My mother, May
Golden Wedding 1999
My social isolation has been a common theme in this account: I was happy in my independence, finding pleasure in reading, study, creativity using my mind and hands. I had learnt that close relationships can be painful, and I was ill prepared to withstand this suffering.
Even in my own family, I was remote (no wonder my 6th form tutor wrote on my final school report that I should ‘come down to the market place’, where I would find I had much to offer and to receive). As the eldest of three, and exceptionally gifted, I was an outsider. My mother, who had been kept at home as a ‘skivvy’ to look after her five siblings, actually feared me and must have wondered how she had produced someone so dissimilar to herself. Our relationship was consequently complex.
I always resented being reminded of our physical resemblance, however different were our temperaments. She was gentle, emotional and caring, everything I was not, yet in latter years I find myself showing the lessons I had unconsciously learnt from her example. Without then knowing it, my informal, lifewide learning was operating and her seeds of humanity had been planted.
May had survived a sudden, advanced, cancer, in her mid thirties. At the age of 14, I took on her role at home, whilst also representing my father by vising her in the London Middlesex, something he was unable to do due to his own mental health issues. Nearly fifty years later, I can still feel the anxiety and shock at witnessing what she was undergoing and the fear of loss. In true military fashion, we all concealed our feelings.
My mother's fortitude was revealed in her surviving the then-brutal radiation and surgical treatment. Indeed, only two weeks after her final operation, she oversaw our lastest removal to another posting. We might note that today, she would have been given many months of sick leave to recover from the physical impact, and counselling to deal with the psychological effects.
In later years, I tried to make my mother's annual brief stay with me a period of pleasure and respite. This was difficult as she worried constantly about my father being alone, despite the provisions she had left him.
In 2004, without any warning and at the early age of 74, my mother died of a ruptured aorta. Inexplicably, I had experienced chest pain, a hundred miles away, at the time of her death, and not yet knowing what had happened. One of those strange events that defy logic.
My grief at never telling her how much she meant to me can never be stemmed. All I can hope is that the unconscious lessons I learnt from her will be realised in a legacy of empathy that does her justice.
Even in my own family, I was remote (no wonder my 6th form tutor wrote on my final school report that I should ‘come down to the market place’, where I would find I had much to offer and to receive). As the eldest of three, and exceptionally gifted, I was an outsider. My mother, who had been kept at home as a ‘skivvy’ to look after her five siblings, actually feared me and must have wondered how she had produced someone so dissimilar to herself. Our relationship was consequently complex.
I always resented being reminded of our physical resemblance, however different were our temperaments. She was gentle, emotional and caring, everything I was not, yet in latter years I find myself showing the lessons I had unconsciously learnt from her example. Without then knowing it, my informal, lifewide learning was operating and her seeds of humanity had been planted.
May had survived a sudden, advanced, cancer, in her mid thirties. At the age of 14, I took on her role at home, whilst also representing my father by vising her in the London Middlesex, something he was unable to do due to his own mental health issues. Nearly fifty years later, I can still feel the anxiety and shock at witnessing what she was undergoing and the fear of loss. In true military fashion, we all concealed our feelings.
My mother's fortitude was revealed in her surviving the then-brutal radiation and surgical treatment. Indeed, only two weeks after her final operation, she oversaw our lastest removal to another posting. We might note that today, she would have been given many months of sick leave to recover from the physical impact, and counselling to deal with the psychological effects.
In later years, I tried to make my mother's annual brief stay with me a period of pleasure and respite. This was difficult as she worried constantly about my father being alone, despite the provisions she had left him.
In 2004, without any warning and at the early age of 74, my mother died of a ruptured aorta. Inexplicably, I had experienced chest pain, a hundred miles away, at the time of her death, and not yet knowing what had happened. One of those strange events that defy logic.
My grief at never telling her how much she meant to me can never be stemmed. All I can hope is that the unconscious lessons I learnt from her will be realised in a legacy of empathy that does her justice.
My father, Don
But out of despair come some positives. Until my mother's death, my father and I exchanged a few (uncomfortable) words on the phone at times of birthdays etc, and no more. Now, I found the importance of family relationships and sought to support my father in a way that would have reassured my mother. I speak with him for up to an hour each night, even when I am on the other side of the globe; together, we relive his past and our memories. His agoraphobia means that he never leaves home, but we go to him every few weeks. Now aged 86, he still looks after himself, his home and his prize-winning garden. I have introduced him to the internet and enjoy keeping his active brain alive, whether it be in political debate or discussion of last night's television. It is vital for him to know that his life has made a difference and is important to me.
One of my first activities following my mother’s death was to research our family history. This brought him much distraction and enjoyment to my father and me. My search began with the aim of discovering who my 'uncle's' father had been (we discovered, tragically only after his death, and thanks to a malicious letter, that he had, in fact, been my father's half-brother). Again, this work was intellectually stimulating and led me into new fields: I have become an amaterur historian of World War 1, and succeeded in tracing the family back to the 15th entury, through Scotland, India, Canada and England. We believe I unravelled the mystery: my grandmother's lover had been from a well-known aristorcratic family (she was a lady's companion), and, like so many of the boys who joined the Royal Flying Corps, lost his life in the Somme. No wonder she had been opposed to my father enrolling in the RAF rather than following his father into the army.
This research was important to us, but we had no desire to make contact with the family concerned. It was a rich source of discussion between my father and me, and he was able to use his military knowledge to help me in my work. Once more, I was gaining much more from this than pure intellectual rewards.
One of my first activities following my mother’s death was to research our family history. This brought him much distraction and enjoyment to my father and me. My search began with the aim of discovering who my 'uncle's' father had been (we discovered, tragically only after his death, and thanks to a malicious letter, that he had, in fact, been my father's half-brother). Again, this work was intellectually stimulating and led me into new fields: I have become an amaterur historian of World War 1, and succeeded in tracing the family back to the 15th entury, through Scotland, India, Canada and England. We believe I unravelled the mystery: my grandmother's lover had been from a well-known aristorcratic family (she was a lady's companion), and, like so many of the boys who joined the Royal Flying Corps, lost his life in the Somme. No wonder she had been opposed to my father enrolling in the RAF rather than following his father into the army.
This research was important to us, but we had no desire to make contact with the family concerned. It was a rich source of discussion between my father and me, and he was able to use his military knowledge to help me in my work. Once more, I was gaining much more from this than pure intellectual rewards.
More skeletons...
Our mutual interest was ignited by a discovery for which we had been totally unprepared: his father had been born in a workhouse, the third of three illegitimate children his mother had produced before eventually marrying. It was difficult reconciling this abject beginning with the man we knew as a survivor of WW1 (despite being injured three times and carrying embedded shrapnel for life), a Regimental Sergeant Major before he joined the Metropolitan Police and rose to a very senior rank. How has this unwanted child, with only rudimentary formal education, achieved these feats? One can only assume that this is a good example of lifewide learning: thrown into the horrors of war at barely 15 years of age, off to serve in India for two terms, he would have packed so much experience into his life by the age of 30.
There was one mystery we could not unfold: like my father, and in due course, myself, my grandfather encountered an individual whose power was deployed to destroy his career. We know the name of the individual and the way inwhich ranks closed to prevent my diligent grandfather from conducting the police investigation called for; we are unable to access the confidential documents that chart a case that could have have sever political ramifications. Instead, my grandfather was demoted and moved aside.
Why do I recount these details? Because they gave me so much food for thought. I delved into new areas of social history, but beyond this, there were eternal lessons about the nature of man and his potential.
I had the family story printed and bound. I am pleased to have done this for my father.
There was one mystery we could not unfold: like my father, and in due course, myself, my grandfather encountered an individual whose power was deployed to destroy his career. We know the name of the individual and the way inwhich ranks closed to prevent my diligent grandfather from conducting the police investigation called for; we are unable to access the confidential documents that chart a case that could have have sever political ramifications. Instead, my grandfather was demoted and moved aside.
Why do I recount these details? Because they gave me so much food for thought. I delved into new areas of social history, but beyond this, there were eternal lessons about the nature of man and his potential.
I had the family story printed and bound. I am pleased to have done this for my father.
Yoga, my soul-mate
Royal College Class of '72 reunion, Sydney 2011
An finally, my beloved Yoga, who came into my life nearly twenty years ago and to whom I owe so much.
On the surface, we had little in common: he an avid sportsman, outgoing and with a wealth of friends and family, I an unsociable, sport-hating bookworm. But scratch that surface, and we had everything meaningful in common. We work and play together, have travelled around the world, even staying with his friends and family, something I could never have imagined doing!
I am amazed and moved by the way in which he and his class mates, torn assunder in the Tamil diaspora and now spinkled around the globe, have nevertheless kept in touch with each other. Together since the age of 6 at Colombo's Royal College, they have a unique bond unusual even for the school. Since 2007, they have convened reunions. As the above picture shows, bald heads have replaced their once lush black locks, yet still they value a bond and memories of their school days.
What is even more incredible is how this love has permeated their wives and children: some 50 families came together in 2010, from all continents, and their spouses enjoyed a warm friendship which is transmitted to the next generation. What an example for lifewide learners!
On the surface, we had little in common: he an avid sportsman, outgoing and with a wealth of friends and family, I an unsociable, sport-hating bookworm. But scratch that surface, and we had everything meaningful in common. We work and play together, have travelled around the world, even staying with his friends and family, something I could never have imagined doing!
I am amazed and moved by the way in which he and his class mates, torn assunder in the Tamil diaspora and now spinkled around the globe, have nevertheless kept in touch with each other. Together since the age of 6 at Colombo's Royal College, they have a unique bond unusual even for the school. Since 2007, they have convened reunions. As the above picture shows, bald heads have replaced their once lush black locks, yet still they value a bond and memories of their school days.
What is even more incredible is how this love has permeated their wives and children: some 50 families came together in 2010, from all continents, and their spouses enjoyed a warm friendship which is transmitted to the next generation. What an example for lifewide learners!
Our extended family
Norther Territory, Australia, 2011
And it is not only friends that I have gained: I have had the privilege of being welcomed into a family now based in Australia, Canada, the UK and Sri Lanka. How different from my own, nuclear, family each member of which leads their own life as if they had nothing in common. The images at the head of these pages record some of my happy encounters with my new family. To the right of this text, I sit with Yoga, his sister, nephew by his eldest brother, and brother-in-law as we explored Aboriginal culture in 2011.
I am moved by the generosity of these people who have experienced racial violence and prejudice, yet who would give you their last penny (or cent!). What one owns becomes available to them all, material possessions are of little importance compared with the bonds of family and friendship. Again, this is a deep lesson for us all.
Spiritual values
At home in Toronto
Underpinning this lies a spirituality which gives peace of mind, security in the knowledge of our transience in this life and a pround set of values. I do not havre any religious belief but I greatly admire a culture founded on the same human values that I have always sought to respect.
Through my interaction with these generous people, I truly belive that my self-actualisation has been refined.
This is not to suggest that the journey is over: lifewide learning can have no ending. And if I have sewn some of my own seeds for thought, I shall live on ebyond the body I so despised.
Through my interaction with these generous people, I truly belive that my self-actualisation has been refined.
This is not to suggest that the journey is over: lifewide learning can have no ending. And if I have sewn some of my own seeds for thought, I shall live on ebyond the body I so despised.