Open Writing

True friends are like rubies, rich and rare. False friends like autumn leaves, found everywhere.

These words are written in an autograph book I received for my tenth birthday. Written in large and rather wobbly copperplate by a very elderly lady whose name is sadly forgotten.

I liked the way the full of sweeping curves of her handwriting flowed over the page. The writing seemed to indicate the artistic and generous nature of the lady.

For perhaps a year I was a regular visitor at her home and was always made to feel welcome. She shared with me her many beautifully illustrated books. Together we admired the work of great artists, tried our hand at flower arranging and in my mind I danced with Margot Fonteyn as I turned the glossy pages of a large illustrated book of classical ballet.

Her name might be lost but the love of beauty she instilled in me as a young girl lives on. She was my friend.

I would like to tell you about another friendship between two young woman. Young to me, but who are, dare I say it, middle-aged.

A short time ago I received an e-mail that read in part: "It is 2.13am. I have been unable to sleep and decided to write to you. I need someone to talk to.''

My friend Joy is struggling to regain confidence following her mastectomy. Her hair is all gone and even though she jokes about it, she does not like being bald. She finds it hard being out in public where people stare at her.

I spent some time with her yesterday but my brain was out to lunch and I felt dumb. I could not find the right words to say. Joy and I have had some really special times of sharing but yesterday was not good. Anyway, I thought I might give her a gift of love and shave my head to match hers. I will have to check with my employer and if she agrees, I will do it.''

After reading this message I went immediately to the phone and spoke to the sender. 'Please tell me you still have your hair.?''

"No. It is all gone.'' And she laughed as she told me how the hairdresser had refused to let her pay for the haircut when, in an effort to appease his horror of such drastic action, she had explained her reason for wanting her head shaved.

"Joy and I have been shopping for hats. It was fun. Tomorrow is Joy's 40th birthday and we are going to wear kinky dark glasses and no hats to the party. We will be baldies together,'' she told me.

Listening to her infectious laughter I had to smile. A smile that broadened immensely when I received a photograph of two grinning, bald-headed ladies hugging each other. It was signed, The New Eggles.

Such friends are surely as rubies, rich and rare.

I wanted to share this with you because this ruby is my daughter and also my friend. I am very proud to be her mum.