It is another cold and rainy day here in Achill Island, but my heart bursts warmly. It has come to my attention that my journey through life has been one where I have had the pleasure of meeting so many people who have shaped me.

Many of these meetings happened before we lived life wired to the world. Back then, people looked at each other and chatted to each other in cafés and talked on buses. We planned and chatted about community actions, and we danced in clubs and festivals, and it was easy to listen to people’s stories. Listening to people’s stories was an interest of mine. I much preferred to listen rather than chat, and I was always intrigued by the individual who danced through life to a different drumbeat. I desired to find out more about them. Greta was one of those people who had an alternative worldview. She was a wonderful woman who had a huge impact on me.

This personal biographical story takes place in the bustling city of Glasgow back in the nineties, which now seems a very long time ago indeed.

Greta exuded sophistication, packing elegance into her petite 5’1″ frame. Her hair, chic platinum silver, always looked as though she had stepped straight out from the hairdresser. She had a keen eye for colour, and every piece of clothing was carefully chosen.  She knew the precise scarf for her outfit, and she wore it well.  I believe I discovered the concept of a capsule wardrobe from Greta long before it ever became vogue.  

I first met Greta at church sometime around 1995. Although she was in her seventies and I was in my thirties, we struck up a friendship. Greta was a lively jolt of energy despite her elderly years.  

It was a wishy-washy day, the type of weather that the Glaswegian word ‘dreich’ describes so accurately.  Greta was wearing a midnight blue coat, which I later discovered was Jaeger, and she looked comfortable sitting on her own.  Her confident composure contrasted with the lack within me. I have to admit that when I observed her, I desired a portion of that confidence.  She used her slim fingers to slice a portion of the fruit loaf, then she placed a small nibble in her mouth   

Greta loved the theatre. In her younger days, she had ‘tread the boards ‘mainly in musical theatre at The Pavilion.  She had performed with Scottish stalwarts like Edith MacArthur, Harry Lauder and Jimmy Logan.  I listened in amazement as she recounted stories of Glasgow theatre life.  She loved Glasgow with a passion and told me that she was happy to be in the chorus line of a Scottish theatre rather than secure a bigger role in the West End of London.  

            “I’m blessed with my own house. For me, that’s success”

Greta’s house, modest by today’s standards, had an Art Deco vibe.  She lived in a room and kitchen with a bathroom in a Super Wally Close. A Super Wally Close is an upmarket tenement with ornate ceramic tiles and stained-glass windows, often in the style of Charles Rennie Mackintosh.  She said living in a tenement made her feel safe rather than living alone in a bungalow up in posh Bearsden.

On my first visit to her home, my eyes widened at the number of collectables she had. She curated a collection of Royal Doulton figurines, each carefully displayed on shelves along one of her walls.  Additionally, there was a mahogany display cabinet with various porcelain teapots, jugs, cups and saucers.

From the moment I stepped in, its cosiness gave me a warm welcome.  She invited me to sit down at her table, where she placed a beautifully embroidered tablecloth over it. Then she set the table for tea.

Tea was poured from a teapot into a cup and saucer.  It appeared to me that Greta possessed considerable expertise in bone china, and her joy was sparked by Royal Albert, Old Country Roses, porcelain tableware.  She certainly would not be impressed with tea in a plastic throwaway cup. 

For Greta, tea was a ritual.  Tea led to unhurried moments, conversation, and human connection.  It was easy to converse with Greta, and I was amazed by her extensive knowledge of music, literature and art.   Greta opened a door into the art world, and with faltering baby steps, I entered.     

One of my favourite memories is when Greta and I went to the theatre. I can remember the evening as though it were yesterday. It was an evening when the city streets were dusted with frost, and we had booked no expense spared seats to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat in the Glasgow Pavilion. It had been years since I had been to a live theatre performance.  During my time in secondary school, I went to see The Sash and The Cheviot, the Stag and the Black, Black Oil.  As I write, I realise I must have had some interest in theatre, otherwise I would not have gone to the Citizens Theatre to see the plays. I would have stayed at home, but for some reason, I chose to close the door, and all I can say is ‘More Fool Me’

It was a wonderful evening, a memory that I love to revisit. I made an effort to dress in a style more suitable for an evening at the theatre. I even discarded my flats for a pair of heels.  Greta had said nothing about dress, but I knew Greta would appreciate my making the effort.  I was aware that in Greta’s world, dressing for an evening at the theatre was mandatory. 

The evening was a joy. As soon as we hit the city centre, we went for a meal. It was scrumptious Italian pasta at the popular Dino’s in Sauchiehall Street, which is sadly long gone, and then the joy of walking into the theatre for a couple of hours, being transported into a colourful world.    It was certainly a significant night.   

After the performance, the days passed slowly, and my mood became sombre.  Without any nagging words, Greta had modelled a way of life that I wanted to move towards.

At that time, I lived a life which was very much toxic.  I was loud and coarse, and it must be said I had little self-respect. My choice of relationships was dire, each one causing bone-shattering grief, and ultimately, peace was a stranger to me. Greta modelled the quiet decorum of self-care and self-respect. I was fed up to the back teeth with chaos.

I also became aware of the barbed comments towards Greta, which irritated me.  She was labelled by many as a pretentious snob. However,  I knew the behind-the-scenes Greta.  She certainly wasn’t stuck up at all. She had an old-fashioned elegance, the codes of which were labelled as snobbery in a landscape where being hard was viewed as cool. I became incensed at the foolishness of judging by appearance only.  The city would have been a better place if there were more Gretas. Now with lived experience, I would advocate for a return to some of the old-fashioned codes of behaviour. They made the navigation of life much sweeter. The revelation hit hard, and so began the shattering of the curse of idolising the hard man and hard woman, and tribal monoculture that elbows out softness.

Of course, like everyone else, Greta had her quirks, and that became evident one day when there was a knock at the door.   She moved towards the door, unlocked the security chain, only to be met by a man in a bright purple and clashing green shell suit, which was fashionable at the time. Greta gave an Oscar-winning act of politeness, but beneath the performance mask, I knew she was rather horrified.    

“If that’s fashion, she mouthed, I fear for the future”

It’s been just over thirty years since my friendship with Greta, and it must be said that it was through knowing her that I made the decision to leave. I had been toying with the idea for some time.

I am very fond of Glasgow, and it isn’t out of the realms of possibility that one day I may return. However, way back then, there was a small group of people who I can only recount as toxic and a bad influence.  Moreover, I wanted to walk away from the old way of me, and despite trying to relate as a better person, I found it rather challenging because people still interacted with me through the lens of a chaotic person. Unfortunately, labels stick.

It became evident to me that I had to move away.  I needed a new, fresh canvas to draw a new picture.   And on 1st April, I left Glasgow to practice a different way of doing life.

Until next time.