In Touch With Grace

by Jenny Pattrick

  Mr Gregory scribbles on his notepad. Grace thinks her arguments may be swaying him. He frowns though and looks across at her squarely. ‘Mrs Brockie, the child’s mind is a simple one which needs simple rules. A blanket policy will be obeyed; a complicated one will not.’

  Grace breathes in sharply. She cannot let this man get away with such a blatantly inaccurate statement. ‘The child’s mind, Mr Gregory, is vastly more complex than the adult’s. Surely you, as a senior educator, know this. The child’s mind is capable of learning new languages, and new skills at a frightening speed. Our older brains are set. They simply do not compare. Tell the children they may climb on the trees along my fence but not the tennis court ones and they’ll understand in a trice. It is a grave mistake to underestimate the power of a child’s mind.’

  Owen Gregory’s smile widens. He spreads his hands. ‘Well, there’s no sign your brain has set, Mrs Brockie. I’m puzzled by your attitude, though. Surely the children are noisy? Are ruining the trees?’

  Grace smiles gently and lines up her parting shot. ‘My dead husband and I planted those trees. We wished our children and grandchildren to play in them. As you may not be aware I have no family.’ She lets a pause develop, concentrates on pulling on her gloves. ‘I would be grateful if you could see what you can do,’ she says with what she hopes is a wistful smile.

  Next week over Thursday sherry, Grace feels her old sharp self again.

  ‘I know you won’t approve, Mildred,’ she says, ‘but I’ve had my deadlocks removed.’

  ‘Oh Grace, surely you’re being foolhardy?’

  ‘Well, it’s worth it to me, Mildred, I feel ten years younger. And the children will be back in the branches from tomorrow. The headmaster took a little persuading, but my arguments won in the end. Cheers.’

  Mildred pauses, her eyes lively. ‘Well, if those deadlocks are going begging, Grace, perhaps you could spare one for my bathroom door. Cheers.’

  Grace raises her glass. The two women sip together, and laugh till the tears run.

  July 13th 1993

  Grace Brockie!

  I was thinking about you only an hour before, and there you suddenly were with birds flying about your head. A vision in a bird sanctuary! I gathered you were with a group of superannuitants? Most of them looking much older than you I might say! The years have treated you well. Of course I was dying to settle down for a good chat but my hearing is not up to conversing in a group — and you were busy with your friends anyway. Was that Mildred Catherwood with you? She has aged.

  But then it is, after all, twenty years since we moved up here. We rather lost touch, I’m afraid, with friends at church and round the park. I meet Les Comfrey from time to time and he says you have stayed on in the big house. Good for you! It must be difficult, though, without a man to do the heavy work.

  You have perhaps not heard that Ilona passed away last year. It was cancer in the end, though she had been unwell for some time. You and she were good friends in those days so I thought you would like to know. It has not been easy for me since. I am not very housetrained I’m afraid, though I had learned a few basic dishes during Ilona’s illness. However, no sense in moping I always say! Hence this letter. I have decided to plan a luncheon, once a month, and invite five or six people. I will make myself cook a new dish each time. And always include new faces too. It is Hinemoa’s idea. She is a good positive soul — my district nurse. Now, what about coming? This would be for Monday 26th of this month at 12.30 pm. Les says you still drive. It will take you an hour and a half, but we are not short of time at our end of life, are we? Don’t be daunted by the Rimutakas. The road over the hill is well graded now and you will sail over!

  If this seems presumptuous, please forgive me. I greatly admired you during your troubled times — your husband’s death, and then Gillian’s tragedy. I still can’t bear to think of that wasted life … that brilliant talent! How strong you were! Surely we have things in common now to share and enjoy. Do come.

  Yours faithfully

  Max Friedmann

  Friday July 16th 1993

  Dear Max,

  How pleasant to hear from you so soon after our meeting, and thank you for your kind invitation to lunch. Unfortunately, I do not drive on the open road any more. I feel my sight and my reactions are not up to fast driving, and know how irritating a slow driver on the highway can be.

  I’m so sorry to hear that Ilona died. No, I hadn’t heard. Some watch the papers for that kind of thing but I find it morbid.

  You may be interested to know that I’m teaching a little music appreciation class for the University of the Third Age. Have you heard of this organisation? It is purely voluntary and is run for, and by, retired people. An old ex-teacher like me — or anyone else with a skill — shares it with whoever’s interested. I’m sure there is a branch up your way. They may be glad of your services. Certainly much of what I teach I learned at your house concerts. Do you still play?

  I am sorry to decline your invitation. Enclosed is my recipe for tuna fish pie. It is very simple to make but tastes special. You may find it useful.

  Yours faithfully,

  Grace Brockie

  Tuesday July 27th

  Dear Grace,

  Thank you for the recipe. You are right, it is delicious. I used it for the Monday luncheon and it was highly praised. Ilona had a good herb garden which I have kept up so I added a little chopped garlic-chive and parsley. I hope you don’t disapprove. Nothing venture, nothing learn! To be honest, my tastebuds have lost their edge — it takes a good curry to make an impression — but my ladies enjoyed it.

  You mention the University of the Third Age. What a coincidence! Indeed there is one in the Wairarapa, and I am chairman of it! There are many classes out here and my responsibility is the organising. I’m afraid I don’t teach or play music now. My deafness is quite severe and going to a concert or listening to music irritates me beyond belief. All I hear are the bass notes. If I know the piece really well I can supply the upper register from memory, but it is not the same, as you can imagine.

  But enough of that. Try to look on the bright side as Hinemoa my district nurse says. She is young — late forties I’d say — but full of wisdom. You’d like her I’m sure.

  Now Grace, I feel you are being unadventurous. If the open road daunts you, take the train to Carterton and I will meet you at the station. It does us all good to have a change of scenery. Any day will do — it doesn’t have to be a Monday. And if a group is not what you enjoy, we could have a lunch for two and you can pass judgement on tuna fish pie à la Max. You were pleased to see me at the bird sanctuary, don’t pretend otherwise! Take hold of life while it’s still here to enjoy!

  I enclose a little pin which belonged to Ilona. I’m sure she would like you to have it. I do not have a daughter and Martin’s wife doesn’t seem to be interested.

  Yours,

  Max

  P.S. Most Wednesdays I work for the Alliance Party, but any other day suits. M

  Sunday 1st August 1993

  Dear Max,

  The little pin is exquisite and your thought is kind, but I feel I cannot accept. Perhaps you don’t realise what a treasure it is. Surely you have granddaughters who are interested or who will become so. Fashions change. A piece like this should stay in the family.

  I must admit, though, that I wore it to Chamber Music last night — New Zealand String Quartet playing Bartok very well indeed — and my friend remarked how well it went with my winter suit. Do you realise the stones are real? I will keep it till someone is coming out your way … Les Comfrey perhaps. You were certainly reckless, Max, to send it by ordinary mail. But the thought was kind and I appreciate it. Ilona was a good friend when I needed one.

  It is surprising to hear you have joined the Alliance. I always took you for someone rational. I’m sending you a copy of the Labour manifesto. They have made their mistakes but I am convinced they are still the only viable choice.

  I thin
k not about the train trip. I am not naturally timid, but I have always found the Wellington Railway Station a little frightening. Perhaps we should stick to the odd letter. It is an undervalued art-form these days.

  Thank you again for the pin. I will keep it safe, meanwhile.

  Yours faithfully,

  Grace

  Tues 3rd August 1993

  Dear Max,

  I realise you couldn’t hear a word I said when you rang just now, so am writing down what I said. My friend is a woman, my neighbour, Mildred, whom you surely remember. We share a Chamber Music ticket. I am definitely not involved in any intimate relationship. Nor do I want to be, Max. I could not bear to go through another separation.

  Yours faithfully,

  Grace

  P.S. Which hearing aids do you use? I have switched to Philips in both ears and find them excellent. I am sending you a brochure.

  Sunday 8th August 1993

  Dear Grace,

  Sorry, I made a fool of myself, ringing you like that. Why do I try? I know I can’t hear. I use hospital hearing aids — don’t know what sort, but I can’t afford the fancy ones. Never mind — I’m deaf as a post anyway, and have my own ways of coping.

  Now. Why didn’t I think of it before? Les Comfrey is the answer to our problem! He comes out here often on a Sunday to visit his son. I saw him today and he says he’ll be happy to bring you out, drop you at my place and take you back again. What could be better? Please don’t find another excuse: friendship is all I’m suggesting. We need to enjoy life and I can’t stand my children feeling they’ve got to entertain me. Their entertainment is to plonk themselves in front of TV and watch sport anyway. Wouldn’t it do you good to get away from home and the sad memories of the park now and then?

  You may laugh at the Alliance and I’ll admit some of them are a bit wet behind the ears — especially the Greens. Their ideas are right, but the endless soppy guitar songs! Thank goodness I can’t hear them. Watching them is quite bad enough. But they are idealists, Grace, and I feel we badly need a bit of that …

  Well, to be honest, a friend dragged me along and I enjoy the company. You may be right. Come out and convince me!

  Les says he could bring you out next Sunday — 15th — after church. I go to the Quakers’ meetings now and then. At least I don’t feel I’m missing anything! But I’ll be home in time to cook lunch (I have something new in mind). If the weather is fine we could drive down to the lake.

  Les Comfrey is a friendly soul and will be good company for you on the car trip, but he’s not the right person for you, Grace. Your mind has always been so open and lively! His is rather a closed book, don’t you think? I will think up some issues to challenge you on and we can have a bit of good rational argument when you get to my place.

  Please keep the brooch.

  Yours,

  Max

  Tangi

  ‘There is no way,’ says Les Comfrey, ‘that you’re going to get me to a tangi’

  ‘I agree with Les. Why don’t they have a proper funeral?’ Mildred looks flushed, not at all her usual cheerful self.

  ‘But Mildred, they were bowls members for years. Marge has asked us specially. What would it look like if we refused?’ It is Cynthia’s responsibility to arrange trips to funerals and she takes the job seriously.

  ‘Cynthia’s right,’ says Grace. ‘We have to go. Marge used to organise funerals for us herself, didn’t she? No, Mildred, we’ll just have to screw up our courage.’

  ‘It’s not a matter of courage. Not at all.’ Les is flushed now too. ‘It’s a matter of principle. All that mumbo-jumbo. We’re Christians. We go to Christian funerals.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Les, a tangi is Christian!’

  ‘Well, it’s not to me, Grace. You’re always up with new ideas …’

  ‘New! Christian tangis must have been happening for a hundred and fifty years. More!’

  ‘You’re not going to persuade me, Grace. We brought religion here. And we brought churches. A church is a proper place for a funeral, that’s flat. Now I’ve nothing against Marge and Bob. Salt of the earth, both of them. Bury Bob in a Christian church and I’d be there like a shot. But you won’t catch me at a tangi.’

  There is a silence after this speech. Afternoon tea at the bowls club is usually good-natured.

  ‘My son says you didn’t pick up your Sunday paper this week, Grace,’ says Shirley Chan. ‘Have you been ill?’

  ‘Oho! Not ill.’ Les is keen too, to change the subject. ‘She’s got a new boyfriend in the Wairarapa.’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Les.’ It is Grace’s turn to flush. ‘I just visited Max Friedmann. An old friend.’

  ‘Max Friedmann?’ says Mildred. ‘You didn’t tell me about this, Grace.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’

  ‘I would’ve come too. You have to be careful with Max.’

  ‘Well,’ says Les, ‘I know what I’m saying on this one, and I’d say there’s more to it than old friends. Eh Grace?’

  ‘She’s blushing!’ shouts old Mrs Peddie. ‘Tell me why. I missed it!’

  ‘Oh you lot!’ Grace is used to this teasing — it’ll be someone else next week. ‘You’d turn a handshake into a deep romance. Now come on. I know this tangi is upsetting for some of us but we can’t just hide from it.’

  ‘Tangi?’ Old Mrs Peddie pronounces it correctly, to everyone’s surprise. ‘Are you Maori, Grace? What tribe?’

  It takes a while to get old Mrs Peddie onto the right track.

  ‘Of course we have to go,’ she shouts. ‘We’ll all be treated like royalty, being our age. And no shirking, Les, you’re our senior man.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ says Jack Chan. ‘How old are you, Les?’

  ‘Eighty.’

  ‘Well, I’m eighty-three. That makes me the elder of the group, surely.’

  ‘But I’m your senior in the bowls club, Jack. You only came last year.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming to the tangi, Les?’

  ‘I’m not. I’ve had my final word on that. It’s the principle of the matter we’re discussing here. I’m the senior male in this club.’

  ‘Then you must come,’ says Cynthia Peddie. She is very definite. Grace likes this practical woman, who is the youngest in the club. ‘Mother is right,’ says Cynthia. ‘When they see all these white heads coming onto the marae, they’ll make us very welcome. They’re used to people who don’t know what to do.’

  ‘I don’t like feeling a fool,’ says Mildred. She is looking most agitated, almost tearful.

  ‘We’ll stick together, Mildred,’ says Grace to her friend. ‘It’ll be new to me too.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you, Grace — you like change and new things. I like the old ways.’

  ‘You won’t find it difficult, my dear,’ shouts old Mrs Peddie. ‘I’ve been on lots of marae. My son is a Maori.’

  ‘Rubbish, Mother,’ says Cynthia. ‘It’s my son, not yours, and he’s married to a Maori. You have Maori great-grandchildren.’

  ‘Whatever. What’s the difference? We are Ngati Porou.’ Old Mrs Peddie faces the group aggressively. ‘What tribe were Bob and Marge?’

  ‘Mother, we have enough problems without bringing in tribal rivalry. Now, Marge asked us and she’ll be counting on some cooking. Les, will you bring your sausage rolls as usual?’

  ‘I told you …’

  ‘Les, you’re our elder. They’ll expect you to give a little speech about Bob — on our behalf. English will be quite acceptable.’

  ‘A speech, eh?’ Les takes out his diary. ‘Well, I am free. How long should I speak for do you think?’

  ‘Quite briefly,’ says Cynthia quickly.

  ‘No that’s not right, Cynthia, you know it’s not,’ says Mrs Peddie, ‘Some of the speeches go on for ever. Just feel free, Les …’

  ‘In English, the speech should be brief.’ Cynthia eyes her mother-in-law sternly. A wasted effort; old Mrs Peddie’s senses do not
pick up subtleties.

  ‘Oh well, I suppose I’ll have to put aside principles if it’s expected,’ says Les, ‘Yes, Cynthia, I’ll do sausage rolls.’

  ‘Your principles will have more to cope with when we die, Les,’ says Shirley Chan. ‘We’re Buddhist. I’ll do a pav, Cynthia.’

  ‘I never knew that, Shirley!’ says Grace. ‘How interesting. I have great respect for some of the Buddhist teachings. We must discuss them together some time.’

  Shirley looks at her husband in alarm.

  ‘My advice is,’ booms old Mrs Peddie, ‘wear shoes you can take off without bending down, take a warm coat, and ask one of the old people where the loos are as soon as you get there. I love going on the marae.’

  ‘Oh Mother, you’ve only been once.’

  ‘I’m afraid I won’t be coming,’ says Mildred. ‘I can’t manage it. I’ll send a cake, Cynthia.’ The speech is formal but everyone notices the trembling chin. There is a pause. As usual it is Grace who breaks the silence.

  ‘I was in the French bakery yesterday,’ she says, ‘talking to Jean-Pierre. He says his mother has just come out to join him. She hardly speaks any English and is lonely, so I suggested she come along to bowls.’

  ‘Oh Grace,’ says Les Comfrey, ‘give us a break!’

  Sunday 17th October 1993

  Dear Max,