postscript

I just want to add an excerpt of what zelda wrote about her feelings about the Communist Party after she left in the 1980s.

This is what I feel about the Party now - I was conned and I'm angry with myself for having allowed it, and even angrier with myself for suspending my disbelief and convincing myself they were acting froom the best of motives. Who are they? They are those in leading positions who knew but didn't tll me, who were dishonest. They used me. And what hurts me most is that those who I admired and put my trust in, didn't trust me - didn't give me the chance to make up my own mind how to act. They didn't allow me the proper information for me to act upon in my work in and for the Party.
I feel ashamed that even when I had doubts and when I saw for myself what was wrong, I, too, tried to find some good reason for it at first. I, too, wanted to believe. I did try to change things, but the hardliners were too entrenched. I had for a long time tried to fight against the lack of democracy within the Morning star and within the Party, but had been too foolish and hasty in my strategy and actions, and often chose the wrong allies. I was, and still am, ashamed of myself for keeping my head in the sand for so long and for turning a blind eye to so much.
But one thing I am not ashamed of - I still believe in socialism. I still believe in collective action and eschew "bourgeois individualism". Iwant a fair and just society based on equality of opportunity. My fight is still against discrimination, racism, anti-semitism, and against censorship. I still want a world where the arts are encouraged, and where each is given the opportunity to develop their talents to the full. The only problem is that I no longer know how to get it!
I comfort myself that in the work I do with older women I am at least effecting some small changes for the better, that I am at least giving support to some people so that they can develop their talents. And certainly I am stil trying to develop my own. But sometimes, in fact more often than not, I stop for a moment and think, "Who the devil am I to think I can change the world?" A short while ago I was absolutely certain that I could.

On being ill

Zelda (right) with her sister Norma (left) and cousins Cynthia and Mona, in the garden of the residential care home where she spent the last 7 years of her life.

Pride comes before a fall. All my life I had taken pride in my good health. Until I was in my forties i had never had anything other than the usual childhood maladies. But then I began to have gynaecological problems. They were finally resolved by having a hysterectomy, from which I recovered quickly and easily and had not further health problems. I expected, therefore, to tay active and well to a very old age.
I had never been one to dwell on ill-health, and indeed felt little sympathy toward those who complained of aches and pains. I didn't find other people's illnesses easy to contend with. Then Parkinson's disease struck me and now I have more understanding of others' suffering.
Jerry died in October 1983 and by the end of that same year my hand started shaking in the familiar parkisons manner of pill-rolling. When I went to see the neurology consultant, the clinic was full of long-term sufferers, the sight of whom made me fearful of my own future. Many could only shuffle along with heads bowed down and expressionaless faces. Others were in wheelchairs with head and limbs shaking and writhing, mouths oen and dribbling. in one sense seeing the worst early on was to the good. It made me more determined to make the most of what active life I had left. It made me face up to reality with no false hopes.
At first I decided not to take the pills offered me because I realised the amount of time they could effectively help me was finite. The later I started on them the longer I could be helped, so I struggled on. It was not long, however, before I realised that I could not type well enough any more and that was essential for my work. My fingers became clenched and would not work properly. My handwriting got smaller and smaller and almost impossible to read. i gave in and took the pills. Their effect was almost miraculous. They did not help my handwriting but they did free my clenched fingers and to a certain degree controlled the shake. Unfortunately there were side effects, a feeling of queasiness, nightmares, and an odd but painful effect on my toes. I suffered badly with cramp and my big toe tended to shoot up stiffly.
I joined the Parkinsons Disease Society and was asked to start a local group for Islington and Hackney sufferers. With their help a venue was found and we got ourselves organised, having speakers on subjects related to our problems. But I found that such a group was more helpful to the carers than the sufferers, who were no longer able to benefit either from the information or the socialising. Confined to their wheelchairs, and with their senses impaired, they found little pleasure from others' company it seemed. For the women carers, however, it was a night out. We laid on transport for them and gave them light refreshments. They were able to shar experiences with the other carers and enjoy a chat quite happily. there was only one woman sufferer beside myslef, and she was cared for by her son.
As a new sufferer I could find little help from such a group and, in fact, it made me feel depressed, so I left it in the good hands of the society and soe of the carers. But that experience gave me an insight into the problems and needs of carers, which I put to good use o the Islington Carers Committee.
Partly to put myself more at ease and partly to make others more aware of the disease, I always inform an audience, if I am speaking in public, that I am a Parkinsons sufferer. Doing that has enabled people to come up and ask me questions or to tell me of some of their relatives who suffer from the disease. Some young women have even asked me to meet with their mothers who are sufferers and are very depressed. They hope that I can talk them out of it.
I have tried not to allow parkinsons to stop me from any activity. I walk and swim and try to remember to do some exercises each evening. When alone I do quite a lot of dancing to tapes I like, or to Top of the Pops. But I get very tired and very stiff after a lot of exertion. It can be quite painful and i have to admit I get a little depressed at times. I keep going as much as I can and on the whole it hasn't interfered too much with the way I like to live, but the future does worry me.
Recently I joined in the hospital's experiment with some different pills. Initially their control of the shake was remarkable and I was very happy despite the greater side effects of sickness, bad dreams, cramps and writhing. My friends had a good giggle when I told them what I dreamed - the nightmare was that I was in bed with a young lover and was just about to climax when the door was flung open and my two daughters appeared. My daughters tell me not to worry as they would approve not disapprove. When I asked what nightmares others had, I was told they usually dreamed of savage animals.
Now however, my body's response to that new drug is not as good as before. I realise i have to be grateful for small mercies, but it is hard to live with no real hope for a good future.
No hope? Well, people are always trying to comfort me with tales of new cures being found and alternative treatments that can help. The one thing that the doctors and consultants have made me understand is that they know very little about Parkinsons and that each sufferer is unique in syptoms and response to treatment. In general medicine is a hit and miss business, not an exact science. They do not even know the cause of Parkinsons, though they now think it may be environmental.
The pills they give me try to replace the natural dopamine lost to my body through certain brain cells dying. That controls some of the symptoms but does nothing to stop the disease's course. I am lucky in that my deterioration is slow. However, there is one treatment suggested for the terrible cramps I suffer which I can approve of. Quinine is the prescription but the doctor says that tonic water is the best form to take it in - and especially with a little Gin in it. Can't be bad.

[Comment from Sue - Zelda carried on coping with the disease into her late seventies but increasingly fell over, often injuring herself badly. The pills she took brought on hallucinations and her mental health began to suffer. She moved for a while to live with my sister Joan, and then with her friend Stan, but they both realised that the unequal struggle of caring for her, when she barely slept at night and could not tell hallucination from reality, was beyond them. With great regret, we found a residential care home for her in 2005 and she ended her days there.]

The pensioners movement

Zelda with Stan Davison, long term friend and "comrade-in-arms" in the pensioners movement

When I finally retired from paid work, I walked into the office of the Greater London Pensioners Association (GLPA) to sign on the dotted line and casually asked if there was any way I could help. I had to open my big mouth! Hardly had the word "help" left my lips than I was told I was unanimously elected Treasurer. Their idea of that job was not the conventional honorary one. I did the Income Tax, kept the books, helped run a bazaar and jumble sales and became their fundraiser. They had just lost their funding when I came on the scene and Harry Mundy, their President, was desparately anxious. Together we decided to make an appeal to the Trades Union movement, and the GLPA memberhsip rose to the task magnificently. They followed up our written appeals with verbal pressure at their branches and the response was very good. Others, out on street corners in all weathers with their petitions against welfare cuts, called for donations and we were pleased to see that young people, in particular, gave us their support.
These efforts kept us going while we continued putting the pressure on the London Borough Grants Committee to restore our grant. The fight was long and hard and at one memorable meeting the Committee's vote was a tie. The Chairman then used his casting vote - against us! Undaunted we hung in there until a change of political power in one Borough gave us the certainty of a vote for restoring our grant. Once that was achieved, and we were more financially secure, I resigned as Treasurer.
[Stan told me a funny story of how Zelda tried to resign as treasurer, but the secretary of the group died and the Chair was very ill. Zelda thought it would be impossible to resign under these circumstances, at which point Stan said "The lengths they'll go to to keep you as Treasurer!"]
I had found the lack of in-depth discussion of policy very frustrating and felt it was absolutely necessary to make time to think anew, in the light of changing times, about the different needs of pensioners, and to examine the possibilities of new methods of campaigning and of new allies to be wo. I was certain, too, that all ages needed to discuss together the future of the welfare state.
Having joined the "Democratic Left"(DL) I spoke to some of the members about my concerns and was pleased to find that some of the members had been thinking along the same lines. It was decided to try to develop a discussion group made up of all ages, which would examine thoroughly all the different arguments around pensioners issues. Once set up it was called AgeSpan (a name thought up by Stan Davison, its present Chairman), and its aims to challenge the age discrimination so rife in our society. But the major part of my time is devoted to working with older women through AGLOW (the Association of greater London Older Women). It has been rewarding to see the way the work has empowered some of the most disadvantaged older women and encouraged their talents to bloom. The variety of work is mind-boggling; from conferences on the issues of physical and mental health, housing, transport and education;self-defence and assertiveness;drumming, dancing, and drama. We helped women in Hackney to write and publish a book on the experience of Caribbean women coing to Britain; helped a woman in Brent set up a self-help group for those suffering from depression;and brought together older refugee women to discuss their health issues. We are now lobbying MPs for legislation against age discrimination and we are involved with European older women's groups.

on being a widow

zelda and jerry on holiday in france 1962

after all the mad political whirl, here's a bit more about zelda's personal life

Jerry had been happy that Saturday morning. He had been running a fund-raising stall at Friends’ House and just as we were packing up to go for lunch he had a heart attack. Whisked quickly off to the Whittington hospital, he recovered well enough by Tuesday for Sister to tell me he could go home by the weekend. Yet by 3.30 the next afternoon he was dead, from another massive heart attack. It was such a shock to me that I became very angry and screamed at the doctor “How could it happen? You told me he was better.” The doctor kept repeating over and over, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Thus I became a widow. My daughters, my sister and my friends rallied round, but despite this cushioning, I knew I would have to face up to the problems ahead some time. People warned m of the loneliness ahead and advised me to keep busy to counter it. But loneliness is not the prerogative of the widowed. The harsh truth is that most couples live together in shared loneliness, in shared busyness that keeps them from facing it. They remain together whatever the quality of their relationship, clinging to the warmth and comfort of any human presence, unable to face a lone existence. [Although this is written in a general way, I am sure Zelda is talking about herself and her own marriage here.]

From that knowledge I drew the strength to live alone. And soon I found I was enjoying the freedom of having my own space and of not having to be responsible for another’s happiness or comfort. I gave myself permission to be selfish, to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, but I have to admit I haven’t managed it yet.

One problem you face when widowed is dining out alone. It takes a lot of courage to walk into a restaurant by yourself, and, as it that isn’t enough; you then have the waiter lead you to a small table right at the back, in a dark corner, where you won’t be seen. The final insult is then they serve you quickly, so that you can be pushed out fast, or else ignore you.

You become very aware that couple friends don’t seem to like odd numbers at their dining table, so if you do get invited, you are likely to find yourself coupled with some quite inappropriate character. And then, when it’s time to leave, everyone tries to get out of giving you a lift home. What an embarrassment you are to them all.

I know several widows who have rushed foolishly into a second marriage just to acquire status again or to avoid that moment when you shut the door and you’re alone. Personally I savour the moment more and more. I may talk back to the television or dance alone to the radio, but I am enjoying myself on the whole.

Holidays were a problem at first. But I was saved from having to worry about that for a while by my daughter Joan, who took me off to Tunisia for a week and by the Jempson family, who took me under their wing and whisked me off to Malta. But I couldn’t expect them to be there for me all the time. After 39 years of marriage and shared holidays it was difficult, even a year after Jerry’s death, to venture forth alone. I gave it a lot of thought and decided a coach trip might be the answer, so I booked for a week’s tour of Andalucia.

My coach companions were mainly couples, but there were also three women on their own and an American man, Harry, with his student son. By the first lunch stop in Jerez, Harry asked me if I would care to join him and his son for lunch. For the rest of the trip we were constant companions. At that time he was 66, just the same age as Jerry would have been and though Harry was a Jewish New Yorker from the Bronx, I was surprised to find how similar his background was to Jerry’s.

We had much in common, from the books we liked, the community work we did, and the politics we shared. He had been head of the New York family services department and was now lecturing in a community college on social work.

We had a good week together. Each night we danced and by day we talked together without pause. At the week’s end we were quite sad to leave each other. He had another week’s holiday left in Spain. But on returning home via London, he knocked on my door and before I had time to say “hallo”, he was propositioning me.

He told me how much he missed me in his second week in Spain, and begged me to go with him to New York. Flattered and greatly tempted by his invitation I said I would think about it. Later I did take u his invitation, but it took only three days of living with him to be sure – quite, quite sure –that I could never live with anyone again. I valued my independence too much. I left New York and went home, happy in the knowledge I would be living alone. But harry did not give up easily. He pursued me, and each year for about four years, he visited me. To this day we still correspond.

Naturally there are times when living alone becomes lonely living. It is then I feel most grateful for the wonderful friendship, understanding and support I get from my friends. I can count on them too, for constructive criticism and help to find my way through problems. My daughters are still a great source of pride and pleasure for me, and my grandchildren give me great joy. I am very close to my sister and to some of Jerry’s family, so I am not short of people to turn to when sad.

Most of the time I’m far too busy working (both paid and unpaid) to have much time for feeling sorry for myself. I’m certainly never bored. There always seems to be a new avenue opening up for me whenever I feel I’m getting stale, always a new challenge. Life is good to me.