Dramas of grief, loss, fear, worry, physical and emotional pain, shame and pride have all occupied my mind in the last month. Remembering Gangagi’s words, “Welcome them all” – I did just that. The grief and loss were honoured for a while, then joined the others in the truth: that in fact, they were only dramas. I understood, helped by the gentle Buddhist monk, that I actually had a choice. I could choose to hold on to drama, or in an instant, take charge and banish it. Actually that’s not true – there’s nothing to banish, it’s just letting go of another pattern of thinking.

I know, I know, it’s easy to say not so easy to do. Maybe that’s because it’s always easier to stay with the familiar than jump into the new. However, one simple insight from a peaceful and joyous monk catapulted me into taking action. There was a key to open the doors that I walked through. The key was to honour my shame. I discovered intelligent support and advice, loving friends who offered open ears for listening and, somewhere deep within, a new attitude towards money that was struggling to appear. This change in attitude is new, very new and welcome.

Some of you will have read my story about Money and Trust. If you read it again you will see now that it was just another drama from which I really did learn. However, obviously not enough, even ‘though at the time I called it a miracle! Today is different. There are no bells and whistles with my current money story. This time I have had to look deeper, much deeper and not get carried away by other stories in order to solve this one. I realise that way back in 1993 it was more about my belief systems of the time. Now it is more practical and responsible. However, Trust is still there – waiting patiently for me to, yet again, do what needs to be done. I have finally become honest with myself, no-one else, and created no more stories to distract my attention. This is painful at times. However, with patience, my own and others – I’m getting there. It’s heartwarming when some communication, a letter or a poem drops unexpectedly into my mailbox seemingly out of the blue and oh so apt and welcome. Yesterday came a long and full letter from a dear friend reminding me gently that actually, ‘I’ am not in charge! Then this morning, browsing amongst saved material – came this:

Correction

The burdens of the world
on my back
lighten the world
not a whit while
removing them greatly
decreases my specific
gravity

~ A. R. Ammons ~
(Web archive of Panhala postings: www.panhala.net/Archive/Index.html)

All in all, I feel held, and in that holding is some peace. So, my humble thanks go to Mattieu Ricard (the monk) and his father whose enlightening conversations woke me up. And to the other dear ones, sitting quietly supporting me, who already know who they are, I send my love.

One: Last week, sitting at my desk, in physical and mental turmoil about all this ‘too much’ – ‘ping’ went my email. It was a message from a friend, mentioning a friend of hers called Wanda Whiteley, who was starting up a new website. This is a site for authors trying to get their book together! Wanda has worked for the last twelve years as a non-fiction Publishing Director with Harper Collins, and has just become freelance.

Two: That is a high recommendation, so I immediately contacted her and we ‘clicked’. I am now doing what she suggested as my first step. Yes, my first step – I am starting all over again from the beginning totally changing my idea of ‘how it should be’.

Three: However, this story is about Serendipity – you will have understood the first bit, but now comes the next. My first teacher, Michael Barnett and I have been in touch recently. Click Video: Michael Barnett – The Truth Comes Sideways Yesterday, I started reading his book mentioned on said video (now out of print unfortunately), and discovered that it is written in exactly the style suggested to me by Wanda! Not so much a typical autobiography, more a collection of stories.

Four: A SINGLE STEP
Today, by email arrives my daily quote from Osho:

The phenomenon of witnessing has no ABC or XYZ. It is a simple phenomenon. It is a single step. It is one process. The journey of one thousand miles is done by the simple step, one step. You cannot take two steps at one time. Step after step, just a single step can be stretched to ten thousand miles or to infinity. Watchfulness is a simple step. There is no alphabet in it. There are no beginners in it, there are no amateurs in it and no experts in it. Everybody is in the middle, always in the middle. You are moving perfectly right. Just go on. Osho

I guess there’s no more comment needed . . . .?

It is interesting to see that the difference between a war inspired retreat and a religious, contemplative retreat is really only one word – enemy. And who is to say who or what the ‘enemy’ might be? From time immemorial kings, knights, soldiers, pilgrims and priests have taken time out to face the ‘enemy’ within. Time to rest, to retreat inwards, to quieten the mind and be refreshed.

Today Mohammedans still visit Mecca, Jews go to Israel, and Christians visit the monasteries, Lourdes and Rome. All looking for that safe place where there is assistance of some sort, to reconnect with the spiritual side of their beings. Increasingly, people of no particular religious belief or denomination also look for places that are quiet where, with support, they can drop into that tranquillity that leads to deep refreshment of the soul.

The main advantages of attending a retreat are obvious. The simplicity, the regular timetable, the simple, non-intrusive structures are all designed to slow the mind, steady and rest the body. Retreats can also gently guide the mind inward, observing the chaos that sometimes reigns. Then it is possible to delve deeper and find the peace that is always there, underneath, waiting to reappear.

This all happens in a gently disciplined way that is not dependent on one’s own mercurial moods or whims. The quiet regularity of the programme, and the willingness of the visitor to suspend their normal modes of unconscious behaviour, opens up fresh interaction with the present moment, and whatever may appear in that present moment.

At times this can be disconcerting, even disturbing as old ghosts emerge to dance in front of our mental eyes. However, in the care of experienced facilitators, those ghosts can usually be aired and honoured and are then free to fade, leaving more room for the clarity and knowing that is always there, covered up by layers of busy-ness, conditioning, out of date belief systems and old habits.

The need for this particular type of time out is becoming more apparent and urgent. Many people, instead of taking their ‘normal’ holidays, drinking and eating large quantities, or sightseeing, or lazing on the beach in the company of crowds and noise, prefer to visit a Buddhist centre, Christian religious order or Zen Buddhist monastery.

In addition, all over the world there are now non-denominational retreats that offer similar space and peace. If you are looking for something different, if your yearning for spiritual exploration and fulfilment is strong, if you don’t know quite what you want, but know you need the space to find out for yourself — it is encouraging to know that the places where this longing can be satisfied are increasing.

There are many books, magazines and websites describing group retreat centres of all types, as well as individually run retreats, both in the UK and internationally. You can find many described in The Good Retreat Guide – 6th edition, by Stafford Whitteaker.

It’s as if the collective consciousness has said “enough!” and places of beauty and peace are becoming available to suit any level of spiritual seeking and nourishment. All you have to do is inquire and you will be led to where you recognize you need to be.

When living in Australia, civil celebrancy was suggested to me by someone who knew of my people-skills. He also knew of my abilities as a writer and public speaker. For obvious reasons, if you feel daunted by the words – ‘public speaker’, then read no further! I am lucky in that I am also a musician, and have a real ‘sense’ of the mood flow of any ceremony.

When I came back to the UK in 2001 it was then necessary to be accredited by the British Humanist Association, which I was. Now, things have changed; but some training/mentoring is essential for this work.

My mentor over here lived in Bournemouth, so I was given introductions to various Funeral Directors in the area. Now, nearly nine years later most of my work is in Purbeck, where I live. However, I also travel very much further away. The Funeral Directors and their staff are a wonderful group of people. I simply love them and their considerate, simple yet professional dedication to the work they do.

Here, I give a word of warning to anyone who might be thinking of embarking on Funeral Celebrancy as a career. It is definitely an uncertain, underpaid and demanding profession. It is NOT a full-time job. However, it is probably one of the most fulfilling and personally rewarding part-time jobs in the world. I love it.

These last few paragraphs are a preamble to the following letter from the inimitable James Bonser. Here is a recent question from him that I thought might be of interest to you. I hope he sends some more:

“There are some questions I would like to have answers to, the reason being that I am inquisitive, or putting it more familiarly, I am nosey. My first question is: what exactly is it that you do at funerals? I’ve got it that you are not the Undertaker. What more can there be at a funeral, other than mourners and a dead body? Here in Denmark we often have a solo singer attached to the church, and I know that you are an accomplished musician, and yet it still does not give me the full picture. So the question remains.”

My answer: You are correct. I am not an undertaker, a mourner or a dead-body. I am not a funeral singer either! I take the place of a minister when the deceased’s family do not want the dogma often associated with a full religious funeral. They want something more personal, not necessarily aligned to any particular belief system.

First, there is an interview with the family of the deceased. This is usually in their homes, for between one and two hours. Definitely, this interview is crucial. It is when I get to understand and know the person who has died. Then I can make the ceremony as true and personal as possible. I talk the family through the normal order of service. This is usually a very simple format: Entry (with music), Welcome, Tribute, then a short time of quiet contemplation which we call the Reflection, again gentle music will be playing. After that it is time for the Committal, which is the time to say goodbye. We close with a few words and thanks, then finally everyone leaves with music playing. Anything in this format can be changed to the family’s preference.

More often than not, I will write and then deliver the Tribute. This is about the life of the person who has died; stories and anecdotes, anything that the family wants me to say. I put that all together within the framework that I have just described. They then look it over and edit if necessary, before finalising how we proceed.

It is my job to decide where it is appropriate for guests/family to say or read something, if requested. Then the final copy is written, together with a specially written one for the person playing the music (either on CD or the organ). I also provide a presentation copy in a folder – to be given to the family after the ceremony, including the CD that has been made by me.

On the day I welcome everyone and am totally responsible for the smooth running of the ceremony; paying particular attention to the timing. If we are not careful a queue can build up outside, which is the last thing that any one wants to happen. I also liase between the family and the Funeral Directors if there are any questions. In a crematorium I press the button if they want the coffin to be lowered. There is always a choice about this, many families prefer to leave it in place.

I see this work as a service in which the clients get exactly what they want, without interference from me. However, if asked, I do share my preferences, especially around any poetry or music. It is most important to me that I design the ceremony to suit each particular family. So far, after fifteen years experience, I have had no complaints!

I would like to add here that this work is a privilege. It is a privilege to be asked into people’s homes when they are at their most vulnerable and to help them deal with, what can be, a sad and difficult time. However, there are nearly always plenty of laughs when families start to reminisce about the particular life that has ended. My assessment of a ‘good’ funeral is one when I have seen a tear and heard a giggle.

How can a human being experience the most extreme suffering and not only survive, but survive with a full and meaningful life? Discovering these videos brought back to me a very meaningful part of my life: Most of my childhood was spent in North-West London. There are large Jewish communities in this area, many settling in Golders Green, which was not far from my home in Cricklewood. I lived in a house very close to Gladstone Park and just round the corner from a synagogue.

From about the age of five, my best friend was Cynthie Bernard – who lived almost opposite me. Her home was heaven. It was so much more exciting than my own. Her parents were volatile, noisy and demonstrative Russian Jews and I loved them. Of course, I loved my own parents very much – but – let’s face it, they weren’t ‘different’ in the same way as Cynthie’s. I felt I fitted there more than in my own home.

Rikka, Cynthie’s mother, couldn’t understand why I liked lettuce and cheese. She called me ‘little rabbit’. When I was there I was fed Matzos, and other foods with un-remembered names. However, Matzos have stayed one of my favourites to this day. Rikka also kept chickens in her back garden and often passed eggs on to us.

At the beginning of the war a gun battery was built in the park, very near to our house. The army moved into rows and rows of wooden huts that we passed every day on our way to Mora Road School. It is odd that, in the tiny village where I now live, I also occasionally go to sleep to the sound of guns, firing on the range near my cottage. I don’t mind them at all – it is a familiar sound – there is no fear attached for me. The camp we used to walk past each day was a friendly place, the soldiers would always wave and smile.

Just before war started, my parents were asked to sponsor a Jewish banker and his wife, Martin and Irma Goldman, in order to enable them to leave Germany. My parents had met them previously when visiting Frankfurt on a tandem-riding holiday. At the time, my uncle, Herbert Morrison, then a Labour politician, was somehow able to help arrange a passage for them to the USA. All during the war, and afterwards, they consistently sent us food and clothing parcels.

Before they arrived at our house, I also have a vivid memory of standing (aged 5) by my mother’s grand piano in the ‘front-room’. My father was telling me about the imminent arrival of these two people, and the reasons why. Even so young, I understood the connection between the trauma of these two people and this other, dearly loved family who lived so close to me. I can still see this small, five-year old stamping her feet, crying and screaming “Why wasn’t I born a Jew? It’s so unfair!” Unusually for him, my father couldn’t find an answer. He just hugged me.

My friendship with Cynthie was the strongest of my peripatetic war-time childhood. To my shame, when I eventually went to boarding school in 1946, I let our friendship fade. The Bernard family had moved away to Golders Green by this time and I guess I had other fish to fry. Cynthie died when she was only twenty-one, from cancer. I have never forgotten her, or her noisy and loving family.

I have had a fellow-feeling and love for Jewish people ever since. I never felt that I fitted in – anywhere. At boarding school I wrote an essay, rather grandly called ‘The Persecution of the Jews.’ It was a passionate defence of the talents, tragedies and intelligence of these remarkable people. I was sixteen at the time, a boarder at a public school where anti-semitism was rife. My R.E. teacher, a wise woman, gave me an A+ for this essay!

I didn’t expect to write all this – yet here ‘tis! If he were still alive I would write to Dr. Frankl and thank him for his wise words and how they opened memories that still touch me.

Dearest, brightest Bhagawati,

Thank you for what you do for us. I have just finished reading Mahadevi’s treatise on the potential ‘future’ of sannyas( a collective noun for spiritual seekers). As an ‘oldie’ sannyasin from the mid 70s, when my first Poona1 Darshan (meeting with the Master) only consisted of 15 people, I strongly disagree with what she wrote. Of course there has been, and still is, sadness at the loss of a dream. This is both natural and human. I would not dare to speak for anyone other than myself, so here goes:

When I dropped the mala, orange clothes and publicly using my sannyas name, it had nothing to do with leaving Osho. That is impossible! I needed to leave the organisation. It was that simple.

Osho had helped me change my life. How could I possibly not be eternally grateful for that? Even ‘though I rarely mention his name, my experiences during my time with him are in my work, in the things that I write and in the way I try to live my life each day. They are part of me. If you multiply my experience by the hundreds of thousands like me – there you have your sangha (spiritual community). It does not need walls, or buildings, organisations or leaders. How do you hold a rainbow in your hand?

Recently, now 24 years later, I find myself reconnecting with many old and dear sannyasin friends quite naturally. I have not sought them out – but they have appeared through your efforts Bhagawati, and others – with the help of the internet. This has been heart warming and very moving for me. I think Osho would have embraced and celebrated this way of communication world wide – with a huge grin! Perhaps this is the way of the future, it certainly seems to be the way of the present moment.

Mahadevi talks like a politician, with a deep desire to persuade us to join the Party. She did not even tell the ‘pointing the finger to the moon’ story correctly! I was there. It was his pointing finger we were asked to let go of, lest we lose our way to the moon! There was no mention of ‘grasping’. This is from an old Zen story that Osho used in many different contexts.

Her whole premise is that without yet another large commune (and it’s potential leader), ’sannyas’ – (which is, after all, only a general Sanskrit name for seeker and not particular to Osho at all), will not save something that, in fact, doesn’t need saving. It doesn’t need saving because it is still alive and well in thousands of us all over this planet.

Each of us found our own, wandering way to Osho as individuals – we made of him what we did – or not. We are still individuals, leading seperate lives, enriched by an un-forgettable experience that we shared. To try and collect this myriad of peoples, dreams and journeys together is madness. We experienced that madness in its beauty and its shadow. Why on earth would we want to repeat it?

Osho constantly talked about NOT following him, NOT creating another religion, about meditating in the market place, living our lives as fully as we could out in the world. Paradoxically, as was his way, a religion was created for purely political purposes and convenience; and we gladly played along for a while. Who are we to gather together to make the same mistakes all over again? This would happen. This is what does happen when thousands of people get together – as has been proven over and over again in all walks of life – globally.

We were not special. I, and many like me, were so very very lucky to have been blessed by spending time with him, fallling in love with him. Yes, there were also hard lessons to be learned – isn’t that what teaching is for? My belief is that it’s not what I do that matters, but who I am, doing whatever has to be done! Like ordinary families, my sannyas family is far-flung. Some of us are dying, some of us live in small groups, many of us live alone, no different from all other sentient beings. I feel held by simply knowing that. And, as in ordinary families – it is lovely and heartwarming when I meet other members of my sannyasin family – there is an unspoken language of love that we share.

Others will find him, use him, take him to their hearts – or not. He will go down in history. I have no doubt at all about that. Veet Moha (Tony Kendrew) wrote: “…the man born Rajneesh Chandra Mohan, whom I knew as Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh and is now called Osho, was by far the most influential catalyst for my understanding and appreciation of the world. The depth of his understanding and expression were breathtaking, and the transformations that happened around him profound and lasting. . . The mud of controversy surrounding his name is beginning to settle, but it could take a few more generations to see him clearly.”

Tony’s clear and loving words helped me to make my own settlement.

With love veet asmi (Persephone Arbour)

Update: I recently read a beautiful lecture given by him in 1967, in it he stated, with crystal clarity, that there should be no organisation, no cult. He said he wanted there to be a ‘gathering of friends’ – this is what is happening now I am glad to say. I consider myself to be one of those friends. To download the lecture, please click here.

We make goals, and if we are artists we become deeply involved in our art. If we are in business we make money. Most of us work or have worked for a living. We become embroiled for ever in our children and our grand-children’s lives – or not. Many of us have religious practices that can include company with like minded others. We eat, sleep, make love, read books, watch movies, walk, travel, garden and love our pets. We visit our friends and enjoy their company and, if lucky, we enjoy our own as well. All of these activities are outside us and can make us feel happy, sad, or indifferent. But would you say they give meaning?

Perhaps they do, but I do not have a definitive answer. If I think about my own life I never ask whether it has meaning. I do know that I love life and am grateful for it. It has covered the spectrum of what can happen to any human being, from tragedy to comedy. I am grateful for that, and don’t worry at all whether it has meaning or not!

And yes, for many – there comes a time when all those activities gradually slow down, and in some cases stop altogether, even though the body is still alive. With regards to those old people in their care-home: my deepest wish is that they will be given more special opportunities to feel loved and cared for. Most importantly, I wish that they are reached out to, with genuine intention to pierce the apparently clouded lives they live within themselves. I am not afraid of growing older and dying. But I am aware that there could come a time when I will need attention and care from someone else.

My hope is that conversations like this will reach far enough to those who do the caring, and help them recognise that none of us need to be sat in rows in front of a TV all day. What we need is a smile, a hug and a bit of attention. In other words – it is what happens in the present moment that counts. Those who have disappeared into themselves have only that present moment. As do we all.

Whether it is something needing to be said, done or acted upon makes no difference. The feelings of frustration and the shadow of fear are always the same. I mention that because it is the truth of my experience. That shadow comes from the memory of my father slowly disappearing into a foggy world of his own.

When I was still living in Australia and in my mid sixties, I became aware of my own butterfly memory. The words ‘butterfly effect’ speak to me of a mind darting around, stopping to touch down on a thought and fluttering about in the hope of finding the memory of that thought.

It became apparent through very small things: not remembering where I had put my mug of tea, or why I had gone into my study. The worst was when facilitating a group I would, very occasionally, forget what I was talking about.

This alarmed me to the extent that I went to see a neurologist. First, he sent me to have a brain scan to see if there was any deterioration. There was none at all. Then he gave me a memory test. This consisted of looking at twelve objects on a tray, him taking the tray away and asking me to name what I remembered. I remembered all twelve! For some reason I found this embarrassing; had I wasted his time? He laughed and said how he wished that more people would come to see him as early as I had.

Soon, I will ask to have another test. Right now I function beautifully. It is easy to ‘fess up when I meet someone from way back when, recognise the face, but don’t remember the name. There is relief in not hiding from those moments when memory fails me. This is part of the dance of growing older.

Many of you reading this will know exactly what I am talking about. You will have spent time with friends or relatives going through the same thing. And, maybe you can relate these words to your own experience.

The odd thing is that those hard-to-grasp lost moments always seem to appear when my particular butterfly sits still. This creates a space in which the thought that is lost appears all by itself. Is there a lesson here about slowing down? Of course there is. For me, not an easy task!

I grew up in a reasonably traditional home. My parents loved each other deeply, and my expectation from childhood was that I would find someone like my dad to marry. Someone who would love me for the whole of my life. That didn’t happen.

I finally got the message (when still only in my 50s) that it was up to me, not some mythical man, to live my life fully. As it turned out, that did not preclude marriage, children and love-affairs, however seemingly inappropriate. My understanding of the word love has changed significantly with age. When younger, I needed to be ‘in love’. For me it was always intense and romantic, almost like a drug. Now, just to love and love unconditionally, is a precious gift.

My lover currently lives in Santa Fe, USA, and I in a small village in Dorset, UK. I have known this man for twenty-seven years. We had a brief affair in the Rajneesh, Oregon commune where we met, then went our separate ways ‘though still living in the same community. This was common in the life-style of those days. However, we always remained good friends.

When the commune in America collapsed, I finally came home after sixteen more years living in Italy and then Australia. He remained in the US, occasionally travelling to see me wherever I happened to be, and vice versa. We both had other loves, which did not affect our feelings for each other at all.

Our friendship never wavered, and was kept alive, apparently, by ever-changing technology. Firstly there was the post, then faxes, emails and currently – Skype. Our deepening love for each other seems to be linked to the level of communication being constantly updated! Both in our seventies, we now speak to each other daily, often more than once. Distance does not seem to matter too much.

This dear man’s uncompromising commitment to his own growth and the path of aloneness, has taught me much. There are no promises, no contract, no ‘need’. Slowly over the years a deep trust, and therefore love has grown between us. It is genuinely unconditional. And yes, I do wish we lived nearer each other. We have a lot of fun when we do meet. However, the trivia and depths of our lives are shared each day with laughter and much closeness. It is almost as if we are in the next room.

If some seer had foretold that the most intelligent, deep and rewarding love affair of my life would be conducted mainly from a distance of a few thousand miles – I would have laughed in disbelief. I do laugh, a lot – simply from delight.

“I recently put on a romantic dinner for two at the aged facility where I am currently employed. This was a huge success, given that most of our residents are really ill and in the very late stages of their lives with the average age of 90. It is seldom, well actually never, that they get the chance to have a romantic dinner with their partners. So that gave me the idea to create one at our facility. It included champagne and strawberries, candlelight and roses, invitations, menus, evening dresses and tuxedoes, romantic music, and a sumptuous 4 course meal.”

She asked if I would care to write an article on romance for those in aged care. Immediately, and to my shame, my reaction was to wonder about the levels of dementia, infirmity and all the reasons why it would not work!

Then I received another letter from her: “Whoops …. Just to mention 95% of my residents have some dementia and some are in the very late stages of this condition. But amazingly, at our “dinner for two”, there seemed to be miraculous normality in their behaviours. Those who have difficulty feeding themselves had no problems what so ever. Those who would have gone to bed long before dinner, easily managed to stay up way past normal bedtimes. And conversations with partners that were usually difficult flowed far more easily they had for some time.

Something magical happened. Our hearts were full, such a privilege to be witness to this wonderful evening, and to serve. We will, in the near future, be doing this again.”

This really set me wondering what the qualities of romance are. What was created that evening, producing such amazing results? My dictionary says : romance:“Love, especially romantic love, idealized for its purity or beauty.”

At 76 years I can safely say that, although my memory is not what it used to be, I am still in full command of my senses (or so it seems to me!). However, the ghost of dementia has its place in my consciousness.

My mother did not slide into dementia, but my dear father did. Dementia often brings with it less inhibition. After my mother died, this gentle, mild-mannered man could, at times, be almost cruelly irascible and bad tempered. Something my sister and I had never experienced before. He would forget to turn water and gas taps off. He would frequently lose his way when walking, and finally he was unable to read, write or keep his diary. For a man who had spent his whole life as a journalist, this was devastating. However, not for one moment did he forget my mother and his deep abiding love for her.

In the earlier stages of his decline I remember my parents’ Diamond Wedding party. I was watching them both and at one moment he turned to her, held her hand and said, “You are the most beautiful woman in the room” – and he meant it. They were both in their eighties by then and he had already started to disappear into his own confused world.

I tell you these facts because romance obviously never died for him – even after the death of his beloved.

So, what changed that evening in the care home in Perth, Western Australia?

First of all there was the willingness of a few to change something in the routine of many. Secondly, enough loving care to go through with actions that had not been tried before. Thirdly there was a preparedness to risk that it might not ‘work’.

In order to get the participants ready they had to be touched, dressed in ’special’ clothes, their hair and perhaps their faces made ready. Carefully chosen music was played – so those that could hear, would hear warm and soothing sounds. Candlelight glowed in the room instead of harsh fluorescent lighting, making everyone’s faces look younger. The usual diet was changed. And, most importantly they were seated in pairs or small groups, rather than eating alone – or at large communal tables. Most of all – the loving care and attention of the staff was heightened and there would have been an air of expectation and excitement.

I go back to that simple explanation of the word romance: “Love, especially romantic love, idealized for its purity or beauty.” I would imagine that purity, in the intention of the staff as well as the innocence of dementia, and beauty in the setting would have done its work of reawakening forgotten moments of romance. The other ingredients of touch, soothing sounds, changes from the norm and loving care obviously worked some magic.

It is so easy, in these days of over-crowding, not enough staff and over-stressed management, to forget these intangibles of any life – demented or otherwise. It took the courage of one person to enthuse others and, together, produce a minor miracle.

Here I write about a care home for the aged, but romance in one form or another is inherent in most of us. In what form do you keep it alive in your life? If you manage to – it can transform not only your own, but also the lives of others that you care about.