GREY BEARD, BEAUTIFUL SOUL
Youve been lying to me all this time! Im ending our correspondence. Im utterly disappointed in women. How could you pretend for so long? I wanted to marry you and youve ruined everything. You just cant build a relationship on lies and mistrust. Goodbye. Dont write to me again. I wont respond. Your former gentleman.
That was the message I got from an Englishman. Connor and I had been exchanging letters for nearly a year. We were getting closer and closer to finally meeting in person in Sheffield, no less. But sadly
It never happened.
I was forty-nine at the time, divorced for quite a while. I had kids, and even grandkids. I just wanted to feel like a woman again, one last time. Time marches on, and my children had their own lives and worries. I couldn’t just sit at home, staring at the wallpaper, reminiscing about my youth. Thats the quick way to losing yourself entirely, or worse taking up knitting 6-foot-long scarves and embroidering pillowcases for no one in particular. All my friends were married, tied to their families and obligations. I took a hard look at all the available bachelors at work but, honestly, none took my fancy.
So, after a gentle nudge from a colleague, I found myself on a dating site. What did I have to lose?
I filled out the long-winded profile, painted myself in flattering light, uploaded the best photo I could find, and then waited for a miracle. I wasnt about to pester lonely men with promising messages I kept my dignity.
A couple of weeks later, an unread email landed in my inbox. Excitement bubbling up, I sat in my little flat in Doncaster, heart pounding as I opened the foreign message.
So, here we go: an Englishman, fifty-nine years old, successful in business, recently divorced, with two grown-up sons. In the photo, he looked every inch the polished, elegant, respectable gent, standing in front of a grand three-storey house. He wanted to get to know me. And who knows, maybe propose one day.
Bliss was dangling right in front of me if only I put pen to paper (well, fingers to keyboard) and wrote back smartly. My heart was so full I wanted to break into Vera Lynn tunes. I was tempted to say yes on the spot, telling him Id hop on the next train to Sheffield and march down the aisle (or whatever they do these days in England). But I ended up saying I needed more time to think things over playing a bit hard to get, you know.
Sorry, Connor, nothing personal, its just there are so many messages and not enough hours in the day.
Connor was a true gentleman courteous, tactful. He replied, saying that given the woman I was, it was no wonder I had suitors lining up, but that I had certainly won his heart. Well, you couldnt wipe the smile off my face after such flattery from an English gent.
Our letters soon turned open and heartfelt, and it felt as though wed been made for each other. Why on earth were we born in different countries? Connor called me his Mysterious Rose, and I called him My Gentleman. I grew addicted to his affectionate emails, couldnt imagine life without them. In my mind, I was already married to an Englishman, living in his roomy house, sharing long breakfasts and gentle banter every morning. Everything was coming together perfectly. The more we got to know each other, the more it felt right.
I told my children, Ill be off soon! The flat will be yours one day. Im leaving work. My son and daughter, bless them, tried to bring me back to earth:
Mum, whats happening to you? Youre about to retire and you want to get married? This is madness. Who do you think wants you now? That charming gent of yours is nearly old enough for a walking stick! Soon hell have high blood pressure, be off to the loo six times a night is that what you want? To play nursemaid? Or worse, end up being nagged to death. Give over, Mum, dont go pampering Englishmen just yet.
But my mind was made up. I wanted to be a lady once more, full stop. I bought new clothes, sorted out my hair and even started working on my manners for my grand English journey. I was waiting for my visa when suddenly Connor sent that unpleasant message. Youre no Mysterious Rose; just an ordinary liar. Dont write back. I wont reply.
I was baffled. What had I lied about? My thoughts raced; so many theories, but none made sense. Eventually, I wrote Connor another letter. I waited, hope draining away for six months, but nothing came.
Just when Id convinced myself it was all over and even considered keeping the flat to myself after all, I finally got a letter from My Gentleman:
Mysterious Rose, forgive me. Ive spent a long time in hospital, preparing to say goodbye to this world. It was all rather grim and completely unpredictable. I didnt want to worry you. I asked my son, Oliver, to look after our correspondence, to be polite to you. But he told me you abruptly stopped replying. Why?
Im better now, and ready to welcome you my goddess! to my home as my wife.
I read the email over and over. I burst into tears. I honestly didnt know what to reply. One thing was clear: Oliver didnt want his father remarrying. It was Connors son whod unfairly accused me of lying.
After much thought and a fair bit of heartache, I decided not to reply to Connor at all. Imagine if I did go live with him in Sheffield. What if Oliver decided to slip something nasty into my porridge, or whisper tall tales about me to his father? Connor would take his side over mine, no doubt, and Id be out the door in a flash. Who needs all that drama? Let them sort out their family matters.
Anyway, I had grandkids starting school in the autumn. Theyd need help brushing up on their reading and maths. Plus, the allotments not going to weed itself tomatoes to plant, grass to mow, flowers needing water. After all, theres no place like home.
I needed a break from new people. They just sap all your energy, dont they? All the while, life ticks on.
Hello there, neighbour! Didnt expect to see you you havent been down here for ages. Busy, or have you finally tied the knot? My friend and neighbour, Nick, wouldnt let me pass, peering into my face with a grin.
Alright, Nick! Actually, Ive missed you. You havent got hitched while Ive been missing, have you? Fancy helping me chop some firewood? Come over for a cuppa later, Ive the kettle on. So much to do, you wouldnt believe it! I felt such a wave of warmth seeing Nick, I couldve given him a big hug.
Well, Ann, how could I marry anyone when the bride herself hasnt shown up for a year? he said with a laugh in his eyes.
Oh? And whats that supposed to mean? I played coy, though deep down I knew.
Marry me, Ann. No point dancing around it weve known each other forever, havent we? Like they say, old trees creak, but they live on.
So, in the end, my fiancé had a grey beard, but a beautiful soul.
Ive been happily married to Nick for seven years now.
