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A few weeks ago
I flew to England to spend a few days with a friend who is
dying. We first met in Rome in 1969 where our sons attended
the same pre-school . At that time, Guy and his wife Sally
had an apartment on Mount Parioli in Rome as well as a country
place near Assisi called the Abadia Celestina because of the
ruins of a 9th century abbey on the property. Apparently
the monks wore blue habits; hence the 'celestina.' Although
the Nortons were not Catholic, they exhibited a great deal
of reverence toward that monastic setting - they convinced
the British School in Rome to conduct an extended archeological
study of the abbey; they had the bones that were buried about
the site gathered and reburied by the priest from the town
above. The abbey country house was more than large enough
to accommodate the eight of us along with other visitors.
Over the years,
the friendship begun in 1969 strengthened. On later sabbaticals
and visits to Rome, we would see the Nortons, both in Rome
and at the abbey. (I dedicated Connolly's Life
to Sally and Guy and thanked them for the use of the abbey
as the setting for the crucial scene in the novel.) Sally
and Connie often traveled together, taking great delight in
planning for their annual big trip. They visited Australia
and New Zealand together, they had a memorable trip to Prague,
they explored the United States as well as parts of Italy
that even Sally had not seen. They were on a visit to the
Loire Valley when Connie fell ill.
It is now five
years since Connie died. During her last weeks, Sally flew
in to be with her. So there was symmetry in my going off to
Devon a few weeks ago to be with the Nortons during this trying
time.
They moved from
Italy to Stoke Gabriel in Devon about five years ago, a wonderful
property, Southlands, which drops in soft undulations to the
Dart river below. During their years there, the Nortons transformed
the property. It became everything they had dreamt of when,
through the years, they looked forward to returning to England.
Five years is not nothing, but of course they thought it would
be longer. We always do.
In our culture,
young people are urged to think of retirement before they
have begun to work. Throughout their active years they will
be urged to save, invest, plan ahead, as if the Florida or
Arizona sunshine were the purpose of life. What is seldom
stressed is that one is preparing for the end. Etienne Gilson
said that old age was a time when we learn to be dead. It
can certainly induce thoughts about how and why we have lived
the lives we have.
Connie died with
great courage and hope. Guy Norton faces his condition with
an attitude that might seem Stoic to one who did not know
him better. Once in the course of a lively exchange, I asked
him if he believed in God. "Of course I do!" A few weeks ago,
I asked him if the Anglicans had the equivalent of the last
rites. He said they do. "Have you had them?" "Of course I
have!" I like to think of Guy Norton entering heaven
as if that too were just a matter of course. He never forgot
the ultimate end of retirement.
Ralph McInerny |
