You’re reading Home Truths, a newsletter from me, Susy Smith. I am many things: a parent of grown-up kids, a dog owner, a gardener and a compulsive mover of vases (I worked for years as a stylist). I am also a writer/editor and former Editor-in-Chief of British Country Living Magazine, for whom I still write a monthly column.
I write here on an eclectic mix of subjects about life, and a few of the lessons I’ve learned along the way. Subscribe now for free and join the community! You can also support me and my work by upgrading to a paid subscription at any time – for either option, just tap the button below.
I had a funny experience last week on the way back from my writer’s group. I was on a double decker bus heading home through London when I had an encounter that will stick with me for a long time.
Photo by Dustin Bowdige on Unsplash
The bus was busy. I was packed tightly into the corner on the second to front seat by the large bulk of the man next to me. The queue at the next stop was long and slowly shortened as its participants stepped in and, in the absence of seats, shuffled along to fill up the standing space in the central aisle. A gradual seat exchange took place as those not in need, gave up their places to the elderly and less able passengers.
The man next to me stood up and gestured to an older lady with a shopping bag that she could have his seat. As she thanked him and sank down gratefully next to me, she caught my eye and winked. Although I wasn’t sure what the wink meant, I smiled anyway. She settled into her seat with her bag on her lap. As the bus creaked and slowly trundled into operation again, she turned to me and said, in a thick Irish brogue:
“Do you remember Terry Wogan?”
“I do indeed” I replied
“I used to work with him at the Shepherds Bush Theatre” she gestured as we passed it “when I worked for the Red Cross”
“That must’ve been fun” I said “Was he as nice in real life as he always seemed?”
“Ach yes, lovely man, lovely man”
I thought that was to be the end of our conversation, her reminiscing prompted simply by catching sight of the venue. But no.
“What age de’ya think I am” she asked pointedly, turning to me,
I studied her face carefully. Always a tricky one, this, but when someone lays down this challenge, it usually means they are older than they look and will be pleased when you think they look younger.
“No wrinkles you see” she said, as she ran the knuckles of her left hand across her cheek “Plenty down there mind”
She gestured to her bosom and winked at me again. I laughed. Sure enough, although her face had the sagginess that comes with age, there was barely a wrinkle in sight
“I’d say you were in your mid to late sixties”
“Ach there you go, right answer. Would you believe it if I said I was 85?”
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed “you’re kidding me!”
“No, mind you, I’ve looked after meself - never drank, never smoked”
“Ahh, so that’s the secret”
“Although, I’ve been married for over 50 years and that ages you”
I laughed again.
“Look, I’ll show you a picture”
She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a small plastic sleeve with a dog-eared photograph in it. It had the faded colours and white border of a snapshot taken in the 1960s or 70s and showed three figures – a woman in a knee length dress with a peter pan collar and two Asian men in suits. All three were standing on steps in front of glass office doors.
“That’s us on our wedding day” she said “that’s me” she pointed at the woman, “That’s me husband - he’s Indian” she pointed to the man next to her. Then, pointing to the other man, “That’s his friend from Pakistan. He was the best man. My husband’s Muslim ye see and I’m Catholic. So, we had to get married in a registry office”
I nodded and smiled. She returned to her former thread
“Aye, I’ve never been interested in the drink or a smoke. It’s just the sex I like!”
I realised at this point she was talking quite loudly, and although the bus was packed, there were no other conversations going on, so those around us could easily hear her. In that very British way, several people carried on staring at their phones or gazing out of the window feigning nonchalance, but a smartly dressed woman in her thirties standing next to us caught my eye and laughed. An elderly, rangy, West Indian man in a baggy top, trackies and a Rasta hat who was sitting in front of us, swivelled in his seat and I could see he too was smiling and laughing. She leaned closer to me and in a stage-whisper said
“Aye, and I’ve got meself a lover-man”
“Have you now” I responded, sounding impressed “And what does your husband think of that?”
“Ach, he doesn’t know.” She hooted with laughter at the very idea.
“How long have you had your lover-man” I asked
“Thirty years” she said proudly. She gestured between her legs “My husband can’t get it to rise any more”.
“Oh right” I answered slightly taken aback “hence the need for your lover-man”
I decided it was time to change tack.
“What part of the Emerald Isle are you from?”
“I was born in County Clare. It wasn’t a happy childhood” she said grimacing. Her eyes took on a distant look, “Me an’ me sister were sent to work in the laundries, you know, scrubbin’ the floors an’ all that, from the age of 12. Me mother had 18 children. 18! And tree miscarriages. Tree! Christ only knows how she managed……Aye, it wasn’t a happy childhood…….” She was quiet for a minute. Then, she seemed to suddenly recover herself.
“But sure, I’m fine now. I came here and got away from it all” she was nodding, partly to me, partly to herself, as if in affirmation. She took a deep breath
“I’ve travelled all over the world you know - Germany, France, Australia, India – I liked India the best”
“Why’s that?” I asked
“Ach, sure those people, they’re poor and they’re raggedy, but they can always raise a smile for ye. I tell ye, if I won the lottery, I’d go out there and help those people for they deserve it, so they do”
“You’ve led an interesting life” I pointed out and asked “Has your husband travelled with you”
“Ach no” she said dismissively “Sure he’s a miserable bastard. Mind you, he’s 87 so I suppose it’s not too surprising”
“Oh, so do you travel with your lover-man?”
“No, no,” she said impatiently. I’d clearly got the wrong end of the stick. She leaned towards me again and cupped her hand around her mouth. As she stage-whispered , she winked at me again “He’s only interested in me pussy-cat!”
I threw back my head and roared with laughter, noticing the smartly dressed business woman laughing along with me. The Rasta guy turned in his seat and called “You go for it lady!”
“I don’t know what to say to that” I confessed to her
“Oh aye, I can take on any man” she said “and I can stand up to any man”
I didn’t doubt it somehow.
“I travel on me own” she explained “I like to have me own adventures. I did a parachute jump when I was in me forties you know. And I did a bungee jump when I was seventy – in Brighton”
“Really!” I exclaimed, “you’re mad!”’
”Ach sure you have to do these things – keeps ye on yer toes”
“Quite clearly it does,” I responded “you’re certainly a great advertisement for old-age”
At that, she pointed out the window
“That’s my street there, so I’ve to get off now”
She gathered up her things
“It’s been a pleasure to meet you” she said as she rose from the seat
“And you!” I said, still smiling. We exchanged a wave as she got off the bus and it pulled away. I looked at the business woman with my eyebrows raised
“Blimey, I hope I’m like that when I’m 85!” I said to her
“Me too” she laughed
The Rasta guy turned and said to us, with real admiration in his voice,
“What an incredible lady. She knows how to enjoy herself”
How lovely, I thought, feeling very privileged to have met that incredible lady. From the brief window into her varied life, it sounded like her early experiences had given her the determination to make the most of every day, and it certainly seemed as if she was doing just that.
Her openness and willingness to include me and some of my fellow passengers in her story, had totally engaged us and brought us together for a few short and joyful moments. I was still laughing when I got off that bus with a spring in my step and the resolve to make more of my life, whatever age I get to.
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What a wonderful encounter! Certainly a lesson to us all to live life to the full!
I love it. People standing in their truth and not afraid to tell you about it. Go lady go!