My Mother

Barbara, April 2014, Cape Town. Photo by  granddaughter Paula Mills

Don't you think that too much emphasis is placed on youth and 'start-ups' nowadays and not enough at the other end of the spectrum? Old age seems to be synonymous with the ghastly state of old age homes, Alzheimers (which my father had) and "old people" as opposed to people who are just older doing interesting things.

My mother has recently turned 85 and lives on her own in Cape Town. She is a testament to how vital and relevant and independent one can be at her age. She is passionately engaged with global news, political debates and the latest trends.  Her most common expression is "I saw an interesting programme on BBC the other day..." She cuts out news articles for me on stock prices, old friends and restaurant reviews and sends them 9000 miles to the other side of the planet along with a coffee mug for my birthday with "I love cooking with wine...Occasionally I add food" on it, as it reminded her of me.

My mother grew up during the war on the outskirts of London. After an unexploded bomb was discovered at "the bottom of the garden" her family moved into a rather grand country house hotel along with a coterie of eccentric Polish countesses and other colourful Mittel  European refugees. As her convent school was also bombed at much the same time, she spent her days playing snooker, golf and bridge with all the old dowagers and became particularly good at darts.

After the war, there was "no point in going back to school" so off she went to Wimbledon School of Art  where she met my father and promptly married him at 17. They lived in a gypsy caravan next to the Epsom racetrack with yet more old duchesses and 'real' gypsies until she had my first brother, Paul.

Despite my suburban childhood, my mother always retained this slightly bohemian quality. She dressed me in pink and navy tweed when everyone else was in Seventies dungarees with heart patches. My father gave her beautiful Persian jewellery and she had her hair done by the bouffantted 'Mr' Piaonni himself, the last word in Cape Town Sixties chic. She always wore Arpege perfume and put on red lipstick ("it's important for yourself, really") before fetching my  father from Pinelands Station promptly every afternoon at 5:30pm.

She taught me how to read silver hallmarks, made all my clothes and scoffed at shop bought biscuits. We collected pine ring mushrooms on the winter slopes of Table Mountain and ate them with real crumpets dripping with butter in front of our fire at 5 Rheezicht, with the ersatz 'river stone' wallpaper on the chimney piece.  We ate bacon and egg sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper on Bloubergstrand every Sunday morning before going for a "good walk" along the lovely, hard sand and she made me homemade play dough before it became a symbol of Pinterest Good Mumminess.

As I write this, I realise how keenly I am like my mother. How her 'everydayness' has become me and how I am in my own home, with my children.

We are both strongly opinionated and unsentimental and we argue like sisters, trade harsh words and drive each other to distraction. We admire and respect each however, which I think I prefer. I love her so much it aches.

My mother is the only one of my family left in South Africa apart from my brother who lives on the other side of the country on an isolated farm, miles from anywhere. The rest of us are sprinkled to the remote corners of the globe.

What a difference the big tech companies could make if they invested in teaching computer skills and internet saviness to the over 70's. Imagined if they opened up social media to this generation and gave them access to all the wonderful information and ease of communication out there. Think of all the possibilities and good use that such stylish, wise and interesting people would put it all too as opposed to the infinitely shallow and narcissistic culture of 'selfies' and 'My Perfect Life'  which is so all-pervasive.

No doubt as the twenty year old Silicon Valley techies age we will see this shift, but I want it now. I want my Ma on Twitter and Pinterest and FaceBook. It would be hilarious but it would also mean that I could hear her say "did you see that programme on BBC after the news last night? You must, it was riveting. Here's a link".