There But For Fortune Go I
When I sense the isolation imposed on the world during this Covid-19 crisis, I have to reflect on my own bleak childhood in virtual seclusion. However, this time the solitude is by contrast, pure pleasure for me. Of course, I am now an adult, independent and with all the freedom I want within my own home. I can get up when I like, eat what I like, write what I like without censuring. I can even read and study what and when I like. I do my own household chores, which generally does not include ironing twice a week. I somehow survived my first 21 years of adoptive life under a stringent decree of «divide and rule» and I simply didn’t know any better.
For my entire infancy, childhood and adolescence, I didn’t know what it was like to enjoy the leisure and freedom that my peers in school took for granted. I don’t think they ever thought about the luxury, when they were given a bike, or allowed to join non-school activities, go to the cinema or down to the park. I, in stark contrast was banned from all these things in a parentally enforced isolation. Kids were encouraged to go to school by bus or bike, but I walked alone the long way to school and back because that’s what was ordained. The theory was that I should be grateful for her having adopted me and this process shouldn’t cost more than necessary. No extras like bus fares or bikes, even though she was well off. It was a lonely, uneventful life. My work in the household in every spare minute confined me to her domestic custody and I never discovered what it was to play or have a hobby. It’s now academic as to why she obviously despised me so much, but she shunned all females of all ages. Why did she adopt me at all? That’s a mystery that she carried to her grave.
Looking back on the abysmal conditions during the long years leading up to adulthood, I remember clearly wanting to kill myself – it seemed the only way out. In the light of the massive drug problems which prevail with our young people today, I often muse on what would have happened, if I had had access to money, freedom, pills and drugs, as it is today. I am sorry to say, that in the permanent despair of my setting, I would almost certainly have been an eager contender for any dealer. Anything to escape the graft and simulate the courage to defy the system, and break away. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to sink into the swamp of drug-induced oblivion and we know what happens then.
The irony of moving to Ibiza to live and work in the 1960’s escaped me at the time. No other place in Europe was so pulsating with hippies and drugs, but I had been too sheltered and naive to sample the copious offers of narcotics in Ibiza. Nothing had prepared me for a life of independence, freedom, friends and fun that it was my fortune to finally enjoy. I even moved into a hippy camp in the hills during the winter when tourist work dried up, because life without an income was cheaper there. However, I remained unyielding in my personal preference for food and wine, and no drugs. During one season, I worked in a hotel and gave Friday evening concerts for the clients, singing to my cheap old guitar. One of the songs was the Joan Baez song, «There But for Fortune». It went down well with my audience at that time. The truth is, we were north of the island in Portinatx and there was simply nothing else to do when the sun went down. This one song still haunts me today. Life for me could have easily unfolded so differently, but for the Grace of God it didn’t. Thankfully, all is well now in my world – it doesn’t bear contemplating, on what it might have been!
Photo: Pixabay