"You're my best friend" - Reflection

I sat down an hour ago to write a blog on emotionally immature sporting stars. This was triggered by reports of the behaviour of a racing driver called Louis Hamilton and a footballer called Tevez.

Sad events have overtaken me.  My observations can wait. There will always be opportunities to write about physically mature, materially wealthy, but emotionally immature sporting stars who are a pain. 

Though now I think about it, I've already covered this on September 16th. I won't bother again.

http://emotionalgrowth.blogspot.com/2011/09/tantrums-galore-emotional-immaturity.html

...........................................................

It is the most magnificent September day. Apparently there are more to come. It's the sort of bonus that I wrote about three weeks ago:

http://emotionalgrowth.blogspot.com/2011/09/hoping-for-best-september.html

The phone rang. It was one of those calls that thankfully you only receive infrequently. The voice is familiar, but out of time and place. You express a delight on hearing them, but as you're speaking, you know it's bad news, otherwise they wouldn't be ringing.

It was my friend's husband. My friend died last Friday. He didn't want to go into detail, but I guessed correctly at the underlying cause.

I say friend, but I hadn't seen her in years, though we were always planning a meeting. We spoke about once a year and always sent Christmas cards. Our birthdays were only a week apart. I always sent her a card, she very rarely remembered mine.

When we did speak, the conversation always started with the same greeting: "Hello, you old tart".

We met at Junior School, aged 5. She had an alliterative name and so did I. We followed each other in the register.

She was always there. I can't remember a school time without her. We scraped into Senior School and spent our teenage years in the same forms too. Known as 'bottom division', we were a little neglected educationally. More time for fooling about. She was a fantastic artist and very creative. My artistic abilities at 15 were not much improved on those at 5. They are still not.

I moved two buses away from school, but used to hang out after school with her on Tuesdays. I would go to her home with her and her mother would say, "I knew you were coming, I've made a cake." It became a joke.  My own domestic circumstances had become well and truly disfunctional by then, so feeling welcome at a 'family home' was a treat and something I never forgot.

We mucked around. It was the era of two comedians called, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore. They had a TV series called 'Not only, but Also' and were very funny. The measure of their talent is that despite their premature deaths, they are still considered very funny 45 years later.  Two particular characters they played, were Pete and Dud. These Oxford graduates would dress up in flat caps and macs, and talk with working class accents about various matters of the day.

For an example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9OCS08rabE

We would leave school and walk down the hill talking in Pete and Dud voices. We never had a conversation without using Pete and Dud voices at some point, even over 40 years later.

I'm trying to think if pop music played it's part in our friendship, but it didn't. We were into laughing together. Laughing a great deal.

One night, we were babysitting her younger sister. We found some creme de menthe, got silly and ran round the garden with no clothes on. No harm done. Just being silly.

We remained silly when together, but as an artist, the London school bohemian 'set' became her social friends. She could become intense, pulling her long hair over her face and brooding.  My attention span isn't long enough to do brooding, so I couldn't understand her behaviour. 

Only a few years later and alcohol and other substances begun to have a greater influence on her. I still to this day, don't know why I didn't go down a similar route. The signs were there. The family background, anti-authoritarian, the rebelliousness, the anti-social behaviour, but I refused to go where I was being led. We shall never really know why.

We married and had beloved children. They were decidedly better behaved than we were and their schooldays were a good deal more successful. We would laugh and be amazed at how we could be their mothers. 


Regrets? As I sit here, of course I wonder if I could have helped, been a better friend, stopped a decline? But I doubt it. She knew I was always at the end of a phone and always had been. There will always be regrets, but as I tell people, the road of "If only..." and "What if..." is a road to madness. There are no answers. Certainly not the ones we want.

So, thank you my friend. You've got great company wherever you are. Too many of that school year have already died, most of the 'bohemian' set and our mutual dear friend, Margaret, too. Perhaps you both have the time to be the artists you always wanted to be.

I hope so. Pete and Dud are there too.

Out of sight, but you will never be out of mind. 

With my love and friendship forever,

Goodbye you old tart. x

@RitaLeaman2011