Looking Back: The Lonely Ones

From November 1964

For several days I had seen her sitting alone on the park bench, a middle-aged woman in a tweed coat, small hat, sensible shoes, with a shopping bag and a plastic raincoat close by her side. On my approach she always lowered her head over her knitting, but on one occasion she glanced up quickly enough for me to remark, “Nice day!”

It took a week of “nice days” to dim the suspicion in her eyes, and when I sat down beside her she stopped knitting, ready to move on if she felt it necessary. After a few weeks our acquaintance ripened to the point when she volunteered a little, a very little information about herself. At no stage did I ask a question; she would have retreated faster than a hermit crab. Her name was Morag. She had worked in a factory, but the others had laughed at her and poured tea into her machine and had done other wicked and spiteful things to her so she left. She lived in a hostel but was not allowed in during the day. She used to sit in a shelter at the far end of the park until a man looked at her and she thought he was up to no good. She didn’t trust men. For supper every night she had a bar of toffee (she let me see it). She liked knitting, and showed me the gloves on her needles, which I could admire in all sincerity for they were being skilfully made.

One cold wet day the bench was empty. I never saw her again. But there were other lonely ones in the park and in the shelters.

You soon recognise the regulars by their purposeful walk to nowhere in particular, their pathetic attempt to make you believe that they are on their way to see their family, to their job; when they sit down it is to admire the flowers or to fill in time before an appointment; they seldom admit that they are lonely.

Being alone, of course, is not the same as being lonely. Everyone has the right to be alone; everyone needs to be alone; most people do not mind being alone – but the alone-ness should be voluntary and not imposed. And the presence of other people is no guarantee against loneliness; a crowd may increase a feeling of isolation.

SOCIAL ISOLATION

Recent research into the subject of loneliness has produced some startling information and statistics. To alleviate such a total of human misery is a colossal undertaking – it would take a national effort backed by all the resources of knowledge, skill and compassion. But what about our own parish?

Loneliness is a virus liable to attack at any age. Even a young child is vulnerable not only to the loneliness arising from the lack of playfellows but to the utter desolation that grips him when his parents quarrel.

Emotions are intensified in our turbulent teens. One is terribly ‘with it’ or terribly lonely. Moods range from boisterous gaiety to brooding silence; sudden confidences alternate with outbursts of “You don’t understand!” There are thoughts and desires that cannot be shared, decisions that must be made by oneself. And if one’s job is far from home, the freedom that seemed so attractive does not compensate for the bouts of homesickness.

With older people the cruellest impact of loneliness usually follows a bereavement. The State nowadays does not let the widow and her children starve, but the State cannot fill the place of a loved companion or father.

The plight of the lonely old person is a reproach to the changing family pattern. The modern way of life tends to conspire against family solidarity – small houses, emigration to distant towns or countries, wider choice of occupation, more ambition and opportunity to “get on” – all these scatter a family. Sooner or later the elderly parents find themselves alone: and then one is left. The silence is intolerable, but the house is home. What will happen when the advancing years bring feebleness or disablement does not bear thinking about. A home is never ‘home’.

BARRIERS

The reasons for loneliness are many. Sometimes it results from a person’s own attitude or temperament – bad temper, a malicious tongue, dishonesty, jealous possessiveness, stubborn pride, inability to get on with others. It takes a superhuman effort to forgive and to keep on forgiving seventy times seven, to act the Good Samaritan to an ungrateful and ungracious old neighbour or relative. We have to remember that Christian power is superhuman. We have to remember how Christ looked with compassion on suffering people, and did something to help them.

It is easy to say, “Lonely? I’m too busy to be lonely. Why don’t they join a Club, go to an evening class, get about more, take up voluntary work, come to the Guild?” Easy, that is, for someone who has never faced the ordeal of making the first advance to strangers, or the unintentional occlusion from a well-knit group, or the embarrassment of backing out of bus-runs and theatre outings because of the expense.

One of the duties of a parish church is the care of all those living within its bounds. Not to know, not to seek out, not to help parishioners is a serious neglect of Christian obligation. Church members should be encouraged to do this seeking out, offering personal friendship with no strings attached. They must be prepared for rebuffs and even rudeness. Busybodies and lady-bountifuls are rightly resented. This is a task requiring infinite tact, patience and humility.

We cannot hope to banish loneliness entirely. We can only hope to show the lonely ones that Christ cares for them, and understands them. He knows what it is to be deserted by friends, racked by pain, misunderstood even by those nearest to Him. No loneliness has ever been like His. In His hands they can lay their burden.

E.B.S

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