Insider View - On Retirement

Retirement, what retirement? Lucy Madden contemplates the joys of being the ‘older generation’ in a family business.

“Whose teeth are false?” You may know the ad: two silver-haired models are baring their fangs at the camera as they cycle off, bronzed and glowing, into a sunny future. It’s about as far from the reality of false teeth as I can imagine since a set of dentures are as unmistakable as a ship’s foghorn, and I should know, I look at a pair of them every day.

That false teeth can pass without notice is, I am coming to realise, one of the myths spun around those of advancing years, which is to say that the perception of retirement and the reality inhabit different worlds.

Few of my generation, us of the silvery locks, are able to idle on golf courses, take day trips to the seaside or end the day with a round of bridge. Isn’t this what retirement was supposed to mean? A few golden years before Zimmer frames and stair lifts become the reality? Instead, something rather different is emerging: others have plans for us.

Revisiting a country house hotel the other day we were greeted not as we expected by the usual genial host but by his son, and when we enquired about the father’s whereabouts, we were told he had retired, so it was a little surprising to spot dear old dad, over the course of our visit, not whiling away the hours in a pleasant reverie, but carrying suitcases and sweeping the yard.

When we handed over the reins of our own establishment to the next generation, we had not envisaged a future like this, but sinister little questions by those now in charge are creeping in. “How much help are you prepared to give?” we are asked. “Will you be around most of the summer?” During the years when we ran the show, we employed college students during the busy summer months and these girls deserve tribute for their exemplary enthusiasm, loyalty and hard work. Now that the last batch have graduated and are respectively an accountant, a social worker and a member of the Liverpool Philharmonic, we notice they have not been replaced. Are we to be the replacements? Should we not be told?

When we were growing up in the 1960s, top of the wish list was to leave home as soon as possible. The present generation of young tend not to have this option, so it is that three, even four generations find themselves living under the same roof. This is how we live, and mostly it is delightful, but since we decided not to cash in on the children’s inheritance and invest it in a good retirement home, there are obligations on all sides.

I can see that the spouse and I are to be transmogrified into a kind of rapid response unit, ready at all times to assist in whatever role is required. After all, aren’t we experienced in front-of-house, as chefs, launderers and waiters? And after all, isn’t 60 supposed to be the new 40? Maybe now that genuine employees can’t be afforded, we will have to shape up.

Across the Atlantic retirees appear to be having a better time of it. The annual Yuletide ‘boast post’, although diminished in number, brought us news of the travels of two elderly acquaintances who signed off their travelogue (‘which included ‘bouncing around the Middle East.’) with a Happy New Year from ‘this cute little old couple.’

When not circumnavigating the world, they read novels, monitor their weight, go to the opera and worry about global warning, Their letter, inevitably, progresses to a list of the achievements of their grandchildren; how, for example, Tibor, aged 11, has just finished reading Steve Jobs’ bio. You will get the picture.

But as we here enter into the year with the rubber gloves at the ready and the passports put away for another year, it occurs to me that there is something to be said for the way events are turning out. We may not be able to cycle off happily into the future, we may find ourselves bottle washing, polishing silver or grappling with the laundry, but we are needed. A cute little old couple? Please, anything but that.