The tribe I belong to astonishes me. As a breed we are capable of producing exquisite art and music; capable of great gentleness, touching tenderness and unfailing bravery. I prefer not to dwell on the negative aspects of the mass, not because I am Pollyanna-arish - far from it! But because, if I consider too deeply the awfulness, I risk being subsumed, enveloped, swallowed and digested. I'd like to believe that I am a pessimistic optimist: I know things will go wrong but I hope they don't.
I had learnt to avoid people, despite the fact that I desperately wanted to be accepted; a necessary cog in the machinery, a key component vital to the smooth running of whatever society I happened to be in. But I learned from a very, very early age that nothing was ever quite what it seemed to be. It was safer to be a backroom girl with no expectations, that way you would not be hurt or disappointed. Never wanted to be a star (well that's not entirely true ... I ran away to London when I was 16 with 18s and 6d pocket and intended to be a singer in the style of Janis Joplin). No. I didn't make it.
But what I discovered in London gradually persuaded me to give people a second chance and indeed, absolute confirmation that nothing was ever as it seemed! In general I hated London. A cold, heartless City full of people who either wanted to take advantage of you, or rob you, or worse. But within one short week I began to trust my instincts once more. By the end of my first week I had stopped sleeping in Hyde Park; been rescued by a burglar, was able to identify plain clothed policemen, pimps and prostitutes, gotten myself a grotty room in Westbourne Grove and by day seven, had been employed by a Russian who had an antiques booth in Bond Street. When I look back on that first eighteen months in London I am astonished that I am still here: emotionally and physically. From the upper strata of society I encountered cruel and vicious people and people capable of selfless generosity. From what some would call the dregs of society, I was nurtured and protected and yet also placed in great danger.
Working in Bond Street selling Georgian silver, furniture and watches saw me learning that the oddest people can be the kindest people. It was an education I shall aways be grateful for even though the tale end of my career as an antiques salesgirl saw my first brush with death. I was actually a good salesgirl. Firstly, I was totally committed to the job. So much so that I would buy my clothes for work from Portobello Road. One outfit I adored was an alleged Victorian skirt and a velvet riding jacket. Oh! I wish I had those now!!! Sometimes when I look at Helen Bonham-Carter I see the seventeen year old me, always barefoot and with facial decorations made from paints and sequins with an eclectic dress sense.
The Russian had taken a chance on me because I had been cheeky enough to walk into his shop in Westborne Grove and ask for a job. It was that easy then. He was married to a rather gorgeous blond and had two dogs: one full Alsatian and one cross bred Alsatian. Me and those dogs became such good friends that I would take them out on my days off. They even accompanied me to the Rolling Stones free concert in Hyde Park.
Part of my education at the London School of Life introduced me to the third sex. Having sometimes lived on farms I was no stranger to the concept of reproduction. When Curly the Bull was required to service his herd, I was the one the farmer would dispatch to fetch him. The farmer was afraid of Curly and I was fearless of anything with four legs. What I had never encountered was people who liked to have sex irrespective of gender. I remember being taken to a rather seedy club in Westbourne Grove by a chap: at the front door was this apparition; the person was very tall, clad in a wonderfully revealing dress and sitting with legs apart displaying rather pretty knickers that looked strangely 'full'. A deep voice demanded the entrance fee and I realised that the voice had come from the spreadeagled one. I slowly looked up to the face and saw a heavily made up man. 'Close your mouth dear' the voice said 'In this place you have no idea what might just pop into it'.
I spent the evening in a daze of disbelief. I saw men kissing men, men dressed as women kissing women, women kissing women, women dressed as men dancing sensually with women. Despite my instinctive need to escape I found I could not help but look. Eventually my date realised that I was uncomfortable and took me home. The following day ,as I walked towards the Chinese restaurant for my weekly treat, I bumped into the chap(ess) who had been on the door in the club, this time dressed as a male. 'Alright darling?' he called. 'Anytime you want a drink pop in and see me on the door'. And I did and a friendship of the odd and the slightly lost was formed.
The stall holders in the Antiques Arcade were a very mixed bunch and I sometimes wondered whether they saw me as a mascot, a little match girl , their tame bit of rough. They were generally posh, well off and spoke with cut glass accents whilst I spoke with a mixture of broad Yorkshire/Lincolnshire dialect. I served Peter Noone (he of Herman and the Hermits fame) and showing him a beautiful Georgian dining table I said loudly 'Eeee that's a loverly bit o' wood the-ear' He must have agreed because he bought the table. My booth was at the end of the basement corridor next to the gents and my two immediate neighbours looked after me. They checked whether I had eaten, gave me money and sent me off for my breakfast if I hadn't. They were mother hens to me. One of the chaps would come out of the toilet and smooth down the back of his trousers just like a girl does with her skirt. I was confused and couldn't figure out why he did this. The other chap was less demonstrative in his actions but it seemed the two were lovers! That really confusticated me! Well, for a start, they were both married - to women. Admittedly the wife of one of them looked more like a man (and I later discovered she was an actress with a more than maternal interest in 'young gels').
As someone who always felt outside the glass looking in at the fun and jollity the rest of the world was having, these strange people were not in fact that strange to me. I never judged. I accepted who they were.
This train of thought has been triggered by the kindness of people in my circle, both real and virtual. Random acts of kindness can and do reduce me to tears. Help comes from, astonishingly, unexpected places and seeks no reward. I try to share what I have and sometimes, the only thing of value I do have to share is time.
Do something unexpectedly kind today: do not expect thanks, consider it a bonus if you do, but your random act of kindness may well stay in the mind of a little lost soul for the next forty years - reward enough methinks.
Take care, stay warm ...
Love and Peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx
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