The Great Renunciation

Evening Star, Issue 24007, 4 October 1941, Page 3

The Great Renunciation

“ You see, I’m not as young as I was.” The words were out, and 1 stood appalled at having uttered one ot the most idiotic cliches in the world. Not only is it as old as the hills, but it is utterly meaningless—and in this it differs from many good cliches, though wc who condemn them are apt to overlook the fact. But—not as young as I was! What could possibly be sillier ? Whoever is, or over was, as young as they once were? Is not youthfulness the one quality that wc inevitably outgrow ? Yes, I never expected to live to utter those words. All my life I have heard them quoted with derision. And yet, mingled with my surprise at myself there was a sneaking sense of triumph. For I had not been speaking in inverted commas; I had simply and sincerely enunciated an incontrovertible fact. You see, it had happened like this. The Eldest Daughter, on pleasure bent, had made elaborate and spirited plans for the next day, and for a large part of the following night. In these plans I found to mv-dismay that her mother was included” kindly and tolerantly, and possibly as a gesture. But this mother had no intention of accepting; indeed, the mother who does' accept such an invitation is not worthy of being numbered amongst those pliable and amiable creatures known as “ modern parents.” For if there is one thing wo modern parents have learnt it is t° keep in our place in the scheme of life, and that place is certainly not that of a brake upon joy, a sober ■element —almost. if such a monstrosity could ho said to have survived the Edwardian age, a chaperon. So of course I refused; but in face of this the Eldest Daughter continued to urge from the kindliest sense of duty in the world. What excuse could I offer that she would not gainsay? Impossible to tell the simple truth—that I did not want to go. That would Ibe frankly incredible. Yet the whole programme, delightful as it was to youth, would prove unspeakably exhausting to middle age. Age; there* I had struck tho rght note; I could alwiays plead advancing years. In another minute it was out: “ Darling, you see, I’m not as young as I was.” . . It was made—the great renunciation. Had I ever dwelt upon the thought that some day I should have to admit the ravages of advancing years, tho reflection had brought with it a sense of pathos. Convention demanded it. I have heard of many women making the sad admission, gazing in the glass with swimming eyes, making a tragic exit from tennis court, and dance floor, resigning themselves to taking a back seat in life. Always the scene had dripped with tragedy. The most valiant had taken the step with a twisted smile; the weaker had dissolved in floods of tears. It was popularly supposed] to be

Written- by MARY SCOTT , for the ‘ Evening Star.’

the worst moment of a woman’s life. This growing old—how wo are supposed to hate itl Well, I can assure you for your comfort—you who fire younger than I, but yet perhaps “ not so young as you once were ” —that the popular convention is all wrong. It isn’t a tragedy at all. It’s most convenient and comfortable. As you utter the fateful words there stretches before you—not the long, sad road, leading, if I may misquote, straight and dusty to the grave; not a barren wilderness where for a few short years we shall wander disconsolate seeking for one oasis left by our happy youth. None of these things. A very comfortable prospect; a pleasant garden, large and not too well kept, filled with, adventurous possibilities, with interest and leisure, warmed by the sun of comfort and serenity. Once the admission is made, the stop taken, old age accepted-—why. then we seem to take a now lease of life. One has walked out to meet the enemy ; one has welcomed advancing years before they have really advanced so very far. Not only have we walked out to meet the foe, but wo have brought him in, made him welcome, given him a comfortable seat before oui; fire, assured him that he brings with him no terror and no regret. Acceptance, not rebellion, is the key-note to happiness in this matter of growing old. Besides, just think what a splendid excuse we have found—a permanent one that will only increase in -value with the years! I may have uttered the worst cliche in the world, hut it had all the sound of a now and convincing argument. I could see at once that the family was impressed. The Eldest Daughter argued no more; instead she stood and regarded me with wide and startled eyes, brought me another cushion, and asked whether I would like my breakfast in bed. I seined my chance and uttered no protest. 1 have always loved breakfast in bed, and who knows when the chance may come again? The family may grow used to my not being as young as I once was; or they may decide that I must be braced and stimulated, not lulled; or they may think, quite rightly, that a good many years still separate me from a senile grave, and that they had better not ho too indulgent; in fact, for some unpleasant reason or other, they may not offer mo breakfast in bed again. So I agreed with, enthusiasm, and realised that already I was reaping my reward. But one must not presume too far on such a victory; one must not utter the profound truth too often. The words will lose their sting if we turn them into a common-place whenever we want to escape the spring cleaning. No, they must he reserved for special occasions and uttered with telling and dramatic effect. I can see that they are going to provide me with a golden key to future peace. Truly does self-immola-tion bring its own reward.