This is an instalment of an as-yet unnamed autobiographical series that started in Australia in 1975.
Click here for the first instalment.
The full list of instalments so far is in the sidebar to the right.
Usually I walked Ellie on my own every morning but that day, for some reason, John – or rather Frog as he’d become known to all and sundry (for reasons that will probably be explained at some stage) – decided that he would accompany me.
I don’t know why.
Perhaps he had a presentiment. He had given me a very strange look earlier as we sat in bed having breakfast. It wasn’t a look I’d ever seen on his face before and I hadn’t known what it meant.
Or perhaps he simply didn’t know what else to do.
He’d been rather lost since retiring from his two jobs, one at the Exeter University student radio station and one in the university science department where he’d been working on and off for nearly half a century.
He spent hours in his semi-underground music room playing patience on his computer and listening to records. Whenever I went down to see him he would look up guiltily and I had the sensation that he was hiding something from me. When I challenged him however he would deny it vehemently.
Ellie and I used to spend time sitting in the conservatory together, me reading and Ellie sitting on my feet, and whenever Ellie heard Frog’s footsteps coming up the stairs from his room she would flinch. The day before, I’d flinched too for the first time. He brought with him an aura of – something.
It was a few days after New Year. The Christmas tree was still up in the sitting-room with its ropes of white and coloured lights, and Christmas cards hung around the house on loops of red string.
As we set off, the sun was shining but a cold wind was blowing and I was well wrapped up in a quilted coat, hat, gloves and scarf. Sometimes I wore lace-up walking boots and sometimes I wore wellies. Today was a welly day, but I can’t remember why.
The start of the walk was a steep climb up the lane behind the house and I soon left Frog behind. I felt a bit impatient. Why was he walking so slowly?
I stopped at a gate halfway up the hill to wait for him. There was a view easterly over fields and hills and I breathed in the space and the silence and the fresh air. I could just about spot cars speeding along the motorway a few miles away but because the wind was south-westerly I couldn’t hear them. They were the only things moving.
I looked back. Where was Frog? He’d been ages. Then he appeared around a corner, and I was shocked. Each footstep appeared to be an effort. He looked old.
At last he reached the gateway and as I shifted to one side to let him in he gave a cry of surprise and fell to the ground. His eyes closed and his breathing became laboured and I knew something was seriously wrong. I rang 999 on my ancient mobile phone, my hands shaking.
I don’t know why.
Perhaps he had a presentiment. He had given me a very strange look earlier as we sat in bed having breakfast. It wasn’t a look I’d ever seen on his face before and I hadn’t known what it meant.
Or perhaps he simply didn’t know what else to do.
He’d been rather lost since retiring from his two jobs, one at the Exeter University student radio station and one in the university science department where he’d been working on and off for nearly half a century.
He spent hours in his semi-underground music room playing patience on his computer and listening to records. Whenever I went down to see him he would look up guiltily and I had the sensation that he was hiding something from me. When I challenged him however he would deny it vehemently.
Ellie and I used to spend time sitting in the conservatory together, me reading and Ellie sitting on my feet, and whenever Ellie heard Frog’s footsteps coming up the stairs from his room she would flinch. The day before, I’d flinched too for the first time. He brought with him an aura of – something.
It was a few days after New Year. The Christmas tree was still up in the sitting-room with its ropes of white and coloured lights, and Christmas cards hung around the house on loops of red string.
As we set off, the sun was shining but a cold wind was blowing and I was well wrapped up in a quilted coat, hat, gloves and scarf. Sometimes I wore lace-up walking boots and sometimes I wore wellies. Today was a welly day, but I can’t remember why.
The start of the walk was a steep climb up the lane behind the house and I soon left Frog behind. I felt a bit impatient. Why was he walking so slowly?
I stopped at a gate halfway up the hill to wait for him. There was a view easterly over fields and hills and I breathed in the space and the silence and the fresh air. I could just about spot cars speeding along the motorway a few miles away but because the wind was south-westerly I couldn’t hear them. They were the only things moving.
I looked back. Where was Frog? He’d been ages. Then he appeared around a corner, and I was shocked. Each footstep appeared to be an effort. He looked old.
At last he reached the gateway and as I shifted to one side to let him in he gave a cry of surprise and fell to the ground. His eyes closed and his breathing became laboured and I knew something was seriously wrong. I rang 999 on my ancient mobile phone, my hands shaking.
After I’d explained in detail exactly where I was – luckily I’d been walking the area for over forty years and I knew the name of every farm, lane and crossroads - they tried to get me to resuscitate him. They wanted me to put my phone on ‘speaker’ so that they could give me instructions, but my phone was too old to have that capability. I dropped it on the ground and tried to resuscitate him anyway but I didn’t know what I was doing. I had had training in first aid but that was a long time ago and I couldn’t remember anything. In any case Frog was sprawled awkwardly against a bank, difficult to get to and far too heavy for me to move.
Two ambulances arrived and a car, and a helicopter which landed in the field the other side of the gate. The farmer sped up from his yard below and unlocked the gate. Paramedics and doctors leapt out of their vehicles with packs on their backs and cases in their hands. They lifted Frog into the field and started attaching equipment to him.
Two ambulances arrived and a car, and a helicopter which landed in the field the other side of the gate. The farmer sped up from his yard below and unlocked the gate. Paramedics and doctors leapt out of their vehicles with packs on their backs and cases in their hands. They lifted Frog into the field and started attaching equipment to him.
I stood out of the way in the road, numb, and put Ellie on her lead. She was wildly excited and barking loudly. What was going on? Why were all these people here? Why weren’t they taking any notice of her? She should be centre of attention, not Frog.
A neighbour wandered down, wondering what all the commotion was.
‘Can I help?’ he asked.
‘Could you take Ellie,’ I said, proffering the lead.
Everyone in the area knew her. She was so striking with her long black and white coat and so gregarious, a bit of a femme fatale. She had to make everyone to fall in love with her. Frog and I called her a ‘minx’ and her admirers her ‘victims’.
‘Of course,’ the neighbour answered, taking the lead and walking back up the lane with her.
A neighbour wandered down, wondering what all the commotion was.
‘Can I help?’ he asked.
‘Could you take Ellie,’ I said, proffering the lead.
Everyone in the area knew her. She was so striking with her long black and white coat and so gregarious, a bit of a femme fatale. She had to make everyone to fall in love with her. Frog and I called her a ‘minx’ and her admirers her ‘victims’.
‘Of course,’ the neighbour answered, taking the lead and walking back up the lane with her.
Ellie trotted happily after him without a backward glance.
A doctor with a clipboard came up to me and took some details.
‘Would John want to be resuscitated,’ she said, ‘if there was a chance he would be a vegetable?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I said.
I tried not to look as they injected him with adrenaline and gave him electric shocks. His body shook like a jelly, but there was no sign of life. He was long gone.
The helicopter took off, and the two ambulances set off in convoy for the hospital in Exeter, me in one and Frog in the other attached to life-support equipment. I got my ambulance to stop at my house as we went past so that I could grab my purse.
At the hospital I sat alone in a small room, still dressed in my dog-walking clothes, while they continued trying to bring Frog back to life. Eventually someone came out and told me they’d given up. He’d been pronounced dead. Did I want to see him?
I nodded.
It took them some time to find the key for the room but at last they let me in and shut the door behind me.
It wasn’t Frog lying there. The body didn’t look anything like him; it felt cold. I wondered whether his spirit was still around but I didn’t feel it.
Even so, I couldn’t stop saying thank you to him – thank you for our life together, thank you for everything he’d done for me, thank you for putting up with me. I repeated the words over and over again.
He was sixty-nine. We’d been married forty-four years.
Through the haze of grief, through the confused days and the terrifying sleepless nights that followed, one thought kept me going.
This was my chance. This was the first time in my life I’d lived alone. My parents were dead. Frog was dead. He’d taken himself out of the picture deliberately so as to give me space. I was no longer beholden to anyone. I had nothing left to lose.
Now at last I could sort out the whole sorry mess.
And then, maybe, just maybe, when Frog and I met again, in our next life together, I would be able to do everything so much better.
To be continued . . .
‘Would John want to be resuscitated,’ she said, ‘if there was a chance he would be a vegetable?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I said.
I tried not to look as they injected him with adrenaline and gave him electric shocks. His body shook like a jelly, but there was no sign of life. He was long gone.
The helicopter took off, and the two ambulances set off in convoy for the hospital in Exeter, me in one and Frog in the other attached to life-support equipment. I got my ambulance to stop at my house as we went past so that I could grab my purse.
At the hospital I sat alone in a small room, still dressed in my dog-walking clothes, while they continued trying to bring Frog back to life. Eventually someone came out and told me they’d given up. He’d been pronounced dead. Did I want to see him?
I nodded.
It took them some time to find the key for the room but at last they let me in and shut the door behind me.
It wasn’t Frog lying there. The body didn’t look anything like him; it felt cold. I wondered whether his spirit was still around but I didn’t feel it.
Even so, I couldn’t stop saying thank you to him – thank you for our life together, thank you for everything he’d done for me, thank you for putting up with me. I repeated the words over and over again.
He was sixty-nine. We’d been married forty-four years.
Through the haze of grief, through the confused days and the terrifying sleepless nights that followed, one thought kept me going.
This was my chance. This was the first time in my life I’d lived alone. My parents were dead. Frog was dead. He’d taken himself out of the picture deliberately so as to give me space. I was no longer beholden to anyone. I had nothing left to lose.
Now at last I could sort out the whole sorry mess.
And then, maybe, just maybe, when Frog and I met again, in our next life together, I would be able to do everything so much better.
To be continued . . .
