‘The picture emerging in this essentially fiery nativity is of an idealistic, generous, and enthusiastic personality; likeable and sociable yet dignified and proud; who will have been challenged to resolve inner conflicts through relationships with others; struggled to concretise her dreams; maintained an optimistic philosophy of life; and been possessed of unusual creative and visionary gifts.
Without knowing her, it is impossible to judge how far she will have managed to bring the fruits of her imagination down to earth. In fact, given the absence of the Earth Element, she may well have lacked the inclination to do so. However, there are certainly signs which indicate that manifesting her ideas will have been difficult: including the predominance of planets in mutable signs, and the alignment between Mars, Saturn and Neptune which, as the closest aspect in the chart, will have been felt most keenly; tempering the Fire, yes, but presenting challenges of its own.
Without house placings, we cannot say precisely how this configuration will have manifested. More than likely, the opposition of Saturn to Mars will have limited the will to action, or caused problems through the repression of anger; while the opposition to Neptune will probably have had an impact on health signifying chronic ailments or illnesses which are difficult to diagnose. The conjunction of Mars with Neptune may have been experienced in her relations with men: on the plus side, a romantic partner possessed of imaginative gifts - even something of a magician: in the worst case scenario, victimhood.
Relationships will also have been also affected by issues within the realm of feeling. Venus in Cancer is the only planet in Water and makes no aspects with the other planets, striking something of a dumb note. Her own feeling nature will have been sympathetic, sensitive and protective of others, yet darker feelings will have been difficult to square with her Leo sense of herself as a noble person and Sagittarian idealism. She may also have projected psychic content onto others given the predominance of opposition aspects.
Having said this, her attractive personality will have ensured for her the benefit of friends and even admirers to whom she could have turned when needing support; and she will also have enjoyed largely positive familial relations. Her Sun is not afflicted, and the Moon’s likely opposition to Pluto can be read as symbolising a powerful mother who will have exerted a strong influence on her daughter’s emotional development as a role model.
Probably her greatest strength lay in her powerful intuition, giving her the ability to envisage potentials, see hidden patterns; and enjoy an instantaneous grasp of all the factors in a given situation. This will have afforded some protection against the consequences of her own naivety and the predations of more wily individuals; ameliorating, to a certain extent, the impact of the Mars/Neptune/Saturn configuration mentioned earlier.
With the strong emphasis in Fire (wherein five inner planets are placed) and some access to the element of Air (albeit mainly through the outer planets), she will have enjoyed the benefit of an enquiring mind; taking pleasure in speculation, lively conversation and sharing her ideas. Mars in Gemini affords a sharp wit, and can be verbally combative, but the opposition to Saturn will have reigned this in to some extent. A harmonious trine aspect between Mercury in Leo and Jupiter in his own sign of Sagittarius, will have facilitated access to the Higher Mind, possibly awarding prophetic gifts, while the trine aspect between Uranus and Mercury adds originality to the thought processes: - although when Mercury is Retrograde, there may be something unusual in the method of communication: something not quite direct.
The North Node of the Moon shows where we should make progress in the current incarnation, while the South Node represents qualities brought from previous lives. When Uranus conjoins the Lunar Node in philosophical and questing Sagittarius, the karmic task is to develop an independent belief system; breaking with tradition, bringing something new to the Collective, and moving from superficial knowledge to deeper understanding.
Julian Manly-Hargreaves. September 2000.
‘So, what do you think?’ I asked my mother.
She seemed to have been enjoying herself immensely while I read, although the unusually contented expression on her face may have owed more to Eleanor’s ministrations than the power of Astrologia to move the soul: she was giving her a facial massage.
‘Oh yes, lovely. You’d make a wonderful beautician, dear. Now, if you mix some of that bleaching cream with the pink powder on the tray there, you can do my moustache.’
‘No, I think that’s your dental powder, Nana.’
‘Is it? Oh. Well, just use the cream then.’
‘Mum,’ I repeated irritably. ‘I’d like some feedback. What did you think of it?’
‘Hmm, well, now, let me see. I liked the bit about the powerful mother and creative gifts, but I’m afraid a lot of it went way over my head. No, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll cut out most of the Astrology and keep it simple. You don’t want to bore your reader do you?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Now, now, this is just sour grapes isn’t it, Eleanor?’
‘I don’t know, Nana. Would you mind keeping your head still otherwise you’re going to wind up with bleached eyebrows.’
‘Yes, be careful, Eleanor,’ I said, ‘or she’ll be back in hospital again - this time as a fashion victim.’
At this, my mother gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Ah, if only you would follow my example. After all, you’re still relatively young. You don’t look after your assets, as your father used to say. Now, look at Eleanor. She’s a shining example to you - hair beautifully cut: clothes all matching. You wouldn’t catch Eleanor going out with odd socks on.’
I looked down at my feet. Damn, she was right.
‘Yes,’ she continued, well into her customary stride, ‘much as I would like to give you a positive report, I can’t, because although you do have a powerful mother, I’m not going to argue with that, I would say I had virtually no influence on you whatsoever. You have always paddled your own canoe. Mind you, I would definitely regard myself as good role model in one crucial respect: I’m a Feminist. There weren’t many girls of your generation whose mothers went back to work full-time to pay for their daughter’s university education. Your father was dead set against it, if you remember. If it had been left to him, he’d have kept you at home and married you off to one of his paper boys. So, it’s thanks to me and not your lucky stars that you’re not slaving away over a hot stove right now, and that you’ve got your independence, because it wouldn’t have suited you, Gwendolen, married life, any more than it suited me, you’re too independent. You should put that in your horoscope.’
‘It’s not my horoscope!’
‘Yes it is.’
‘No, it isn’t! It’s Dorothy’s. Oh, you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.’
‘Yes, I was. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, I’m not senile yet. I thought it was very good, but it’s much too technical. There are far too many technical terms in it: aspects and, what do you call them, nodes. No, no, no; you need to pare it right down.’
‘Oh, I give up.’
‘Now where are you going?’
‘For a cigarette.’
‘Ah,’ I heard her confide in Eleanor as I left: ‘I wish I were still a smoker.’
Outside in the communal garden, I sat down on a bench between two tubs of wilting hydrangeas and lit my cigarette. How on earth could my mother have mistaken Dorothy’s horoscope for mine after all my efforts to edit it? I must have removed at least a thousand words, if not more. Oh, she couldn’t possibly have thought it was my horoscope. She’d known all along it was Dorothy’s; it was her idea of joke. Yes, never mind Dorothy, my mother was turning into a blithe spirit. Either that, or the massage oil had gone to her head, and she had spaced-out on a heady mix of lavender and galbanum essential oil. Ah, now that was an idea. Maybe I should try some myself?
‘Miss Gaskell?’ A plump girl with pale skin wearing a dark green overall interrupted
my reverie.
‘Hmm? Oh, yes, that’s me.’
‘Sorry to interrupt, but Matron asked if you could pop in to her office before you go. I did go up to your mother’s room and your daughter said I’d find you here.’
‘Oh. Okay. Did she say what it was about?’
‘No, she wouldn’t have told me that, but it’s not urgent – any time before you go.’
Extinguishing my cigarette, I lit another. All right, I thought, if it’s not urgent, I don’t need to worry. After all, she’d got over her chest infection and was back to her former self. No, more than likely, she’d upset one of the other residents, accused a member of staff of theft, or pressed her buzzer in the middle of the night to alleviate her boredom. Unless my brother was the culprit? Had he fallen behind with the payments; brought his dog inside, soaking wet from the beach; or parked his old Volvo in the spot reserved for the minibus? That wasn’t unlikely either. Then again if he had done, surely Matron would have asked to speak to him, not me, to give him the ticking off. Not that she was about to tell me off, of course. I knew that, really. I knew it wasn’t going to be great news even before she asked me to make myself comfortable and whether I would like a cup of tea.
‘I’m sorry I missed your brother yesterday,’ she said, as I perched on the arm of her easy chair. ‘I was going to telephone this morning but I knew you were coming today so I thought I would wait. It’s always better talk personally rather than on the telephone.’
She then proceeded to give me the latest medical report, which was far too technical. There were far too many terms in it like ‘aortic’ and ‘aneurysm.’ No, no, no; it needed to be pared right down.
‘The other thing is,’ she added at some point, ‘she’s been in a very good mood lately, less fractious.’
‘Has she? That’s a good thing, surely.’
‘Yes, it’s just that - and please, stop me if I’m going too far - there’s often a change in our residents when they’re getting ready, as if they want you to see their best side.’
‘My mother isn’t going anywhere,’ I said.
‘Well, let’s hope not yet. But she is reconciled, you know. Have you spoken to her about it? She said something rather lovely to me the other day: ‘my life has been a series of journeys, and when I die, I’ll be going on another one.’ I found that very moving.’
‘She doesn’t believe that,’ I replied. ‘She was giving you a lot of flannel.’
‘Oh, I got the impression she was being sincere. We were talking about her time in Africa during the War. We had a very nice chat, actually. She brought out her photograph album. She’s never done that before. I felt quite honoured. I liked the one of her sitting on a camel in front of the pyramids, I must say. It wasn’t all doom and gloom, she told me.’
‘No. It was her finest hour.’ I glanced out of the window. It looked like a high tide. ‘I suppose you’ve seen a lot of death,’ I said after a while.
‘I have, and so has your mother. She isn’t afraid.’
I felt a lump in my throat. ‘No.’
‘She’s a remarkable woman, really.’
I nodded in agreement, took another sip of tea then brightened. ‘Still, it’s not as though she’s going to die tomorrow, is it? They said it could rupture but they didn’t say when.’
‘No, they wouldn’t be able to say for sure.’
‘She could carry on for another year or more.’
‘Yes, I’m not sure that’s very likely. I could be wrong, but I don’t think it’s going to be very long now. I wanted to put you in the picture in case you wanted to talk, bearing in mind that she is in a far better mood.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
But when I got back, I could see my mother wasn’t in the mood for an in-depth talk. She and Eleanor were sitting in the corner, giggling over Dorothy’s horoscope and dunking custard creams. For a while, I hovered about, unsure where to place myself, but then she looked up and gave me a knowing smile.
‘Now, where did we get to,’ she said, ‘with Dorothy’s story?’
Jupiter
My first thought, upon discovering that Dorothy had been a practising Christian, was to go back through this narrative and erase all slurs upon the Church of England - careless clergymen, vacillating vicars, perambulating parish registers - must all go the way of all flesh. But then I thought, no, I should tell the truth; and, anyway, some of them are rather funny. Well, I thought so. And, I decided, Dorothy would have thought so too, for according to Mrs Verity Hawes (whose connection with the Church went back over fifty years) Dorothy ‘Taffy’ Browning had been, ‘rather a colourful character.’ She’d have enjoyed a good joke, in other words. In fact, I can almost hear her laughing as I write this.
A colourful character, eh. That surprised you, didn’t it? You’ve been imagining me as something of a martyr, haven’t you? Go on. Own up.
No, no, not at all, Dorothy. Really, I’m delighted to hear it. Of course, it’s always possible to be a colourful martyr. We don’t all wear sack cloth and ashes, nowadays, you know.
By ‘colourful’ Mrs Hawes had not been referring to Dorothy’s sartorial habits.
‘She tended to dress conservatively as I recall, although elegant. She was always nicely turned-out, and she always wore a hat. They all did, of course, in those days.’
We were talking on the telephone. At last, she had returned from her holiday and on Wednesday, the 11th of October at 4.16 pm, I had managed to find her at home. I did not, however, cast the chart for this event before I rang since I had the feeling all it would show would be me talking on the telephone to yet another elderly lady.
Mrs Hawes, of course, was no ordinary elderly lady (is there any such thing?). No, she had known Dorothy Browning albeit, ‘not very well.’
She had been a child of around nine or ten years of age when she met Dorothy in a house on Magdalen Road run by a community of nuns. Dorothy used to sit with them in their communal living room where they would converse and read aloud to one another. It all sounded very convivial, I thought, listening attentively, and I certainly couldn’t imagine Dorothy behaving as I had in childhood: - calling round on the nuns who lived next door to my house in order to regale them with exaggerated accounts of my latest exploits and eat all their cakes. Had Dorothy’s nuns baked? I wondered. They certainly sounded a friendly bunch. Mrs Hawes felt sorry that the house no longer existed.
‘What happened to it?’ I asked.
‘Oh, it was closed some time ago,’ she replied. ‘The nuns have all died, or moved away. But I seem to recall she had some sort of connection with Laleham Abbey, near Staines in Middlesex. But that’s closed down now as well, I believe, so that’s not much help to you. The nuns - who would have remembered her - are all gone now.’
‘They’re buried in the churchyard,’ I said.
‘That’s right, they are. Well, how interesting that you found her grave. And you’ve been looking after it, you said?’
‘Yes, I planted the daffodils there.’
‘Did you? She’d have liked that, I’m sure. Of course, I didn’t know her very well. I was only a child, and it was rather a long time ago.’
‘Would this have been during the War, or shortly afterwards?’
‘Round about then.’
‘After, or before the War?’
‘Well now, probably towards the end.’
By that time, I thought, Dorothy would have been quite ill, yet she had managed to impress a young girl with the force of her personality.
‘She was a striking person, you know; not so much in her looks as in her presence. She had what I’d call ‘presence’ if you know what I mean. ‘Colourful’ is the best way I could describe it.’
‘But you can’t remember what she looked like?’
‘I’m sorry, no. It was rather a long time ago, and she always wore a hat. So, no, I can’t remember her face. She wasn’t tall, I don’t think - but then she was usually sitting do
wn. Ah, but I do remember her voice. She had rather a beautiful speaking voice. Very well-spoken. Cultured. Didn’t she write poetry?’
‘Did she?’ That came as a shock.
‘Yes, she was some sort of writer, I believe.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ I asked. ‘She was a private secretary before her marriage.’
‘Now, I didn’t know that. I always thought she was some sort of writer, and I had thought it was poetry.’
‘Perhaps because of the inscription?’
‘Hmm, perhaps. Of course, it is very poetic, isn’t it, and rather lovely. She was rather a lovely person, really. I’ve often thought about her when I’ve walked past. I had thought, perhaps we should earmark her grave as we have done recently with the War graves. What do you think?’
‘Oh, yes, that’s a very good idea,’ I replied. ‘I’d love to see the headstone restored so the inscription doesn’t vanish. I’ve often wondered who Peter was.’
‘Have you? I’ve always assumed he was her husband. She was married, I believe, but there were no children. I’ve always thought that a shame.’
‘Yes, she would have made a very good mother,’ I said.
‘I’m sure.’
‘I don’t suppose you recall meeting her husband, do you? He was an artist, born in Oxford. I’m quite interested in tracking down some of his paintings.’
‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t help you there. I didn’t know him. As far as I’m aware, she always came to the house alone.’
It had been her sanctuary, I thought, her home from home. ‘Well, this has been very helpful, Mrs Hawes, I can’t tell you how much this means to me, actually.’
‘You’re very welcome. If I remember anything else, I’ll let you know.’
So, Dorothy Browning – a colourful and cultured Christian: not tall, who visited nuns, may have written poetry and always wore a hat?
‘I know exactly the style of hat,’ said my mother on the telephone. ‘A brown felt one with a short brim. I had one exactly the same when I was demobbed.’
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