Today I met a woman who wanted to go back to the 1960s. She recited a poem, flecked with exerts of Bob Dylan and Jimmy Hendrix, sung with the voice of a middle-aged hippy and some pale blue eyes. She wore a psychedelic rainbow scarf and fluro laces on her black Dr Martin boots, and spoke about fields of daisies and a peace sign painted onto a smooth cheek - in the days before the drugs made everybody fight and 'free love' was the trojan horse that exploded marriages.
And most of all she yearned for her lover - that long-haired man with a scruffy ginger beard, who made her feel beautiful and special and that she belonged somewhere. Her pale eyes lifted skyward as she recited her words - of a full length fur coat skimming the ground, of platform heals that went high, sky high, and of a woman she once loved buried deep beneath piles of Simon and Garfunkel and cut-off hair.
As we chatted over milky tea and cream-filled Arnott biscuits, I suggested that what she missed was still within her - that it was a part of HER she wanted back, not the era. She shook her head slowly: "No, it was the 1960s" - the idealism, the freedom, the community. It was a short-lived revolution, destroyed by the very things that caused its conception. "I never got into drugs, I never slept with anyone else's husband!"
And now, all alone, the man who once held her in a fragrant bossom gone, selling stocks and tending children.
"Won't somebody join me? Why won't somebody join me?"
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2 comments:
I have a rather sneaky feeling that the 1960's didn't actually exist. They always seemed out of reach - something happening to someone else. I should have been a teenager in the 1960's but I got the cynical 70's instead. I've come across this kind of romanticism elsewhere, too. It's still there in the 'Celtic twilight' - contemplating misty views of Iona with a head full of Braveheart or 'authentic' Cornish gift shops. There's an Anabaptist version as as well, especially in the tourist industry surrounding the Amish.
For myself, I've had three experiences of intentional community, now. Enough to appreciate the positives and more than enough never to do it again. It's still a shame that I was just too young to appreciate the 60's. On balance I still think the up's outweigh the down's.
Interesting observations, Phil. I know what you mean - sometimes certains eras or events are romanticised so much that no one who was actually there recognises the stories! I guess you get a few dominant voices - usually the people who really enjoyed the experience - and they define it for everybody else. Like how high school is meant to be the best time of your life. Well clearly whoever said that had a great time at high school!
As I came home today and my housemates were cooking and one of their boyfriends was sitting on the couch, I thought, "Wow, this is the life that I used to dream of for myself!" You know, being independent, friends replacing family etc. But now it's so commonplace and not romantic at all, or even all that cool. It's just me and my daggy friends sharing a house together.
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