Once a week Fahar and I play chess. Recently I arrived feeling sad and in the same coat and hat I had just worn at a friend’s funeral. Fahar and I always chat as we set out the pieces, so I had a moment to explain what had happened. After offering his condolences he commented how, in his view, the minute we die we become nothingness; the person we were once no longer exists. I suggested that his position might need some modification; if he went first he would still be in my mind and the image that I had would remain faithful to him. He smiled, looked at the board and made his opening move. 

Soon I was questioning my assertion – was I really such a reliable guardian of images? By chance, over the last few weeks there were three instances where images have arisen of people once close and now dead, and twice they didn’t fit. Clearly, there was work to be done.

The first image was of Ian, the friend for whom I had worn the sober hat and coat. I try to avoid going to funerals but when he died I had to be there. We did not have a conventionally close friendship; I knew him more by his views, his work and by his being the husband of a close friend for some thirty years. Above all, whenever we met, we ‘clicked’ – friendships are sometimes like that. 

For most of the funeral service I felt more numb than sad but at one moment all that changed as sadness dominated. Ian loved sailing and had his own dinghy. Midway through the service we sang Rod Stewart’s mystical ‘I am sailing’. When we got to the verse – “Can you hear me, can you hear me through the dark night far away? I am flying, forever flying, to be with you, who can say?” – my mind’s eye conjured up an image of Ian alone in his boat, frantically rowing away from us in the sky and buffeted by clouds. My throat tightened, singing became impossible and tears welled up. During the service other music, a recited poem, several eulogies and the sight of his wicker coffin only a few yards away were very moving, but it was the image that I had created of Ian rowing away that gripped me most, and still does. 

The second image was of Roy and Martha, two close friends who died years ago. I was walking along the Thames towpath with one of our two grand-dogs – we have one grandson and two grand-dogs.  At one point on the path there is a tall hedge in which a gap has been cut out near one end. Because the hedge had just been trimmed, the gap was particularly obvious, and this gap has a history.

Behind the hedge is the communal garden of the flats in which Roy and Martha lived as they got older. In order to see the Thames from the garden’s summer house, Roy arranged for a gap to be cut in the hedge and it is this gap that has been carefully maintained ever since.

As I looked through to the summer house that morning, there, seated on the other side were a smiling and waving Roy and Martha, as of old. No distortion – it was exactly them. The feeling was eerie and lovely, and gone when I looked back.

The third image was of my mother, an actor, who died over thirty years ago. Not long before her death she appeared in the film ‘The French Lieutenant’s Woman’, which I saw recently for the third time. In the film she plays Mrs Poulteney; a drawn, humourless, religious, widowed bigot. 

As a seasoned observer of her on stage and screen, I identify with her as the character she is playing rather than as my mother. After seeing the film this time this was reversed when I reinvented her in a nightmare. There was Mrs Poulteney, now my mother, lying on her bed close to death, crying, looking at me and asking why I hadn’t come to kiss her to say goodbye. This image, which had been my own creation, made me feel both sad and guilty. Here was an image prompted by a film and transmogrified by me. As a guardian of images, as with Ian’s image, my mind was inventive and unreliable.

Yes, I retain images of those who have died but they are not kept as securely as I had implied when speaking to Fahar. Indeed, when my mind’s eye gets to work, the images that arise, whatever the circumstances, are such as to suit my purpose rather than anything else. My original thought that, as keeper of the images of my friends I would remain faithful, was optimistic.

And by the way, Fahar won that game of chess – at the moment he is on a winning streak.

The illustration shows a photo of my mother Patience Collier as Mrs Poulteney in the 1981 film ‘The French Lieutenant’s Woman’.

For help writing this blog I would like to thank Sarah, Vanessa, Jeni, Rohan and Vivien

8 thoughts on “Safe in my Mind’s Eye?

  1. Letter sent to me – Joe Collier – directly.

    Dear Joe, Interesting post, Joe, and thought-provoking. I particularly liked your vision of Roy and Martha. There is a tradition which asserts that Imagination is the faculty by which we encounter reality (e.g Coleridge). Merrily

    Like

  2. Dear Joe,

    A very touching post. I think people we love live on in our hearts when they die even when they have left little other than the time we spent with them to remember them by. But when they have left the memory of their gifts to others they live on in many hearts.

    Love

    Robin

    Like

    1. Dear Robin, Thank you for your response. You refer to living on in ones heart. Is that the same as living on in ones mind? It would be interesting to know if there is a difference. Love, Joe

      Like

  3. Interesting. You hear of “images” of dead ones appearing quite often. Makes one wonder.
    I am of the option that after death you live on via your genetics and patterns that you pass on to your children.
    I always remember Rohan and children staying with us many, many years ago, and the two families meshed so easily, which I put down to our mutual grandmother having passed on her child rearing patterns, and then our respective mothers.

    Like

    1. Dear Heather, I expect that nurture is also importantly inherited. How one reacts with children is passed on from parent to child with no recourse to DNA. I suspect whole societies work like that too. Love, Joe

      Like

      1. Agree behaviour can be genetic also. They found a violence gene but the changed the name
        It could as the bible says ( the sins of the father) go on for up to five generations.

        Like

  4. Your blog has made me think over the last day Joe, and now having read some of the comments I think I’m ready to comment.

    I was made to look at my father, as he lay in his open coffin in our front room 31 years ago, my mother insisted I said goodbye to him… it wasn’t my father at all, but the image of what I saw has been with me and as much I try to remember him alive and smiling, it is quickly replaced by this unpleasant image. I look at his photograph and try to evoke happier times. When my mother died more recently, I was convinced she would appear in my dreams to chastise me if I was doing something wrong with regard to her funeral or her belongings, she didn’t and it really gave me a sense of I’m doing the right thing!

    I don’t have children and therefore the thought that I will not continue to live through my genetics and patterns, doesn’t sit well with me. I hope if, when and how I’m remembered, it might trigger a smile 😊.

    Like

    1. Dear Carolyn, Many thanks for you comments. It is odd how we all deal with memories stored as images in our different ways. I am sure ‘last’ views are important but there are also so many other images that could/should be tapped. How we are remembered taxes many people, but, of course, when one has gone does it really matter? Love, a thought-proved Joe

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.