Susan Dodd, Bourton & District u3a
South West Region
NORA
‘Good morning! Do come in, I’m Nora.’ I smile at the rather hesitant-looking chap hovering outside my door.
‘Thank you. Nice to meet you, I’m Stephen. Though I thought NORA was the agency’s name?’ He enquires as we shake hands. I think we’re all gradually returning to BC (before covid) etiquette.
‘We’re both called Nora!’ I explain. ‘Do have a seat, I’ll just make us a cuppa and then we can have a proper chat.’
We spend some time talking about his past life and what he wants from his future. I gradually funnel the questions, drilling down until, between us, we come up with a short list of possible openings.
Then Stephen asks, as many clients do, ‘How did NORA begin? A friend recommended you; he said I’d feel a new chapter of my life was opening after talking to you and, you know what? I really do.’
‘That’s wonderful to hear.’ I reply, ‘I’m happy to tell you all about NORA, my namesake, that is, over another cuppa if you have time?’
‘Please, I’m fascinated.’
When we are settled, with tea and a plate of biscuits, I tell him how my old story ended and NORA was born.
‘About three years ago, a bunch of balloons and a wonky multi-coloured cake confirmed my working life was over. My staff, bless them, had decided to have a ‘bit of a do’ for my retirement. I didn’t really want to go but at 65 I was starting to feel out of step with all the new targets and rules. The job was changing fast and I was struggling to adapt. It was time for a younger manager; I was doing the right thing for the office. Whether it was right for me was less clear.’
‘That sounds a familiar story.’ Stephen nods.
‘Most of my clients recognise that situation. Anyway, at the request of Liam, an enthusiastic if unskilled baker of office cakes, I forced a knife through his psychedelic creation and slopped the resulting mess onto leftover Christmas plates. I vividly remember thinking how the pastel icing looked even worse surrounded by robins and reindeer! Funny what sticks in the mind, isn’t it?’
We laugh and sip our tea; Stephen skilfully dunking a biscuit and managing to keep it whole, a real skill, I think, with rich tea biscuits.
‘We drank some tepid supermarket prosecco to toast my 40 years of service, and to wash down the stodgy cake, then the regional manager delivered his standard leaving speech. At least he got my name right, that was something, he had a habit of calling me Norma, but he left as soon as he could afterwards. I opened my presents, a garden centre voucher, always useful, a very peculiar vase, long since donated to a charity shop and a beautiful bouquet of flowers. But it was the retirement card that really got to me, there were so the many lovely messages from everybody. I’ll always treasure it.’
‘I totally understand, it’s the people we miss really, isn’t it? Even the ones who generally used to drive us mad!’ Stephen agrees.
‘We stood around chatting for a while, making promises of ‘keeping in touch’ which, we all knew, would never be kept, and then it was time to go. I loaded my photos, plants, etc, the usual detritus of a working life, into the boot of my little car, along with the presents and squelchy leftover cake. Finally I gave in my security pass and drove home.’
‘It’s brutal, like going off a cliff edge.’
‘Well my employer’s attempt at some sort of “parachute” was a retirement guide covering: diseases in old age, updating your will and granting power of attorney. I was surprised they hadn’t included details of undertakers! That went straight in the recycling bin!’
We both laugh.
‘I was lucky really; I didn’t have to spend that evening alone. Keith, my next door neighbour, came round for supper; we’re both widows and have a sort of ‘living together apart’ relationship? It works for both of us. But, as I’ve explained to everyone, they won’t be in need of new hats, or, in the children’s’ case, a solicitor to protect their inheritance! Neither of us plans to change our names, or, indeed, our house numbers. So I did have someone to talk to about my last day and Keith’s a good listener. However he, quite sensibly I thought, declined a ‘lump’ of the left over cake. That mushy mess had my sympathies really; my emotions were in such a tangle.
In the morning Keith had to hurry off. He had a round of golf followed, if I remember correctly, by a Rotary Club meeting. You see when he lost his wife he’d coped by becoming “a very busy person”. He still is and it seems to suit him. But, like many, work had become my comfort blanket and I’d just had the covers pulled off.’
‘That’s exactly how I’ve been feeling.’ Stephen sympathises. ‘My children have assured me I won’t be bored, as they have plans for filling up my time with grandparent duty, interspersed with looking after their garden. I love them all dearly and I’ll help sometimes but I need more than just that.’
“I know just what you mean. Keith wanted me to take up golf. My friend Kate wanted me to volunteer at the library, my hairdresser tried to recruit me for the local book circle and my, somewhat bossy, sister-in-law, told me it was my civil duty to become a driver for the hospital. Meanwhile my daughter had tried to enrol me in the u3a, the WI and the local National Trust group, without even asking me! Actually I did, quite recently, join the u3a, I belong to their quiz group and rather enjoy it, but that was my own choice. Back then I was very wary given my sister’s experiences. Within six months of her retiring she was serving on three committees, acting as a school governor and volunteering in a charity shop. She was more stressed than when she was working! Eventually she resigned from everything and the horrible fallout resulted in her moving house to get away from it.”
I pause to sip the last of my tea.
‘So, how could I find a balance of activities that made me feel useful but not overwhelmed? Some ideas I ruled out immediately. I certainly didn’t want to take up golf. Nor did I want to spend my time driving people to medical appointments, just too depressing, although I admire those who do it. And I didn’t want a book group telling me what to read. But of the million and one other possibilities, I just couldn’t decide.
In the end I put off making any decisions, telling myself I deserved a holiday from all commitments. I spent that summer, gardening, reading and visiting friends. In short I got up late, lazed about and enjoyed every minute of it!
But when the autumn came, I got restless; I needed some structure to my days. The cooler air and morning mists reminded me of that old back to school feeling? I felt I’d been dawdling through the final chapter of a novel all summer, not wanting it to end. Now I knew it was time to open a different book. But, and this is a big but, I really wanted someone to talk to, somebody who was knowledgeable but dispassionate. Really somebody who would do what I used to do for clients in the Job Centre, help them decide what really mattered to them and match them with openings. I needed a Retirement Centre, but there wasn’t one.’
‘And thus NORA, the ‘New Openings Retirement Agency’ was born!’ Stephen completes my tale.
‘That’s it, as I tried to solve my dilemma it occurred to me that others might feel the same confusion and I just might be able to help them. I did some initial work on the idea during the winter. Then, when the pandemic struck in the spring, I really threw myself into it. I spent the lockdowns thoroughly researching all sorts of openings for retirees. Community groups, volunteering, part-time work, further education, everything I could think of. I made lots of contacts. Many organisations loved the idea they could place their ‘voluntary vacancies’ with me and I would provide a free matching service. I even managed to source some funding to cover room hire and set up a website and gradually NORA has come to life.’
‘So NORA was the perfect opening for you and now, together, you’re finding the right openings for others?’
‘Exactly!’ I smile.