The sound of silence

IN a recent RTÉ radio interview Esther Rantzen said, “I’ve got plenty of people to do something with ... but nobody to do nothing with”.

The award-winning journalist and broadcaster was on an information mission to meet Third Age, a national voluntary organisation for older people, with a view to setting up a similar programme in the UK.

A household name on both sides of the Irish sea, Esther Rantzen was absolutely candid about the surprise she got in recent years:

“I’ve always had family and friends in my life — people to share things with. But as a widow, and like many with children who’ve grown up, I’d find myself at the end of the day going home to an empty dark flat.

“There’d be no one to say hello to. No one to make a cup of tea for,” she said. “So, I’d switch on the television — for company as much as anything.”

When she wrote about this recently, a close friend asked ‘How could you, Esther? Haven’t you got too much pride?’ And that convinced her the stigma about being on one’s own was as strong as ever.

For Marcella Sheridan, a widow with three adult children whose husband passed away five years ago, the loneliness in the evening time hurts.

“It’s the emptiness that gets you. Especially in the evening time. The aloneness,” says Marcella. “I was married to Padraig for 38 years and I miss him everyday. It was always Marcella and Padraig. We knew what we liked and we did it together. That’s how it was.

“I was just devastated by his death. I didn’t know how to face life afterwards. Yet, somehow, a fortnight after Padraig died, I went back to work for a while,” she says, recalling the day, sitting in traffic, when she gave up.

“I just stopped and asked myself — ‘why are you doing this?’ — because nothing mattered anymore. I’d spent the months going up and down to Padraig in hospital. And now it was all over.

“I couldn’t see the point of it, how I’d go on,” she says. “Then one Sunday, I spotted a notice in a mass leaflet looking for volunteers to teach conversational English classes to immigrants. And I thought ‘why not give it a try’. Soon, I was meeting people from different countries and cultures. It was the first thing to cast light into my life at that time. I suppose it was an outlet.”

Fáilte Isteach is a programme set up by Third Age as an initiative to help local immigrant communities overcome difficulties in their social and working lives. And the benefit is twofold.

“I got involved more by accident than anything else,” she says. “But once I got started, it was brilliant.”

Teaching allowed her redesign her life and find fresh meaning. While still cherishing what she had with Padraig, Marcella could now orient herself to the future. “It helped me do new things — look at my regular day and week and plan what I wanted to do. You know, I’d never gone for lunch on my own since Padraig died. Those ordinary things, we used do together, I avoided because he wasn’t there anymore.

“I even learnt to swim at 65 years of age,” Marcella adds, chuckling. “After my hip surgery, my surgeon told me getting out on the road wouldn’t be the best, and that the pool would be much better. Sure, I didn’t even want to get into a swimsuit. But I did, mind you. And after two lots of lessons I got the hang of it. Now, I can go for three quarters of an hour.

“The loneliness will always be there, unless you re-marry ... but I’ve no interest in the world in that. Believe me,” she says, allowing herself a moment to smile. “Not one for chores and the likes, I keep out of the house as much as possible. I can tell you — I certainly don’t sit in and cry every evening.

“At the end of the day, it’ll be just you at home though. I have three sons, three daughters-in-law and six grandchildren. And we see each other all the time. We’re all very close. But they have their lives, and I have mine,” she says. “I know the loneliness will always be there. But I know I can manage that now.

“Earlier this year, I wasn’t so sure. My sister Peig died, and I felt I just wanted to run away,” says Marcella. “Her death brought back Padraig’s passing. And I just thought — everybody’s leaving me. I couldn’t help it. I had started to focus again on what I was losing and not what I had.

“I know my son Mark emigrating to Australia, with his wife and two kids, was also part of it. Things were kind of closing in on me. But now I’m getting ready to visit them, come the middle of the month. For six whole weeks,” she says, beaming. “After that, who knows. I might just make another trip for my 70th birthday. We’ll see how we get on this time though. One step at a time. Just one step.”

According to Third Age’s head of communications, Anne Dempsey, the invisibility of older people is worrying.

“One of the biggest challenges faced by growing older in Ireland is becoming quite invisible — not being seen anymore,” she says. “Ageism is an insidious thing. And in truth, we’re all guilty of it because our society is geared towards stereotyping older people.”

She adds: “We tend to convey on older folk both positive and negative attributes, in a generic way. Think about it — men of a certain age can be grizzled and distinguished, whereas their female counterparts can be regarded as wizened and ultimately sexless. How’s that?

“As for the day-to-day stuff. Well, watching the extended family system breaking down prompted us to get our members using the internet to stay in touch,” she says. “Lots of sons and daughters have moved far away, overseas too. So, it helps, even to get them emailing photographs of grandchildren.

“How do you persuade someone to get busy again?” she asks. “Well, what’s really important for older people to think is ‘I matter’ and ‘I belong’ and that they’ve got something to contribute. All too easily that message is lost. They’ve got maturity and skills to pass on that are invaluable.

“If I could get one thing out there,” says Ann. “It would be to get active. And if you’re feeling in any way down, lift the phone and talk to us. About anything. There’ll be somebody on the other end of the line from 10 in the morning till 10 in the evening. It’s the price of a local call on 1850 440 444.

“You may not want to worry family or friends with whatever’s on your mind. Well, we’re here to listen. We don’t direct but we just might be able to help you untangle and unpack some of what you’re dealing with,” she says. “Remember, you’ve got an awful lot more to offer than you might think.”