The Elegant English Gentleman
Hubby was a prize fighter when he was in his twenties. He tells anyone who will listen about his undefeated bouts and the reason he fought. Born in the East End of London in 1927, his family had very little income. He was sent off to work at 14 years of age in order to bring back money to help to buy food. His mother gave him bus fare from his salary, but kept the rest. He went into the boxing ring for one reason only – to have money in his pocket at the end of the night. He stopped fighting when he fell in love and his future wife said that she “could never marry a prize fighter.”
Hubby was a man who knew what he wanted, and how to get it. He is the man that swept me off my feet. He proposed 24 hours after we met, and I accepted. It is a grand story which defines the essence of falling in love. He was a dynamic roller coaster of glamour, savoir-faire, sensitivity, intelligence, hard work, dreams and generosity. That was the man I fell in love with almost fifty years ago. He is, was, and will always be twenty years my senior. It was sensational when I was 26 and for many, many years thereafter… not so wonderful today.
A few years ago, this British gentleman began attending Melabev, an amazing organization in Jerusalem which is devoted to those with Alzheimer’s and/or Dementia. From the very beginning, we called it a “club” and when Hubby discusses it, he tells people about his “club for seniors” that he attends.
When I was truly unable to cope with caring for Hubby 24/7, social services came to assess him and decided that I was the one who needed the most help: Time to myself. Time to breathe. Time to think and time to save the me who was on the verge of drowning. It was suggested that sending Hubby to Melabev daily, would give me time to be me. It saved my sanity and very possibly my life. A van picked him up three days a week and took him to a full day of activities. Every day would have been exhausting for us both. We needed to sleep late on the alternate days in order to recharge our batteries and begin anew.
Hubby was a woman’s fashion designer in Europe for thirty years. His own clothes were custom made of the finest fabrics. Suits were tailored to define his muscular body with impressive shoulders, small waist and hips. His custom shirts were embroidered with his initials. They always had “French cuffs” requiring special cuff-links, when such a shirt could not be purchased off-the-rack. I recall seeing Sammy Davis Junior perform in Harrah’s casino at Lake Tahoe. Hubby pointed out the French cuffs on Sammy’s shirts, and mentioned that the suit designer purposely shortened the singer’s jacket sleeves so that the cuffs could be a trademark, large cufflinks and all.
When hubby went to Melabev, he was dressed as if he was going to an important appointment. A fashionable hat, leather gloves, sunglasses, Italian wool tweed jacket, and matching cashmere scarf. He entered the building, introduced himself to the ladies, took their hand in his and kissed it as only a proper English gentleman can. He was in his element. The day may have consisted of psychodrama, singing sessions, a bit of exercise, discussion groups in the “men’s club” current events, hanging out with “the guys” over a bit to eat… and charming the women (whom he actually complained… were a tad too old for him!) That was the early days. He thrived and I took deep cleansing breaths for the first time in many years.
About a year after he began attending, I would meet the van that brought him home and we would walk across the street to a coffee shop for a late lunch. He always refused to eat the food he was served at Melabev, while others inhaled it with pleasure. While we waited for our food to arrive to the table I would ask “Tell me what you did today.” There were usually three activities. I was asking him to remember them. He could usually remember one. With time, perhaps another. Rarely all three. I forced him each time to tell me what he enjoyed and what he did not – with time he remembered less and less. When he did describe a particular activity and the staff member in charge of it, his comments were identical each time. “Her music is boring. She only plays music from World War I.” Imagine my utter surprise when I had the opportunity to sit in on the same classes when they were offered on Zoom during the Covid-19 crisis. The same woman whom I thought would not be exciting at all played many instruments beautifully and her selections and voice were outstanding. And not one World War I melody in the mix!
Just yesterday, a lovely friend of ours whom we have known since she was about ten years old, now married and mother of four, came to visit. I swear that Hubby began flirting with her! She found it delightful… and I was mortified. British gentlemen never give up!
