Retirement.That’s the time to wind down, take up a stress free hobby, go for gentle walks, watch daytime TV and meet friends for long lunches, right? Wrong. Certainly in my case.
I’ve always been busy. Babysitting came first. In the sixties, parents, unbelievably, trusted an unknown 12 year old to look after their offspring. I had three families on the go, one of them with four very lively children, all of whom drove me to distraction. Once they were finally in bed I used to eat my way through the cupboards and spend hours on the phone to my best friend who was babysitting just across the road.
At 13 I got my first ‘proper’ job, working in a mini market on a Saturday morning (10/- for four hours - that’s 12.5p per hour in today’s money) and then, in addition, at 15 I took on working in a dentists on a Sunday (I can’t remember the pay now, but I know I hated the whole thing). One of the fathers from the babysitting job was a dentist. He was Jewish, hence the Sunday opening. His practice was in Stamford Hill which was a fair way from where I lived in Southgate, and meant that I had to travel with him in his car. I was a very shy teen and he was a grumpy, monosyllabic, old (to me) man, who probably had no more desire to take me with him than I had to be there, squashed up against him in his noisy Fiat 500. Thankfully, that job came to an abrupt end when I persuaded my dad to phone Mr Cardash and tell him I was so busy revising for my GCEs that I wouldn’t be able to work for him any more. In fact, most Sundays, I was lying in bed till lunchtime then spending about two hours on clothes, hair and make up, and meeting my best friend to talk about boys.
At about the same time I answered an advert in a shop window for somebody to look after a little boy and do some light cleaning. I was hopeless at cleaning but I loved children, and the lady who took me on seemed pretty desperate so the job was mine. It turned out that Myra Schneider was a writer and spent most of the time in her study whilst I looked after Benji and half heartedly wiped a cloth around the house. Interestingly, I’m still in touch with Myra*, who is now in her 80s and continues to write, having had several books of poetry published over the past 50 years. I’d like to think I played a small part in her success.
To prevent this turning into a four page blog post (and, after all, it’s supposed to be about retirement - we’ll never get there) suffice to say my CV is long. In addition to the above, in no particular order: barmaid, shop worker, novelty cake maker, graphic designer, typographer, market stall holder, craft teacher, cafe worker, caterer, school dinner lady, deli assistant, factory worker (shoes; catalogues), teacher and GP admin assistant.
And then came retirement. With hindsight, I was lucky that a new Head came to the school that I’d happily worked in for 15 years. Without her appointment, the subsequent two year dispute and the final decent payout I would never have taken early retirement. As it was, it coincided with the birth of my first grandchild, and the need for a childminder several days a week. The decision was made, and at 55, I gave up half my teachers’ pension to relax and enjoy life. Oh and look after a lively baby. That’s one thing I’ve never regretted. Fifteen years later, the relationship with my first grandchild is testament to the time we spent together.
Once my childminding duties had been cut down to just a few days a week (with three more grandchildren added to the mix) I felt the need to get busy again, and secured a part time job at a GP surgery. I was taken on to cover for three months for someone who was off sick. Six years later, I reluctantly gave in my notice, as my interest in photography became more intense.
My life has never had a grand plan. Things have happened to me by chance, and I’ve always been happy to go with the flow. Retirement has been no different. Fate brought me into contact with Claire Walmsley Griffiths and the original altBlackpool online magazine, where I could make use of two of my favorite activities: writing and photography. I met more local creatives and seemed to be accepted into their midst, despite being at least twenty years older than most of them. My photography took off and went from strength to strength. I began to feel that my life had gone full circle, from Art College in the early ‘70s to the Blackpool art scene 50 years later.
Oh, and I wrote a book
Finally, in retirement, I found my ideal job.
This week’s poem is not one of my own, but one I’ve loved for a very long time. I think it was written for me….
Warning by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Thanks for reading……..Jill
And thanks to everybody who has snapped me taking photos.
Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
