More Thresholds
Following the death of my father in September 1981 and my meeting of Ronald six months later, my life began to take on a different momentum. We were both in the final stages of our doctoral programmes. Ronald, a historian and political scientist, was undertaking research in international relations, specifically Anglo-German relations around the then South West Africa. He had come from the prestigious HEI in Geneva to explore materials in the Colonial Records Office in Kew gardens.
Months later we discussed the circumstances of our unlikely meeting at the seminar at SOAS on that rainy Monday 1 March 1982. The topic was ‘The role of women in Southern African history’. Ronald had been in London for a month, finding himself a bit isolated, but had guessed that with such a topic there might be some interesting women at the seminar! Rather good strategy. I think I was the only woman there apart from the presenter, and Ronald and I started talking in the student pub afterwards, realising we had a lot in common in our shared understanding of the political situation in that region. And so it was that we went out to a small Greek restaurant for a meal together afterwards. And the rest was/is history.
We moved to a charming bedsit in Wandsworth. I had met a wonderful eccentric elderly disillusioned former Trotskyist, who at 70 was now passionately working on archeological digs around England. Mark went to visit his brother in Australia and was away for several months, and so Ronald and I were looking after his house and garden and exploring our new life together. Ronald had brought his old bicycle from Geneva and every day rode to Kew Gardens for his research. I was writing up my extraordinarily rich material and feeling very blessed as I slowly allowed myself this intimacy and began to trust the future. My divorce came through a few months later and I had a real sense of freedom.
During this year in Wandsworth, Ronald spent several months away as part of his pre-planned research programme. He went to Namibia, and in his absence from London, I spent hours in rich conversation with our landlord Mark BraceGirdle, sharing many meals and plenty of red wine in his kitchen. He was interested in my thesis and very encouraging in my progress. I learnt of his early trade union work in Sri Lanka among tea plantation workers, although he was fairly reticent about it. Understandably, as I later understood he had come into conflict with the British government in Australia as a result of his oganising activities in establishing the Ceylon Workers’ Party in the late 1930s.
One extraordinary memory I have of my visit to Namibia (as I joined Ronald mid-point in his visit and we had travelled down to Cape Town to meet my Mom and family) was our drive across the Namib desert to the coast. We had borrowed a Volkswagen beetle and drove for many hours on sandblown roads without passing any other cars. At one point I needed to stop and squatted down in the silence with the heat creating a mirage on the horizon. Such silence. It was tangible and difficult to put into words the effect it had on me. I could feel and hear my body pulses, coming into resonance with the pulse in the hot white sands around me. Later we arrived at Swakpmond at the coast, and the air temperature dropped significantly as we drove slowly down the hill to the little coastal town. Suddenly the borrowed car’s engine just spluttered and stopped. What a blessing that it had actually restarted in the middle of the desert, when I’d needed to stop in the middle of our journey!
The amazing dunes which run the length of Namibia’s coast, shifting peaks and pinnacles, exquisite colours captured in so many award-winning photographs – are truly an other-worldly experience. We stopped, walked around and climbed the dunes, and were resting at the base of one giant when we heard it… I was leaning my body back against the warm sand, my face looking up at the cobalt blue sky, when I heard a deep, almost primordial rumbling, which seemed to be coming from the centre of the earth itself. I could feel the vibrations along my spine and for a moment thought we were in for an earthquake. Looking up at the crest of the dune many metres above us all we could see was a tiny trickle of sand, perhaps one centremetre wide, moving slowly like a dribble down the surface of the sand.
This trickle of sand moving on sand was the source of the incredible sound which emanated from the interior of this immense pile of sand particles. What an experience – this first hearing of the tones from the earth. We were both deeply awed and conscious of having shared something out of the ordinary, aware of the huge power of this ancient energy. I remember we lay back against the sand, holding hands and listening deeply, feeling this energy for a long time.
***
Ronald was due to return to Geneva in September 1983. By this time we had forged quite a partnership and were interacting on both personal and professional levels. It seemed a good idea that I join him. We decided to get married to facilitate things. Actually, that was really my idea! I realised there would be implications resulting from my being in a new place, not speaking the language, still writing my thesis and without a job, no networks or friends yet etc etc.These could create stresses on our relationship and I, still fragile from my earlier experiences, needed a real commitment. So, once again, I initiated a marriage.
This ‘commitment ‘ took the form of a civil ceremony at the Wandsworth Town Hall on Monday, 1 June 1983. We were both busy writing, when we realised we needed to get down to it. Ronald ironed his jeans, I put on my grandfather’s linen jacket and my father’s favourite shirt, and we strode down the street with our witnesses in tow. Dear Caren and my sister; who had been horrified learning of our plans only the night before. It was Monday and we had not managed to get anything for a reception! Champagne was on ice, but with two-day old doughnuts! She was not impressed!
At the Town Hall, we joined various other motley couples waiting their turn. When it was our turn, a young Chinese woman lawyer looked at us both seriously, and asked..
“Lonald… do you take Malilyn? and then ‘Malilyn, do you take Lonald?”
Well, amidst side-splitting splutters, he did and so did I. And it was done.
Without a flash for the camera all our wedding pictures are rather obscure; only the reflection on the glasses in our hands suggest the occasion might have been significant.
Then in mid-September, a couple of months later, we made a long crossing from London to Geneva by train via Paris where we spent the night, transporting all our precious thesis materials with us in huge bags.
And a new chapter started on the lake of Geneva. I felt very, very blessed.