On not being lonely

"Living alone and loneliness are not synonymous" (from The Department and Work and Pensions at Directgov)


Flora was a funny kind of kid; struggled with friendships in school, not the sort to be able to stand up and receive a prize for anything but, you know, pretty bright - just not the sort, as she was once told, to set the world on fire. Hmm. She struggled with that one because, of course, like more than would care to admit it, she wanted to set the world on fire; to be conspicuously brilliant, (modest, though) known to be kind, intuitive, creative. Well, and pretty, too. Shy throughout, she would smile at other people -older people- but it never really occurred to her that she might engage them in conversation.

Flora, I suppose, was damned by faint praise.

"All that matters is that you try hard."

"I know you're not really determined, but we're still proud of you."

Lovely, but somehow missing the spot, she felt.

Rhoda lived down the row. She was about eighty, with a soft, kind face but, Flora sensed, girders of steel. Rhoda had had a tough life, widowed two years ago and had lost a child in adulthood, too. There was something resilent about her; joyful, even. One day she asked Flora in. The girl had always smiled at her, but never chatted. That shyness thing again. One day, though, she was just kicking about in the garden, disconsolate, after a bad week at school which nothing seemed to cure, when Rhoda asked her to come and help. Flowers needed moving but Rhoda had stiffened up.

Flora felt that she wouldn't know what to say to Rhoda, but also understood that she must lend a hand. So flowers were moved to a better spot; clumps of irises and opium poppies were divided: Flora discovered that she knew a bit about this from having watched her father at work. Not instruction; just osmosis. The next week, clematis and honeysuckle cut back, under Rhoda's watchful eye. Flora saw to her own delight, though,  that she knew about finding a strong shoot and where to cut. Getting ready for Spring.

Flora found that she relaxed and began to chat. Squabbles with her more articulate, popular, profoundly cooler schoolmates began to recede with snipping, tidying, mud and the abundant cakes and cups of tea that Rhoda produced. The girl began to chat to Rhoda - about her parents, school, not being particularly good at anything. Rhoda listened; gave her the occasional pat on the arm and said simply: "You will find your voice and, you know, when you get to my age, you'll see that none of the things you worried about ever came to much."

Flora is older now, more sure of herself; Rhoda is a little unsteady on her feet. But the visits are kept up and assuaging the loneliness cuts both ways. Sometimes the least likely person might be a peculiar girl's best friend - when it matters most.

Evelyn: this is for you.
Pictures by Katherine Thomas (year 11) and Anna Vaught.