Two years ago I was widowed when my husband Derek had a sudden heart attack. Overnight, my full life was empty without my best friend, my soul mate. At only forty-something, I certainly had much to keep living for, but it didn’t feel that way. Recovery from something so shocking takes time and effort.
Last summer, determined to open up my vistas, this Canadian came to England. And in London, I had an epiphany.
Let me explain.
My husband and I were living in Victoria, which lies at the southern tip of Vancouver Island, off the west coast of Canada. It’s a small but gorgeous city, full of gardens and walking trails, with cultural activities every night of the week. We had moved there together when we married, to start a new life together, and to complete the memoir my husband was writing.
Derek started his book years ago as a series of letters to friends, true tales from his years as peace pilgrim. He began walking for peace in 1986, on the Great Peace March for Nuclear Disarmament. Five hundred souls traversed the entire United States on foot, and it took nine months. You’d think that would be enough walking for a lifetime, but he couldn’t stop. He went on to walk through Canada, Europe, New Zealand, Japan, and other countries. Each day, he knew not where he would sleep, or if he would eat. He relied on the kindness of strangers, and in return, he told stories from the road.
When my husband and got together, I signed on to proofread his literary efforts. In short time, I realized his stories were more than just anecdotes. They were parables, and Derek was a guru in disguise. From all his years of walking, he had learned how to create a happy, fulfilling, rich life out of very little. To experience life fully, he needed to continually detach from his own ego and be open to what the universe would provide. This simple principle is not always easy to live out. But my husband had much wisdom to share on the subject.
The book took on greater proportions and became more of a collaboration. I wrote while he dictated, and occasionally I dictated while he wrote. Inevitably, life got in the way sometimes, and the project went into hibernation periodically, so there were stories yet to be written when Derek died.
I now had my husband’s book to complete, his legacy to share. But, before I could commence writing again, I needed to grieve. I consoled myself with rambles through the rocky hills, through the lush forests, and along the rocky beaches. I joined a choir and met some of the kindest people, many of whom are British expats. I started forming an idea to travel to Britain.
My husband was born in Yorkshire during a World War II air raid, and went on to spend much of his life working for peace. As I thought about his life, and the project that lay ahead of me, I came to realise that in order to do my husband’s life justice, I had a pilgrimage to make.
In June of 2012, I made a three-day walk up the Yorkshire coast, to my husband’s birthplace. The trek was spectacular— breathtaking scenery unfurling under every step. And on June 16th, Derek’s birthday, I arrived at his home town, and I scattered his ashes in the rolling sea. It was a magical day. The sun warmed my face, the waves crashed at my feet, and fossils revealed themselves from under the sand. I found the house where my husband was born and located his grandparents’ burial plot. The end of a rewarding day was heralded by the appearance of a full rainbow.
My pilgrimage complete, I spent weeks touring Jane Austen country, visiting friends on the Isle of Wight, and then sightseeing in London. On my second day in the city I undertook a self-guided walking tour of Charles Dickens’ London. I spent hours on a treasure hunt, wandering the narrow cobbled alleyways of the financial district, finding hidden passageways, courtyard gardens and moss-covered chapels. Present-day London surrounded me with its towering steel and glass monoliths, but somehow I existed in an alternate universe woven into modern reality. London felt densely layered with history, architecture and culture, in comparison to young, spacious Canada. The two places are so different.
A few hours into my walk I had a “lightbulb” moment. I knew instantly that I needed to come back to London, to become more intimate with it, discover more hidden corners, and find myself as well. I would walk to my heart’s content.
Coming back home after my English pilgrimage, I felt the stirrings of motivation to finish writing the book. I started hesitantly, full of trepidation, but the words flowed. I enjoyed the process. I dug around the house and found old journal entries, letters, recorded TV interviews and various iterations of stories, and wove everything together, ghost-writing parts, and including my own commentary in sections.
Five months later, the manuscript was complete. I feel my husband would be very happy and proud. Of course, now I must face everything that comes next, with editing and rewrites, and all that comes in the process of publication and printing. This is all a steep learning curve for me, and it’s possible that some of that learning will happen in London.
I plan returning to London in July, and I hope to stay for six months. My ideal scheme would be a home-exchange, with a writer or artist or retired couple who is keen on escaping bustling city life for a spell. Six months is not an easy prospect for most people, but I know that perfect candidate is out there somewhere.
Victoria’s got a lot going for it: the weather, the scenery, galleries, vineyards, brew-pubs, music festivals, and for writers, there are several clubs and meetup groups. In the fall, Vancouver (a ferry-ride away) holds an international writers’ festival, and in August, on the Sunshine Coast (also accessible by ferry) there is another festival of the written arts. Both are very popular, and I can arrange for accommodation.
Friends remark how peaceful they find this place, before even stepping through the door. My spacious flat is situated in a quiet suburban neighbourhood about 15 minutes by car from downtown. My writing studio faces a beautifully landscaped central couryard. It’s wheelchair accessible, with a private Japanese-style garden. I have a piano if you fancy playing, and a flat-screen TV if you care about such things. Nearby are organic farms, rocky beaches, and a local forested hill perfect for climbing. I am truly excited to offer someone the opportunity to live here for half a year, and as for me— I am happy to live in one room. London’s calling!
Contact Carolyn here if you want to discuss a flat/house exchange: peacewalkers@gmail.com