Marion
Marion Warner1944 - 2019
The great love of my life with whom I had an off/on relationship for more than three decades, died in December 2019 from complications of pneumonia consequential to her Parkinson's.
Although slightly out of focus, this is probably my favourite photograph of Marion taken on a cross channel ferry en route to Paris for the weekend.
I think it was in 1990.
We met when her elder daughter, Angela, was in my class for 2 years at Iver Heath. Marion also managed the till at lunch time in the dining hall. I thought her attractive looking but many of the parents may have been and, although my marriage was falling apart, I had a strong moral compass and never considered "straying". Apparently I had complimented her once in the dining hall on her hair, not flirtatiously but appreciatively.
In 1984, I was leaving the school for a year's sabbatical undertaking an advanced diploma in computers and education.
After school, one of the perks I frequently enjoyed, that was open to all members of staff, was to have a swim in the school's outdoor pool. One afternoon towards the end of my final term at Iver Heath, Marion joined me and let me know any feelings I had for her were reciprocal.
It seemed her marriage was also falling apart. We spent hours in telephone conversations to each other just being a listening ear. That was when we first became aware of a growing telepathy. When we wanted to talk, one of us would give one ring on the phone and, if it was OK to do so, the other would phone back. It reached a point where just thinking of the other prompted the one ring.
Whilst I was on my course, we wrote to each other frequently and I would see her briefly most Mondays when, as part of the course I had long weekends including a practical session complementing the academic input of the course, at the school.
On completion of the course, I took up the role of science advisor in Croydon (having left my marriage). Part of me hoped Marion would move to be with me but she decided on a last ditch effort for her marriage which involved her moving to Spain with her daughters for a trial separation. I was devastated I may not see her again and resorted to phoning the Samaritans who suggested I find someone else. That led me to finding Josie with whom I spent 3½ years and moved with to Hampshire at the culmination of my tenure as advisor in Croydon but she could never be a replacement for Marion.
Josie knew our relationship wasn't ever going to last and used to recognise the times when I was "having a Marion moment". The day Josie told me she was leaving to move in with someone else didn't come as a shock but a phone call that evening did. It was from Marion. Not sure how she had the phone number but after nearly 4 years she had been hesitant about phoning in case I was in a new relationship, she wanted to contact me. The time in Spain (less than a year) hadn't worked out and she was back in England feeling dejected.
To cut a long story short, within a year she had moved into my house at Hill Head.
A few more of my favourite photographs:
From 1990 when she moved to Hill Head
Not sure why she is squatting playfully. It may be she was playing with her cat, Bella, who had moved down with her and was the first of three felines we were to share together.
A couple of photographs from a camping holiday we took at Lake Annecy in France in 1991.
A photograph from a weekend spent in Bristol.
A footpath tunnel leads down beside the Clifton Suspension Bridge emerging hundreds of feet up on the cliff face of the Avon Gorge. Marion mimics fear of the height. (The platform is largely an open mesh ironwork.)
I remember Marion as fun loving and playfully coquettish at times.
We enjoyed going to classical concerts, musical shows, amateur theatre, bicycle outings and weekends away. However, her health was deteriorating. When she had remarked on the tremor she felt in her hand affecting her handwriting, I had suggested it could be Parkinson's, which the neurologist was to confirm later.
Marion relished her own space and enjoyed the independence denied to her previously. When her divorce settlement came through, she bought a bungalow nearby and we met most days for dinner but a couple of years later decided we needed a home together and bought a large 4 bedroom house in Hill Head. However, the timing was unfortunate as both of us hit low times with health. Marion's condition was deteriorating and I was having what some may describe as a breakdown seeing me off work on pay that dropped to 50% and then to zero.
A couple of years later, at Marion's behest, we decided to live separately again. She compared our relationship to that of Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor who had once famously said the secret to their lasting friendship was separate houses.
Marion introduced me to the concept of 'loving someone enough to let them go'. No longer feeling able to plan and enjoy night's out or breaks away, she encouraged me to do these on my own and to find someone else with whom I could do those things. Although I was resistant and wanted no-one else, I eventually realised she might actually be unhappy she could not do those things she thought would make me happy and found Karen, who accepted the situation, though never thinking Marion and I would lose contact a few years later.
(Confiding in me at the funeral, the chairman of the Parkinson's group said in phone calls she'd had with Marion, she'd admitted it was one of the biggest mistakes of her life to send me away.)
For a few years I sought in vain to find out where Marion was. Letters I sent were returned as 'not known at this address'.
Around the first week of December 2019, I thought I felt that telepathic call and told Karen I was worried I didn't know where Marion was or even if she were still alive. Apparently she was in hospital with pneumonia and it was just over a week later I received an email from Madeleine to tell me she had died.
Marion and I had likened ourselves to swans.
My nickname for her was 'Pen' (female swan) which soon became 'Lady Pen' whilst I was her 'Parker'.A modified version of this image was to become my signature to her.
Around 15 January 2020, with Marion's funeral set for 24th, Karen and I were watching a film on Netflix (with subtitles turned on). She had paused it to go and make a cup of tea when my attention was suddenly drawn towards the television screen having imagined seeing a faint wisp of smoke out of the corner of my eye. The screen was blank, having being paused mid scene change, but the subtitle text of the speaker showed the person speaking was [Parker]. (Karen's a spiritualist. She's convinced it was a sign Marion was still with me.)
On 9th February 2020 I had to undergo an MRI scan. As I lay in my metal 'coffin', I wondered if I knew anyone else who had had a similar scan. I knew Marion had and as I compared my prone position with an imagined image of her lying in her box at the funeral. the music started through the headphones - from the carnival or the animals, it was Saint Saëns Le Cygne ("The Swan")!
As a keepsake memorial of Marion, I have this Swarovski crystal swan; identical to one I gave Marion some years ago.
I also cannot get "The Swan" out of my head and the words, "Bitter Sweet". It was whilst dreaming, Annie Haslam's name came to me.
One of the gifts I had given Marion when I first knew her was a tape of the Renaissance album, "Still Life". Annie Haslam was their lead singer and "Bitter Sweet" our favourite track from it. (I also had a copy of the tape and imagined Marion listening to it somewhere whenever I did.)
"Sometimes in dreams you are near to me
Closer than you and I could ever be
Sometimes you smile and I wonder why
Memories of you are always bitter sweet" . . .
"Be sure that you're never lonely
Know that I'm here, should your heart be free
Then we may smile at our memories, together now
Our dreams are more, than bitter sweet"