and I always made our own cards. It was our individualized offering to our world. Just as I don’t buy many off-the-peg clothes, I tend to do the DIY charity or vintage thang or have them made, I didn’t want to do the classic box of cards buying. I certainly did not want robins and nativity scenes. I was predictably anti-religious.

In fact, I remember a friend whom I played tennis with in the 80s telling me in a confessional kind of way that she really didn’t think that she could let herself stray from the traditional Christian iconography as far as her Xmas cards were concerned. I was shocked by her card modesty. Especially as she played in some well-known rock ‘n roll bands.

How conservative could you get! I laughed when she told me in such a coy tone. But then again, her family did found the Salvation Army.

And so they started with Marlon’s drawings. At six in 1992, he drew a classic paunchy Santa but by seven, he was doing funnier cards. Ones that portrays the sledge without the reindeer. The reindeer wanted the year off, he wrote winsomely.

And then there’s a funny Xmas cityscape with Santa disappearing down chimneys and one of my favourites with Santa nailed to the cross. Black humour. Teenagedom is obviously approaching.

And then in the noughties, the photos started. Marlon doing his tinsel-bedecked Eminem impression – to be honest, I think the tinsel was under coercion from me!!! And then I start appearing in the shots as Marlon is obviously more reluctant. There’s a punk-inspired one of me roaring at Xmas with a question mark on my head!!! Kind of Young Ones, a bit late.

And then the ‘arty’ shots, me popping my head around a corner, Marlon wearing a white mask, me and an Xmas tree with lights around my neck, a tumble of kitchen implements in the background. This was our Kitchen Sink drama, evidently.

There’s a distorted angel digitally enhanced. A blackened tree with baubles looking distinctly dystopian. The vibe seemed to be experimental, dark, brooding.

Phew, then we lighten up with photoshop and we are given Santa’s white beards and hats in a sudden turn for the comedic.

More recently, Marlon, of course, has moved out. And I am left doing the Xmas card myself. Keeping up this Rouse tradition. There was the lyrical black and white shot of my mother at 86 taken by Marlon, of course.

And finally a kitsch shot of my partner, Asanga and I at Portmeirion. I look as though the pot of flowers is a headdress. It keeps up the tradition!! Do you have one?

Doing a Poetry Residential at Ty Newydd in North Wales


5 Minute Read

There’s something about starting a new pursuit and passion when you’re older. It’s stimulating in a different way. I began writing poetry when I was 55 ten years ago. Partly, because it was non-commercial. I knew I’d never earn any money from it – so it could be purely words and me. Unlike the world of freelance journalism that I’d inhabited for the previous 25 years, which was getting more and more like a hamster wheel.

I sought a certain sort of freedom of literary expression for its own sake. And I found it at City Lit and City University in evening classes with all sorts of contemporary poets from Roddy Lumsden to Annie Freud to John Stammers. The latter had an invitation-only group, which I eventually was able to join and Wednesday afternoons became the highlight of my week. They still are.

Last year, I published my first pamphlet Tantric Goddess at the age of 64 on Eyewear. There was a flurry of readings including a Tantra evening at Book and Kitchen – this wonderful little independent bookshop in W11, which has now sadly shut down – with friend and writer, Monique Roffey. I read from my pamphlet and Mon read from her recent erotic novel The Tryst, then we did a Q & A afterward on tantra workshops. We loved it, there was such an easy, intimate flow to the evening.

A year later, I felt like I needed to get out of the almost comfort – despite the ruthless taking apart of each other’s poems – zone of The Group and float my poetry evolution elsewhere. I had just discovered – how had I not known – that Ty Newydd, the National Writing Centre for Wales is actually three miles away from my partner’s farmhouse. I saw they had a masterclass – surely mistress class by now – with the former national poet of Wales, Gillian Clarke, at 81, a grande dame of the art and Robert Minhinnick, another revered Welsh poet and eco-activist. We had to send off poems and be invited. Phew, I got in. Apparently, they chose 16 out of 30 applicants.

The week before I was feeling a little anxious. How would my London/Yorkshire attitude go down? I also knew I wanted to be committed to this course. No staying up late with other poets, I was going to be devoted to the workshop itself.

I drove into the village of Llanystumdwy, along the river Dwyfor and found the long driveway to Ty Newydd. It is a grand old house – where the former Prime Minister, David Lloyd George had lived – and painted in white and blue with a long, narrow library designed by marvelous architect and eccentric Clough Williams-Ellis, the man responsible for the wonderland of ‘fallen buildings’ that is Portmeirion down the road.

My room, well, our room – I’d yet to meet my roommate – was right at the top of the house. Oh, yes, the long-forgotten joys of the single bed. Eventually Thirza – I learned later that this was a self-appropriated name – turned up and so began our week of negotiating this space. Actually, she was very well-behaved, although definitely a late night poet. On the last night, she outdid herself and didn’t get to bed until 3:30am.

 

I managed to resist. I told you I was going to be a good girl. At last. Thirza, who is older than me, obviously wasn’t rebellious enough in her youth and middling years! She was lovely, by the way, kind, supportive and didn’t complain about my snoring.

The first night was meeting each other and eating delicious food, a good portent for the week. We also got to interview each other in the library and then introduce the group to our partner. An exercise in listening and remembering. And absolutely no run of the mill – where do you come from type questions – for Thirza. She recounted her love of gardening, Italian and her strange obsession with the dishwasher.

The next morning –the workshop ran from Monday afternoon to Saturday morning, which seemed short but turned out to be intense – we started for real. With Robert. Who is an elegiac poet of distinction but in person quite dramatic and direct. And funny. Oh, I have to say there was only one other person on the course from London. This was heaven in so many ways. There were poets from up north and many from Wales. There was that song with us all the time.

Robert had brought an envelope of abstract nouns that he’d prepared earlier. We got one each, looked it and started writing with his prompts. Unlocking the muse suggestions. What does this word taste like? Where is it? What does it feel like? I got jealousy – a shameful feeling with which I am very familiar. We wrote for 15 minutes and then read out to each other what we’d written. The first public declarations. The others had to guess what our word was. Well, they got that mine wasn’t pleasant. One of my lines was – ‘You are a twisted priest’. Robert liked that. Other abstract nouns were dread, fear, joy, wonder, mystery and we began to form an impression of each other as poets.

It was fun. The afternoon was with both tutors and eight of us brought along poems without our names on them. We handed them out and critiqued them publicly. And then wrote little advisory or appreciative notes on them. The first one was called Goldfinches and very accomplished – about the First World War and vividly expressed. I’d put one in called Identity, which was about race, my son and partly about Grenfell. Funnily enough, it hadn’t gone down well with my group in London but it did go down well in this group. I got a lot of positive feedback and some questions. One was about my usage of bastard mango, ie was it gratuitous or actually the name of a mango. It was, I’m glad to say, the actual name of a mango. I found it very useful although the shape of the table meant that we couldn’t really have flowing conversations. And 16 turned out to be a challenging number of people for optimum inclusion.

Later on, we divided into much smaller groups of four to look at each other’s poems. Ones that we’d brought with us. My group retired to that fabulous library with the view over to Cardigan Bay and we were serious about our endeavor.

Incidentally, ‘serious’ is one of Gillian’s favourite words and now at the ripe old of 65, I can finally appreciate it. And sink into it.

We were Alison Lock – a poet and short story writer from Huddersfield, Julia Usman – a poet from Swaledale who travels to Dubai a lot to visit her husband, and Trish Reith – a poet who lives in Biggar, Scotland. It was delightful to find four women who liked talking about poems and poetry as much as I do. There were occasions when we almost had a chat but Trish kept us in line. Poetry, first.

The reason we liked our fours – the others in the group agreed – was that we could share equally. We spent an hour each day with our four poems. Someone would read one, the others would comment, then the poet in question would respond to the comments. We all found it incredibly instructive. And we discussed questions like – how do we bring political events into poetry. Make them personal in some way, I think we agreed.

Later in the week, we dubbed ourselves The Crones. Part of AoA’s vision is to reclaim words like crone and old, in order to make us feel more relaxed about ageing and less in the eternal pursuit of youth. I could immediately see a Crone Tour on the cards.

And it was Halloween while we were there. In fact, Trish had a poem called Mission Time, which was about the original pagan festival, Samhain. And it just so happened that the Crones were the cooking crew that night ie we chopped vegetables for the Lobscouse, a tasty stew that I’d never heard of but apparently fed to sailors in Northern Europe for years – so we performed Mission Time as Crone-witches. It seemed to go down a storm. As did the Lobscouse and the wine.

There were readings in the library in the evenings – initially Gillian and Robert. Gillian read a few from her vast selection, while Robert tried a new long poem about his mother on us. He’s written about his mother before – she’s diagnosed as schizophrenic – but not a suite of poems like this, they will be set to music, they was a triumph. On Wednesday, we were treated to the poems and personal stories of Kim Moore whose collection The Art of Falling has won prizes and many plaudits, there’s a moving 17 poem sequence in it where she describes an abusive relationship she was in. ‘And in that year, my body was a pillar of smoke’. From Barrow, she’s got a new collection that features poems about sexism as she’s also doing a PHD on the subject. She read a couple of poems from this new collection All The Men I Never Married – they are lyrical, incisive, brave.

The week unfolded and I found I enjoyed the workshop mornings where Gillian or Robert would offer poem prompts – like think of an object which has a memory, where is it etc. Mine was the kitchen sink in my childhood home in Yorkshire and turned into a poem where I remember my father washing me in this very sink. It was, I said, a look back in sweetness to that time, rather than when I was a bit older and life with him was a lot more difficult. There was something about the challenge of this deadline that I relished. And their lyrical nudges. Gillian would say – make sure it includes a hallelujah line. Robert would say – make sure it’s powerful. And then there was the important advice – don’t have a summing up line at the end. I liked it when Gillian suggested we look up and over our shoulder for that last line.

On the final day, we were to assemble – Jude Brigley, Anne Phillips and Rufus Mufasa were the fine editorial team – an anthology of our work, the Secrets of Cwtch Dan Star (the cupboard under the stairs) inspired by Rufus’ intoxicating poem that combines Welsh and English.

That evening, we all did a five minute reading in the library. My roommate and I were the hosts with the hopefully entertaining and serious introductions. It was our pleasure to acknowledge this work and these poets. We had a ball. Of course, I wore one of my minor feather headdresses…

https://www.tynewydd.wales/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AofA Interview with Nuala OSullivan: Women over 50 Film Festival


12 Minute Read

Could you tell us about WOFFF and why you created it?

Women Over 50 Film Festival (WOFFF) champions and showcases the work of older women on screen and behind the camera with an annual short film festival and year-round events and film screenings.

Our next festival, WOFFF18, is 20 – 23 September at Picturehouse Duke of York’s, Brighton and Depot, Lewes. We’ll be screening two feature films, 58 short films, as well as hosting workshops, panel events, talks, filmmaker Q&As and an evening banquet for festival audiences, filmmakers and guests.

WOFFF addresses the ageism and sexism many women face in the film industry and in so many other walks of life. We screen films celebrating older women on both sides of the camera. We believe inclusive spaces to watch films together and conversations between generations of women can help make older and younger women feel less isolated and feel more connected to each other and to their surroundings and communities.

I’d been a writer and producer (mainly for radio and theatre) for a number of years when I wrote and produced a short film, Microscope, about a middle-aged woman examining her life and marriage, when I was in my early 50s myself.

With my producer’s hat on I started going to short film festivals to see where I thought the film might fit. At the film festivals, I found I wasn’t seeing many people who looked like me on the screen and, after screenings, amongst the people in the bar afterward talking about the films we’d just watched, I wasn’t seeing many people who looked like me either. I found I was often the oldest person in the room, and usually the oldest women. Not many people talked to me; I felt pretty much on my own; like people weren’t really seeing me; I felt lonely and isolated – which is the exact opposite of how I expected to feel in a roomful of people who had the same interest and passion in storytelling and film as me.

It got me thinking about questions like: Who’s not in the room? Who’s not running film festivals? Who’s not behind the camera? Who’s not on the screen? Then, over a pint in the Marlborough Pub in Brighton one night, I was talking to my pal, Maggi, about how I was feeling about my film and film festivals, and Maggi said, ‘Well, bugger that! Let’s just start our own film festival.”

The word I’d like to highlight from that story from back in 2014, with the knowledge I have now, is “just”!

How are you personally connected to the film industry?

My background is mostly in writing and producing. I worked for the BBC World Service for many years and created, wrote and produced an online soap opera to help people learn English. So I think story telling’s in my blood! And my days as a producer certainly helped me in creating and setting up WOFFF. I’m connected to the film industry now as a programmer and screener of films but before I started WOFFF I didn’t have any particular connection except that I’d always loved films and I’d always loved cinema. Still do.

I see Greta Scacchi is a supporter – how did that happen?

Greta grew up in Sussex and WOFFF is based in Brighton and Lewes so there’s a local connection there. Greta has been a WOFFF champion for a number of years. She said recently, “I’m proud to have been an early supporter of the Women Over Fifty Film Festival before the subject of women in the film industry became such a huge public issue. WOFFF has always been ahead of the curve in its celebration of the unique voice of older women in film and I am delighted to continue supporting the work of such a great festival.”

I think movements like #TimesUp and #MeToo have brought issues like sexism and ageism to the fore in the film industry and it’s great that see stars like Greta and Joely Richardson, Amanda Donohoe and Denise Welch all pledging their support for WOFFF.

And if you’re looking for a bit of star attraction at this year’s festival, we’ve got a great line up – stars of Downton’s Kevin Doyle (downstairs Joseph Molesley) in READY TO GO by Lynda Reiss and Samantha Bond (upstairs Lady Rosamund) in LADY M by Tammy Riley-Smith. You can also see Jane Asher in THE VISITOR by Duncan Roe; Sara Stewart in ROMY by Ornella Hawthorn Gardez;

Lynn Cohen in ARTEMIS & THE ASTRONAUT by A. L. Lee and Rhea Perlman in THE MATCHMAKER by Leonora Pitts.

You celebrate older women on both sides of the camera – how do you make sure both are covered?

We make sure both sides of the camera are covered by asking filmmakers to follow this one simple rule that we’ve had in place since Women Over 50 Film Festival launched in 2015 – every film we screen has to have a woman over 50 at the heart of the piece on screen or a woman over 50 behind the camera in one of the core creative roles (writer, director or producer).

The beauty of that rule is that it makes WOFFF a really open and accessible festival because everyone’s welcome – older women and everyone else too. A 17-year-old boy can make a documentary about his 57-year-old grandma and that film is welcome at WOFFF. In our first festival in 2015, we screened LOVELY ALICE POET a film made by two young trans men (Fox Fisher and Lewis Hancox) about the older, trans poet, Alice Denny. To me, that sums up what WOFFF is about. Everyone’s welcome to submit a film to WOFFF and everyone’s welcome to come to WOFFF. As long as you want to be part of the conversation about older women, as long as you’re interested in what it means to be an older woman living in the world today, we want to see at you at WOFFF.

What sort of subjects are covered in the films you show?

The sort of subjects are… us! We screen films that portray older women as we are. We’re human – same as anyone else. We love and hate and have affairs. We can be vicious and proud and generous. We work, we’re unemployed, we retire. We have holidays and arthritis and sex – sometimes all at the same time.

One of the many joys of a short film programme is there’s something for everyone so at WOFFF you can expect animation, drama, documentary and experimental films, and a great range of film subjects too – films about jealousy, a teenager with four lesbian mums, migration, and a bank robbery. We have films from Britain and Ireland, as well as from the US, Canada, Australia, Iran, Taiwan, France, Italy and Turkey. We’re a truly international film festival

I saw that one was called Rebel Menopause from last year?

That was the documentary judges’ top choice in last year’s festival. It’s a fantastic film by Adele Tulli about Thérèse Clerc. Therese was a French, bisexual, feminist who died in 2016. She was in her 80s when this documentary was made about her and one of the things she said in the film which I really loved was this: “I can say I’ve had a great life and that it’s been an amazing time. So while gynecologists talk about menopause as if a woman’s life is over, I say to them ‘No, this is when a woman’s life starts.’” Her words really resonate with me – I love being older. I feel genuinely liberated about what I say, what I do, how I look. I’m in one of the most creative periods of my life, I’m engaged and excited by the work I’m doing and the projects I’m involved with. I can’t recommend getting older highly enough. I think Thérèse’s words really are ones to live by! It’s a wonderful film and I’d encourage everyone to see it if they get the chance.

And you were telling me about one about following some end of life doulas in their work?

We’re screening a documentary in this year’s festival at Depot in Lewes called HOLDING SPACE by Rebecca Kenyon.

HOLDING SPACE is an intimate, observational documentary about preparing for death, told through the connection between a dying person and their end of life doula. The film is structured around a series of conversations, and the film finds both poetry and unexpected humour in this most universal of experiences. By witnessing three people on the threshold between life and death, the film asks: if you knew you were dying, how would you prepare to let go?

And workshops?

We have five workshops lined up for this year’s festival – a mixture of ones aimed at filmmakers and ones aimed more at our festival audience.

One of the workshops is on after the screening of Holding Space with Aly Dickinson from End of Life Doula UK. Aly is one of the doulas featured in HOLDING SPACE and she’ll be exploring with workshop participants the role of a doula at the end stages of life.

Our other workshops include How to Shoot a Film on Your Smart Phone, A Movement and Dance session which is inclusive and open to all abilities, and a talk by Dr Deborah Jermyn called “About time: Ageing women, (in)visibility and the ‘old lady revolution’ in Fabulous Fashionistas (film by Sue Bourne, 2013)”. This workshop will reference another short film that’s screening at WOFFF18 – THE PAST IS ANOTHER COUNTRY by Magda Rakita. Magda’s short doc features one of the original “Fabulous Fashionistas”, Bridget Sojourner, from the Sue Bourne feature documentary of the same name.

Are the films you show mostly shorts? Why is that?

I think a short film is different from a feature-length one in the way that a short story is a different work of art from a novel.

I like the variety that a short film programme can offer and I love that screening short films gives us more opportunity to showcase more work by older women.

But we still love feature films at WOFFF and this year we’re screening two of them – a launch-night film and a closing-night film.

We’re opening WOFFF18 with a Sussex premiere of the Sundance documentary HALF THE PICTURE by Amy Adrion. This film has screened only twice in the UK, at Sundance London so it’s a real opportunity to see this gem of doc that looks at the stories of the women behind the cameras in Hollywood. It’s a chance to get up close and personal with high profile women directors including Ava DuVernay, Jill Soloway, Lena Dunham, Catherine Hardwicke and Miranda July, among many others, as they discuss their early careers, how they transitioned to studio films or television, how they balance having a demanding directing career with family, as well as challenges and joys along the way.

And we’re closing WOFFF18 with FACES PLACES. Director Agnès Varda and photographer and muralist JR journey through rural France and form an unlikely friendship. Agnès Varda is now 90 and her films, photographs, and art installations serve as a total celebration of her creativity and her age. A true WOFFF role model!

I like that you mention promoting the connection between older and younger women – how does that happen?

The rule we set of what makes a WOFFF film means that younger people have been involved with WOFFF with the start. We have filmmakers Q&As after each shorts programme and our all-female panel event is always a bit hit with our audience. In the Q&As and the panel events younger women are on the stage and in the audience so connections are made and conversations started which flow and continue throughout the festival and beyond.

One of the best pieces of feedback we got in our first year was from someone in their 20s who wrote that the thing they liked best about the festival was “the chance to hang out with cool older ladies”. To me, that sums up WOFFF – it’s a place where everyone can connect and get to know someone new; a place where older and younger women (and men too) can meet and learn and grow together.

How do you see the future for WOFFF?

As more of the same and then some! Two areas we’re working on are, first, to make WOFFF as inclusive as we can, and, second, to bring WOFFF to more people around the country with the UK our touring programme reaches urban and rural areas all around the country.

This year, thanks to funding from the National Lottery ‘Awards for All’ and BFI Film Hub South East, we’re extending a warm WOFFF welcome to people who are deaf and Hard of Hearing (as many older people are). All 58 short films we’re screening at WOFFF18 will be subtitled, and many of our WOFFF18 events, like our filmmakers Q&AS, will be BSL interpreted.

Some of our WOFFF18 events are free so people who are socio-economically disadvantaged can participate in and feel welcome at WOFFF.

Our UK tour this year has taken us to over 30 pop-up venues, community spaces and mainstream cinemas from Belfast to Bradford. Next year and beyond we’d like to add more locations to the tour to make sure older women, wherever they live in this country, can watch films in a fun, relaxed, communal setting and see work on screen and behind the camera that reflects them, their lives, and their experiences.

WOFFF8 details:

20 – 23 September 2018 at Picturehouse Duke of York, Brighton and Depot, Lewis.

Tickets available:

WOFFF launch night film: HALF THE PICTURE

https://www.picturehouses.com/cinema/Duke_Of_Yorks/film/woff-presents-half-the-picture

WOFFF short films, workshops and events:

https://lewesdepot.org/wofff

Find WOFFF online and on social media:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wo50ff/

Twitter: @WO50FF

Instagram: @W050FF

Website: http://wofff.co.uk/

Film about WOFFF17: https://vimeo.com/244094801

Film interview with Nuala O’Sullivan ahead of the Women’s Work strand which features the best of WOFFF screening at 20 Picturehouse venues around the UK on Tues 4 Sept: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5jVM-fCvJE

OLD, OLD, OLD – Let’s Take It Back


1 Minute Read

Old – English ald, of West Germanic origin; related to Dutch oud and German alt, from an Indo-European root meaning ‘adult’, shared by Latin alere ‘nourish’.

I was writing this piece before AoA – Suzanne Noble and I – went to the Byline Festival in East Sussex at the end of August 2018 where we gave a workshop there around the taboos of getting older. A few women participants – one was 64 – were adamant that they were still young. Which propelled me into action again.

I had an age crescendo myself before I had my 60th birthday. A spike, an emergency, a horror story. My internal waters cascaded. My refusal to grow old imploded, exploded and derailed me as a woman. I’d just got used to being post-menopausal, in other words, non-fecund, not so attractive to men as I thought I should be and then along came 59.

The edge, the precipice, the chasm of no-return. Could I be The Fool?

In the tarot deck, The Fool is the major arcana card, which depicts the young man (it should be a woman, of course) with his knapsack and his dainty step right on the edge of the cliff about to step into the Big Unknown. For me, this is the Thelma and Louise moment, the car over the cliff, the new life or the oblivion.

I decided that I would fulsomely fling myself over that edge and welcome OLD. Such a little adjective with so many fears in its sub-textural bag. So many cultural and societal demons entangled and ugly. The sag, the disappearance of desire, the looming energy loss, the not being seen as a desirable woman, the disappearance in the world of work, the atrophied vagina.

NO, I was not going down that waterfall, that cultural fall into darkness and non-existence. That bleak, bleak mid-winter. I was searching for the summer instead.

First of all, I stopped being so quiet about my age. To anyone I thought might miscalculate in the puella aeternus direction. To younger men. I mean who were 50 and might, at a pinch, think I was the same age them. That all stopped.

And on dating sites where fear reigns. Particularly from women. If you are honest about your age, you will only be visually visited by men at least 10 years older than you. Or a lot younger. That was so dispiriting. I raged against this particular dark night but in the end, I gave up lying.

Liberation.

And then I had a huge 60th birthday party. I went the whole hog. Without the pig. Voewood House in Suffolk was the location. A butterfly house architecturally, it turned into my own emergence as elder. Or as older, as Ashton Applewhite, the activist and author of This Chair Rocks: A Manifesto Against Ageism, likes to say so acknowledging that wisdom is not integral to the greater age!! We – there were 40 of us staying in the house and another 30 in B&Bs – danced to all that 70s funk. I did a speech about owning my 60th year. I hate the way so often we British only have a party and are silent about the connotations, the feelings, the meaning in our hearts.

There were performances as gifts. And there was a Rites of Passage ritual on the Sunday morning. That was BIG for me. Co-created (oh no one of those contemporary words) by two of my close women’s group friends, I spent an hour in silence with myself, then I was invited to join the rest of the guests who were in the main hall. Slow, heart-opening music was playing and I found myself in the circle of women dancing with them one by one keeping our eyes in deep contact. Sometimes there was an irreverence as with my old school friend – yep, 45 years – Sarah, sometimes a flowering grace and tears as with psychotherapist, Juliet, sometimes a gorgeous acknowledgement of relationship as with my French friend, Isa and on it went, this womanly interweaving.

And then there was the people-tunnel, many feminine hands caressed me through the decades, softness prevailed and then I was hugging someone at the end, which turned into thunderous tears.

My son. And all that signified. OUR huge love. So gorgeous to be in it and realize whom I was with!! And his male friends at his side, also in so many tears; I savoured every watery, heart-split-open moment. This was being in love.

The men appeared and whisked me into the air. The energy changed. Trust, trust, trust. In their hands and care. That masculine/feminine relationship. I surrendered fully to the carrying, to the being carried. Away.

And then the final stage, crossing the threshold to elderdom – there was a distinct lack of peer elders but one or two appeared, one reluctantly – amid candles to acknowledge this new life stage. I spoke quietly.

Old, I was old and fully there. Now I had the rest of my days to inhabit that previously feared place.

Co-founding Advantages of Age when I was 63 – was another way to relax into this BIG declaration. We’re always saying how old we are, literally.

And it’s such a freedom.

Mary Beard, 64, is the high priestess of OLD. In this social media world, in this age-industry world of chasing young, chasing the lack of lines, the super horn, the porn delusion, Mary Beard is in the public eye looking and being proud of looking her age.

Hurrah!

And at the forefront of re-claiming OLD in all its glory, in all its positives as opposed to the disease-laden, hideous beast that it is cast so often to be.

She has declared that OLD should be reclaimed, re-appropriated. Very much in the mode of when the gay community took back queer. And the black community took back nigger. And the BDSM community took back perv.

“I’m rather keen for a campaign to do that for old, instead of ‘old’ instantly connoting the hunched old lady and gentleman on the road sign, or the picture that you get on the adverts you get for senior railcards.

I hope by the time I die, old will be something that makes people fill with pride,” she said in the Telegraph.

In the taking back – the shame, the negativity, the fear melts away.

The Gray Panthers in the US are on the same track. An advocacy group that works on all sorts of anti-ageist campaigns – from highlighting forced retirements to what goes on in care homes – they have peppered their name with a little Black Panther/Gray Panther warfare in the name of activism on the age front.

Already in the UK, a third of the population is over 50. In Japan, it’s a quarter. In the US, it’s a third too. We need to find another way with not just the word old but the fears that it evokes and the results of those fears.

David Weiss, assistant professor of socio-medical sciences and psychology at Columbia University’s Aging Center has identified a phenomenon, he calls Age Disassociation.

“As people grow older, they distance themselves from old age. This behavior maintains ageism and the notion that nobody wants to be old. It’s hard to impose a positive meaning of old age in that case, and potentially difficult to counteract negative age stereotypes.”

Can old become groovy? Yes, it can. Janet Street-Porter is on board and recently wrote an article where she declared: “At 71, I don’t see my world as diminishing, quite the reverse. I see nothing but opportunities and challenges ahead.”

At Advantages of Age, we’re promoting the idea that we can be a funky tribe of oldsters if we want to. The Flamboyance Forever Bus Trips – where groups of us dressed up to the nines in jewels, sequins (hot pants, thanks Serena) and colours gave us the opportunity to thoroughly relish our visibility, verve and hilarity. We also talked to each other a lot, new connections were made. In NYC, we did a smaller Flamboyant Forever outing on the subway. 83-year-old purple-haired and head piece-bedecked Topaz Chanteuse came along in all her dazzling glory. We were transfixed by her spirit of fabulousness. And inspired. At a later date, she showed us her tinsel-adorned walker!

This is the way forward. Not necessarily the flamboyance which is fun, but the attitude of putting ourselves out there and not cow-towing to reductionist age industry-influenced negativity.

In fact, the Office for National Statistics reports that older people are more satisfied with their lives than many other groups. I can’t tell you how relaxed I feel now that I am fully out there age-wise, it makes a huge difference to my life.

So let’s start fully re-claiming old in all its magnificence.

Talking Co-Housing with Eve Tibber


1 Minute Read

Eve Tibber is a member of the Cannock Mill Co-Housing Project in Colchester. She’s a member of the Advantages of Age FB Group and we decided to ask her a few questions because so many of our members are interested in co-housing.

Would be great if you could introduce yourself and what you do and the Co-Housing Project and your age and the age of the others.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my passion.

I am of French origin and a lecturer in Economics specialising in agro co-operatives. For the moment, I am living in Latin America waiting for the co-housing building to be built and retirement. It’s in Colchester and is called the Cannock Mill Co-Housing Project.

Our members

Our members are around retirement age. We all have lived full, active diverse lives and intend to carry on enjoying ourselves in the same way.

How were you introduced to the idea of Co-Housing?

From my background in Co-operative studies as well as my active interest in alternative movements from my late teens.

Do people confuse Co-Housing and Communes?

Yes, and with the gated community too. Communes, everything put in common, physical assets, work and sometimes more. It is managed by the commune Diggers and Dreamers.

Co-housing a mixture of private and common. Easier to define what is common because everything else is private. Common is the land we bought and maintain together, the Mill (our ‘common house’) where we can share occasional meals, entertainment and whatever we want to do and some shared utilities like a carpool, a bicycle pool a tool pool etc. Private is everything else we own – including our individual house or flat with its own front door.  Of course, we manage ourselves without any form of exterior administration.

Gated community are independent homes, with a sort of clubhouse attached to them, security at the gate and are managed by an agent without too much say from the people living there. Same for a retirement village.

What appealed to you and why now?

With my husband

Easy because for my husband and myself, after a lifetime of living abroad, we had to decide where, how and with whom we wanted to spend the rest of our lives. People are to us, the secret of a good life, people from diverse walks of life but with the same values of respect, cooperation and fun. This is what attracted us to this way of living.

What tipped it over into a project from an idea?

Hard work, determination, courage, confidence in ourselves and the right people with the right values. Above all, the right people who all wanted the same thing.

How do you think co-housing connects to getting older and the future?

Cohousing is for everybody, intergenerational cohousing is successful but senior cohousing is easier to start up. The advantages of long-term deep companionship, emotional support, common goals, activities and togetherness losing our individual choices – should allow us to live healthier and more fulfilling lives. We hope to be less a burden to society and to our kids, as well as enjoying our time as fully as possible. My aim is to be part of society and community until I am 105.

How hard was it to find a group of similar spirits to do it with? 

Incredibly easy thanks to the UK Cohousing network. There is a lot of information, blogs, and above all a directory of groups.

The pond

Are you a mixed gender group?

Yes and equal opportunity.

And what about the land? How difficult was finding that?

Ha! That was the problem. We looked for a site for more than six years but things may be getting easier. The government is waking up to the advantage of senior cohousing and there is some support available for groups.

And paying for it?

Today there are more and more institutions helping, lending money, if you can demonstrate a sound business plan. Community-led housing and community land trusts are lobbying successfully to help groups. Some housing associations are becoming very interested in cohousing.

But the truth is that in the end, we are building our houses, privately. The positive side is that we are completely independent. Building in London is prohibitive but more and more groups are starting in places where brownfield land is still affordable. Some people club together to buy an old place like a small community hospital or old school. Support is available via the Community Land and Trusts.

Tell me about the site and the facilities?

The site in Colchester is in the Bourn Valley, in a nice little wood but still at walking distance from the centre and with a bus at our doorstep 20 minutes to the station, 45 minutes to London by train. There are plenty of cycleways and we have a wonderful greengrocer on our doorstep.

The white house was a water mill that we are making it into our common house with kitchen, guest bedrooms, dining room and a sitting room.

The sitting room is for music making, meetings, yoga, chilling room. We are painting it white! And it will feel so cosy.

What have you set up to deal with conflict in the group?

Our decision-making process is through consensus and well-honed. This process is democratically collaborative, transparent and thoughtful. Until now we have avoided major conflict by being honest and being good listeners. We intend to put in place a conflict resolution process when we move in.

Could you tell me about the process re the project so far?

We are self-developers, that is to say, we have contracted a builder but we are lucky to have in our group the talent and competence to look after the finances and the legal work as well as so many other details, which are incredibly time and skill consuming. We are a Limited Company, all members are directors but we behave like a cooperative. The company is building the houses and owns the leases, each cohousing member – also directors of the company – buy the houses and manage the common assets.

And why Colchester?

We wanted to be close to London, in a dynamic town with both artistic and sporting activities. Most importantly, we wanted a town which was alive. Colchester is very much alive with its university, garrison and interesting history.

Where are you at with it now?

We are moving into our eco-houses in November. We have still 2 houses available or more exactly not allocated yet. We have created a waiting list because life being what it is – we already have had people who had to abandon their dream for personal reasons.

Room at the top of common

What are your hopes and fears for the future?

Happy forever in my enchanting co-housing, but realistically, co-housing is like everything in life. It is what you make of it. My hopes are to have enough energy to further my engagement in more social, affordable, sustainable community-led housing and co-housing. My fear is that I end up watching daytime television, even if it is in the common room of my co-housing project!

For more about us click here.

Am I a Workshop Junkie?


10 Minute Read

I’m talking personal development here, not a coffin or a chutney-making one. These emotion-evoking workshops are all about transforming oneself in order to go out and transform the world. It starts with the self and expands out into the world. That’s the idea – love, love, love.

And I have done a fair few in the past 20 years, it has to be said.

From a year group with a psychotherapist, Malcolm Stern to the Hoffman Process to Jan Day’s Tantra groups to 5 rhythms dance to the Path of Love, a seven day group process which runs globally. And lots of women’s groups too.

I am a fan of group process rather than individual therapy. For me. They have the potential to accelerate change because the room is always full of other uncomfortable mirrors. I might instantly dislike someone on first sighting. The idea however disagreeable/uncomfortable to me is to look to myself and see what it is that that I’m projecting on to that person. What am I not looking at inside myself? What part of my own shadow do I dislike? Easier said than done, I am eternally resistant, however it’s a great opportunity. Always.

Also I have an ongoing difficult relationship with my own vulnerability. I would rather be argumentative, defensive, win the debate and project onto my partner all sorts of false blame than face the vulnerability that lies just beneath that conflict. Often it’s simply his situation seems difficult and even dangerous to me and that distresses me, so I attempt to impose a solution because it seems untenable. But often only to me!! Now he understands that dynamic and lets me know that he is okay and doesn’t need active support.

Am I a workshop junkie? Not really, I see workshops as a way of connecting me to significant parts of myself that otherwise, I might be ignoring. Like my tenderness. They are also a way of being nourished, being seen and being acknowledged at one’s fullest, and importantly continuing the struggle to evolve in that emotional intelligence way.

And so one Saturday morning, I find myself getting up at 7 am to go and do a Path of Love Day on Relationship at a swish venue in Shoreditch. Run by co-founder, Rafia Morgan who is a psychotherapist originally from San Francisco, and used to live in Osho’s Ashram in Poona and then on the ranch in Oregon. Osho is the Indian philosopher and guru – there is a series on Netflix at the moment called Wild Wild Country, which recounts the controversial events around him – who created much of the tantra and meditation work that has become popular in the West. He was also a non-conformist in the spiritual world – he called it rebel wisdom – which attracted a lot of followers or sannyasins. The other facilitator today is Abigail Iquo Isuo Peters, a charismatic psychotherapist who zaps the day into action with her humour and energy.

First of all, there is the optional Dynamic Meditation. It’s optional because it’s hardcore in its physical demands. Today I’m in but with the intention not to overdo it. I am 65, I will go for it, but not over-go for it. That was my former self.

Dynamic Meditation has five stages – chaotic breathing, catharsis, jumping up and down with one’s arms in the air shouting HOO, stillness and celebration. The idea is to remove you from your comfort zone and stir up all those feelings that lurk just below the surface. This is an Osho invention and I’ve done it a few times before. I’m dreading the Hooing, but I’m looking forward to the rest.

I opt for a gentle version. For the chaotic breathing, we breathe only through the nose and the aim is to disrupt ourselves. That’s fine. I do a quiet disruption. The catharsis is the opportunity to rage and scream, to let it all go. This is something I don’t have a problem with. I can shout and cry until the cows come home. My difficulty is more around the opposite. I would like to be more contained when it comes to anger, sadness etc. Which seems like a heresy but isn’t. I shout and scream for a while and then find I don’t need to.

The jumping up and down with my arms in the air shouting Hoo in a fast rhythm is as hard as I anticipated, but I approach the task in a sanguine way. I do what I can for as long as I can, then, I have a rest, and carry one. Really it seems to me to be about the capacity to keep going through whatever life throws at you, about keeping the tenacity going and to be honest, I have got a proclivity in that direction. There is a reason that my close friends refer to me as a terrier.

Next comes stillness and silence for 15 minutes, which is are blessed moments although I do reach up and wipe the trickles of sweat away as they cascade down my neck and forehead. Finally, there is celebration, some sitar music stirs us into emerging. That is my favourite part, that feeling of the butterfly leaving the chrysalis. And dance. I can never resist free movement in this way. It is like spring time in music.

There’s talk of an intention and cementing an intention for the day. I’m thinking beforehand that mine is more engagement politically. Silly me, this is all about the heart. Rafia takes us on a trip around the heart in a guided meditation. How does your heart feel? Is it hurt, mistrustful, open, numb?

‘Remember,’ he says, ‘the heart loves truth, it relaxes the heart.’ This really is the mantra for the day.

We are invited to share about our hearts afterwards with one other person near us. I divulge that my heart is more open than it used to be but that it can always do with more practice around melting. I tell my partner, a tall American, that when I did the 7-day Path of Love, that’s what it was all about for me, I became like a soft jelly, a birthday card kitten, in fact, I was schmaltz itself and it was delicious.

I’m already moved to tears by my partner’s heart story. Oh, it’s going to be one of those days. Just what I needed. Tuning in and turning on to love in the overflowing sense.

After a quick break, we’re immediately into the soul of the workshop – an exercise where we become our mothers and our partners become us, and we see what that brings to us in the way of feelings and actions. I do it first. I have a decision to make – shall I be my mother now with Alzheimer’s or my mother before? I decide on the former. For me, it’s not so much about discovering family patterns but about seeing where I am with my mother now after 15 years of working in a healing way on our relationship.

So I am looking at the world as my mother with Alzheimer’s and that’s a very vulnerable, open, and needy place. I find myself looking in a plaintive way at my partner who responds by backing away and looking away. I move towards her in complete openness and need and she resists for a while, and then she opens to me, her mother, and we tentatively hold each other’s hands with love. It’s awkward but there’s a lot of love there.

For the next part of the exercise, my partner becomes my mother and I am myself. This seems a lot more straightforward, she comes forward and then we embrace for a long time. It is so beautiful and healing. I bathe in being held by her, I imbibe the nurture, I giggle at the wonderfulness of it and so does she.

I am also aware of the surreal aspect to this – I am much older than my partner, and she is both younger and much taller than me. However none of this matters in this endearing embrace.

Afterwards, we share what happened for us both. I say how amazing it feels to explore the nature of my relationship with my mother now she is 91 and has Alzheimer’s and how much softer our relationship is now than it was 20 years ago. How I feel her trust in me, which I never did before. And how profoundly healing it feels to be nurtured by her because in reality there hasn’t been much of that. There are tears and laughter.

Finally, before lunch, we do the same exercise around our fathers. My father is dead and our relationship was loving as a young girl, then violent as I grew up, then passionate round debate as I became a teenager, then conflictive again as I got older. Again I get to express what was underneath. Although I start off as my father and being in the frustration I feel with my daughter, I quickly move to wanting to connect to a safe loving place. When I’m myself, I am able to accept love from him, which feels like a gorgeous place to be. I didn’t find that place with him when he was alive so it feels nourishing to find it now he’s dead.

I have a gut instinct that this will all help to be more open to love from my partner. And more loving towards him. That has somehow arrived as my intention for the day.

Lunch is informal with people bringing their own lunches or going out to a local café.

Afterwards, we are directed into cushion-seated circles of nine and invited to participate in a cyclonic inquiry. The Path of Love facilitators love inquiry. And me too. Especially about our shadow selves. They believe that the more that we can accept our shadow selves and declare them ie all our unpalatable traits – the deeper we will be able to connect with others. And the more relaxed we will be as human beings.

We’re asked to repeat the sentence; ‘If you were in an intimate relationship with me, you would find out that I am’ and the answer is all of that secret stuff. Mine are being over-expressive around anger, insecure and jealous, eager to win at arguments, scared of real love, protective of my vulnerability and therefore more often seen in defensive mode, easily distressed by your emotional distress.

And the next one, which goes round and round the circle from person to person is; ‘What I need from you in a relationship is… and that is my need.’ Mine was to stand in the fire for me around my insecurity and jealousy, to make me feel sexually be safe and on an adventure at the same time, to come forward in love so that I can move myself. And there are more! Then the important part is to own them all as my own needs.

The day finishes off with some pulsing breath work which again was to get us back into our bodies and integrate feelings that might have come up, but to be honest, didn’t do much for me, and then finally celebratory dance with everyone in the room which I always love.

What did I come away with? A feeling of joy that I can be calmer on these sorts of days now, I don’t have to return to the trauma of my upbringing. I can connect to my heart without connecting to great grief.

And finally, the knowledge that my partner and I have unveiled and exposed every one of these shadow parts to each other. I realized and messaged him on the way home, and then thanked him again on the phone the next day. We really do have a truly reciprocal intimate relationship and that I feel blessed in that. It was something that I had yearned for, for a very long time. I felt moved to clearly declare this to him. Of course, we still have dramas and difficulties but we know how to get through them. I couldn’t want for more than that.

More info about the Path of Love on pathretreats.com

The Ineffability of Ageing


1 Minute Read

I buy a new bra laced with dahlias.
Calvin Klein. Dress is Indian
embroidered olive green silk.
Shepherd’s Bush Market.
Candelabras are cheaply ornate. Car
boot. Oh Lord, teeth have been savaged.
Dental hygienist. Like a slow moving
volcano. My sixtieth.
Pause for thoughts about gifts.
Unwanted. Suggest pies on laps
as they drive to Voewood. Wanted. Funk up
with Prince, George Clinton and Deee-Lite.
The bass. Rachel, formerly of Hard House
at the helm. Home entertainment. La famille
Pougnet divert with a comedic turn.
Love. I show a film – Rose of Life,
eulogy ahead of its time. Useful.
My mother shimmies with her grandson.
Tiger. Crone-new, I am blessed
by the sexiness of my revellers. Bingo.

The Death Dinner – Opening up the Last Taboo


5 Minute Read

‘After the soaring, a peace
like swans settling on a lake.
After the tumult and the roaring winds,
Silence.’

Sheila Kitzinger, the natural childbirth activist who died in 2015

I am 64, and entering into the terrain of my own drawing-closer mortality – yet talking about death is still forbidden. Sex is so much more out in the open. Death is the last taboo. We do not talk about dying, how we’d like to die, or how others have died.

Last October, my mum nearly died of sepsis – her organs had begun to close down but being the 90-year-old Yorkshire woman she was and still is, she battled through – and then by chance, I saw there was a death café at the Dissenter’s Chapel in Kensal Green Cemetery as part of their October Month of the Dead.

I invited a close friend who presumed erroneously that Death was the incidental name of a café, and that we were meeting for Saturday morning tea and a natter. Instead we found ourselves in a circle of twelve discussing – the feelings that are evoked when a family member dies, the nature of a good death and different funereal rituals.

It was simply incredible to have this space to reflect on death and dying. There was a palpable sense of closeness and connection between us all at the end. Amanda and I definitely felt more alive as a result of the extraordinary conversations. One man admitted he’d never really expressed the grief around his mother dying. Another woman talked about the terrible suicide of someone close to her in detail. There was the death/life paradox in action. Plus it took place in this simple chapel created for non-conformists in 1834. Perfect. It sounds weird to say but we loved it, and vowed we would visit more. Forget bars and restaurants, death cafes are the place for truly, deeply, madly meeting.

A few months later, I found myself having the idea – we’d already featured a couple of fiercely brave pieces of writing about death, My First Death by Lena Semaan who told us about her friend, Bob, who had been terminally ill and courageously took the act of dying into his own hands, plus Dreaming of Death by Caroline Bobby who has been in an intimate relationship with death since she was young – for a Death Dinner as part of our OUTage series of events supported by the Arts Council. It would also take place at the Dissenter’s Chapel. The aim was to invite ten people from Deathworld – from mortician and author Carla Valentine to Soul Midwife Patrick Ardagh-Walter, to academic and expert in death rituals, Professor Douglas Davies to coffin plate aficionado, Hannah Gosh who happens to have a tattoo of one on her leg – to dialogue openly about their interests in death and dying, then dig a little deeper. We, at Advantages of Age, are keen to open up this last taboo as well as helping to form a Death Community, supporting the Assisted Dying movement, and also facing the nitty gritty of what we might personally want in terms death and dying.

I also thought it would be fascinating to invite the guests to come dressed as they would like to be buried or burnt. As well to bring objects with them that they’d like to go alongside them on the onward journey. This personal DeathStyle fascinated me.

Our aim was to turn the death stereotypes on their head. The guests arrived to a big red neon sign declaring Welcome to Death and then had their photos taken in or out of a deliberately kitsch Lachapelle-influenced gold frame with a leopard skin backdrop! Of course, not everyone was so keen to be snapped in this Day of the Dead type Momento Mori and we let them off the hook. Professor Davies wore his grey suit but had a rather extravagant cravat with it. Patrick, the soul midwife, was in his suit and photographed with his white miniature rose, the object he had chosen to take with him into the next world, which he felt crossed over between earth and spirit, a living rose. Others were keener to step into the frame, Liz Rothschild who runs a woodland burial ground, had turned up in her cream nightie and had chocolates to munch in the after-life. Suzanne, co-founder of Advantages of Age, was wearing a sexy scarlet dress clasping a photo of her beloved boys. Caroline Rosie Dent dazzled with her gold and black Victorian dress, black shawl and headband covered with ivory roses. In fact, she was the style star of the Death Dinner.

Everyone was welcomed over that liminal threshold into Deathland by the Queen of the Night (Ingrid Stone), all in white, of course, rather than black, with her purifying burning sage sticks. In silence, we made our way to our seats at the table accompanied by the haunting, ethereal sounds of Fran Loze’s cello. An abundant feast – from tomato and goats’ cheese tartlets to Parma ham and the remarkable broken heart cake – had been prepared by Caroline Bobby, our magnificent cook and a guest.

During the first half of the dinner, I invited the guests to tell us a little about their relationship with death and how they were linked to Deathworld.

Charlie Phillips, photographer, has documented Afro-Caribbean funerals at Kensal Green cemetery for years. He explained how Afro-Caribbean funerals are changing and that the emphasis is on paying out a lot of money and having songs like Do It My Way by Frank Sinatra these days. He had brought along his camera, of course, as his death object because apparently he is referred to as ‘the dead man photographer’.

Liz Rothschild is a celebrant, started the Kicking the Bucket Festival in Oxford, owns a woodland burial ground and has a show called Out Of The Box about death. Liz explained how when a friend of hers died, her group of friends gathered in such an intimate DIY way, it inspired her to want to support others create this kind of a ceremony.

Hannah Gosh makes modern mourning jewelry and told us why she is so taken with coffin plates. She had also brought along a pug’s skull as her object, but not her pug’s skull!

Caroline Rosie Dent is an end of life doula and a death café host, she told us about her death anxiety as a child, and why she’d brought along a part of her son’s umbilical cord to take with her on the ancestral trip.

John Constable aka John Crow wrote The Southwark Mysteries, a series of poems which became a play. It is the story of the Winchester Goose, one of the medieval sex workers in the area who were condoned by the Bishop of Winchester but forced to have unconsecrated graves. John has been a campaigner around the Cross Bones graveyard for many years and holds a monthly vigil there on the 23rd of every month.

Caroline Bobby is a writer, cook, erotic healer and psychotherapist. She had brought with her The Book of Longing by Leonard Cohen and her favoured piece of fine woolen cloth, that she would like to be wrapped in when she goes. She sees herself becoming ash and being blown away.

Patrick Ardagh-Walter is a soul midwife, which he describes as being simply alongside someone as they approach this last stage of their lives.

Carla Valentine is an author, mortician and the Technical Assistant Curator at Barts Pathology Museum where she looks after 5,000 body parts in bottles. She describes herself as being quite an unusual child who was interested in death and whose grandfather died when she was seven, in front of her.

Professor David Davies lectures in Death Studies, his most recent book is Mors Britannica: Lifestyle and Death-Style in Britain Today. He explained that he’s fascinated by different groups and their attitudes to death, some like their lives and deaths to cohere, others are just the opposite. He said he hadn’t brought an object because he’s never thought of having an object with him at that time.

Liz Hoggard is a journalist who admits to feeling like a bit of a death tourist in our midst. She sports pearls that might act as some sort of collateral in a future existence and has brought along two lipsticks, one of them is black, the other red. Max Ernst described the latter apparently as ‘the red badge of courage’.

During the break, we listen to Caroline Bobby’s recorded version of her piece, Dreaming of Death. It is precious and moving. In it, she says: ‘I don’t know if I long for death just because living with baseline depression is unforgiving, and every morning is a shock. I don’t think it’s just that. This human and embodied world has never, quite felt like my natural habitat. At a cellular level I am aching to go home.’

 

After this raw and vulnerable piece, we entered a discussion about death led by Suzanne. We looked at whether there is a revolution in death going on, whether death is really trending, how we could welcome death into our daily lives in conversation and what sort of funerals we would like. Some of it was funny, other parts were poignant. Professor Douglas Davies declared controversially that the only revolution going on is amongst middle-class women. ‘The Death Chattering classes,’ he asserted.

Finally, Charlie Phillips declared that ideally, he would go while making love. And that he’d like ‘Lucky Motherfucker’ on his gravestone as well as ‘Came and Went at the same time’. As you can imagine, laughter rippled through the chapel.

I announced that natural birth activist and then death activist, Sheila Kitzinger had inspired me. She had a death plan, managed to stay at home to die surrounded by her close family despite doctors trying to get her to hospital because she had cancer, then she was put in a simple cardboard coffin decorated by family and friends, and eventually taken in the back of a car for a small woodland burial. The more flamboyant memorial service came later.

Son – take note!

Death Dinner will be screened for the first time tonight – 6.30pm at Barts Pathology Museum, E2. https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/death-dinner-film-screening-tickets-38270917344

La Tempête


1 Minute Read

Napoleon planted these pines,

the soil is sandy but not a beach.

I want to lie down,

stare upwards like a child

who hasn’t had enough clouds.

The watery landscape keeps me upright.

On cherche les oiseaux,

mais on n’entend que les chants.

The sky deceives itself.

We talk (my French friends and I)

about how to inhabit the truth,

to sink our teeth into ice-cream

without fear of incrimination or shame.

We sit with gratitude on a fallen trunk,

taste different sorts of apples,

note the sour and sweet preponderances.

 

There is an ending amid a swamp,

tears escape in a storm.

Brambles, bare feet, endless water.

I am scared.

My friends, my parents become.

This vulnerability is unmapped.

Show me more
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