If there’s a heaven, let it be London in the swingin’ 60s
Cats: beauty, culture|I met Pat in September when I started a weekly art class.
I was the newbie and Pat extended herself to me on the first day, offering a friendly smile and welcoming questions about how long I’d been painting and how I managed to find my way into the popular class.
By the second week, we’d established common ground. We’d both lived in Britain and loved it.
She’d been in London during the swinging 60s. She’d told me about the outrageous Mary Quant miniskirts she used to wear, traipsing up and down the Kings Road and hanging out on Carnaby Street, the epicenter of swinging London.
They were the best years of her life, she told me. And she meant it. You could tell by the smile in her eyes.
She moved back to Canada in the late sixties but she’d never quite got London out of her system. She went back many times to visit old friends and remember the good times they had together in the 60s. She envied my dual citizenship and said she’d move back in a snap, if she could. I got the sense that things weren’t so going great for Pat these days.
The last time I saw her was two weeks ago. She asked me for drive to the next class because she wasn’t sure her usual lift would be available. I offered to pick her up. She gave me her number and said to call first.
When the day of the next class arrived, I called to offer a drive. After four rings, I heard Pat’s voice but it was on the answering machine. I assumed she found a drive with someone else, but she wasn’t in class when I arrived and no one had heard from her. Strange.
The next week she was absent again. The woman who sometimes drove Pat was worried. Pat hadn’t returned her calls or answered the door. Had anyone else heard from her? No one had.
I had a funny lump in my stomach that stayed with me the whole day. I phoned Pat later that day. Her voice answered and told me to leave a message after the beep. I didn’t.
The next morning, I opened the paper and saw her face. In the obituaries.
Pat died on Nov. 6th a few days before I was supposed to drive her to art class. There was no explanation of what happened, no funeral or service. Sometimes obituaries communicate more by what they don’t say.
If there is a heaven, I sincerely hope that it’s heaving with leggy, long-haired Londoners, traipsing up and down the Kings Road dressed in Mary Quant minis and wearing smudgy eye make-up. And I hope Pat will be right middle of it all for all eternity.
November 21st, 2007 at 8:39 pm
My goodness! How terrible.
Was she depressed? Did anything seem to be plaguing her? What a sad story.
November 22nd, 2007 at 3:21 am
It is so sad. She was one of those people I only knew briefly but felt a strong connection with. I understand she was plagued by many things, the details of which I don’t know. I do know that she was a retired nurse and that one of her passions was the local children’s hospital where she worked as a volunteer and fund raiser. She was also passionate about art and singing.
November 22nd, 2007 at 10:08 am
That’s terrible. Everyone has their secret miseries, I guess. Poor old dame.
November 22nd, 2007 at 11:55 am
You would have liked this old dame, Jacy, and she would have liked you.
November 23rd, 2007 at 12:10 pm
Oh how sad. And isn’t it odd how you felt something was amiss? I wish her peace.
November 23rd, 2007 at 7:12 pm
I haven’t commented in a while, but I was moved by this. I am thankful, GT, that you allowed yourself to know her. Sometimes we don’t let people in.
I had a similar experience when I was taking an art class about 15 years ago, I guess.
It was part of the “night shift” at NASCAD and on this particular night we had a life model. Our model was a lanky young man with long, red hair. He had graduated from NASCAD in the fall and was getting the cash together to drive back to Alberta.
I don’t recall speaking to him. We painted him for three hours and it’s amazing how you really look at a person when you are painting him. I am ashamed to say sometimes I don’t even see people when I pass them, either because I’m rushing or stressed or just busy. But I saw him and to this day I can conjure up his face in my mind.
I had a particularly good class that night; it was the kind of night where you convince yourself you could actually be an artist.
The following week he was killed in his car, in an accident in a snowstorm. He was driving home to Alberta. “Crushed and broken on the virgin snow …”; I couldn’t get those lyrics out of my head for the longest time and when I hear that song I think of that stranger.
You’ll always remember Pat which is a good thing. She’s OK. She’s peaceful now.
November 24th, 2007 at 2:29 am
That is a strangely similar story and very touching, Denise.
I find that doing art is a safe way to open up to your sensitivities. If you were that sensitive – always seeing into people’s souls – all the time, you’d go crazy. THat’s why you don’t see people like that on the street.
Do you still paint? I hope so.
November 24th, 2007 at 4:06 am
You are right about sensitivity. Sometimes I wonder if that is the problem with some people who struggle with depression. It seems an inordinately large number of them are artistic types who tend to be very sensitive people. Maybe it just becomes too much to bear … overly simplified, I know.
I don’t paint now, but it’s on my “to-do” list … I will get back to it.
November 24th, 2007 at 2:19 pm
I know perfectly sane people who battle with terrible depression because of the things they see and have seen. Think of Romeo D’Allaire. ARt is a way to focus that sensitivity on beautiful things.
After I read your story, I took a few hours this afternoon and painted.
November 24th, 2007 at 2:21 pm
Barbara, when ever someone’s entire facial expression changes for teh better and they tell you that a certain period in the past was the best time in their lives, you always have to wonder if something isn’t wrong now…
November 24th, 2007 at 3:27 pm
That’s very sad GT, sorry to hear it. Remind me never to take an art class just in case.
November 25th, 2007 at 11:49 am
Yeah and don’t take art class if I’m in it!