Ray Jackson Remembered
Today, October 25th, 2017, is the 28th anniversary of Ray’s death. 28 years! Where has the time gone? I have no idea! All I know is that the pain and ache is still here. When I think about him, which I do every day, it is as though it happened yesterday. The hurt is still there.
I feel as though I’m Queen Victoria pining over Albert, except I haven’t got a John Brown or an Abdul Karim to help me out. More like Macauley Culkin. “Home Alone”! That’s just the way it is. That is my lot!
I miss him so much – talking to him, his wonderful sense of humour, and the laughter and oh! So very much! So very much! But most of all he was my friend. I trusted him with my life. Never in a million years did I think that I would live this long. On the 13th of November I shall be 88 years old. Loneliness is a terrible thing, but please, dear reader, don’t feel sorry for me. My life is wonderful and really I’m very happy and content, but alone. There is a part of me that is lost and will never come back.
I remember, going back in years, it was either in 1995 or 1996 or even 1997, I’m not really sure of the date because really at that time I was so confused. Ray’s death had hit me so badly that I wasn’t sure of anything anymore or really what was happening. Even though it was nearly 10 years since he had died, it was as though I had an open knife wound in my heart that would not heal. I was forever on the move, all the time traveling between the villa in Fuengirola in Spain and the flat in London. Not working. Just on the move. It was like going from the sublime to the ridiculous every time I left Spain, but it brought me down to earth with a bang every time I was back in London, and all this time Ray, or I should say his ashes in a very unattractive urn, traveled with me. It would be on the mantle place in Fuengirola or on the fire surround in London. It was all somewhat a little macabre. In fact it was very macabre, and many people said so, but I could not let go. I just could not believe that I had lost him forever.
Somehow I had to have him with me at all times and either flying to Spain or driving there, the urn travelled with me and I would talk to it. I think really I was either losing it mentally or I had already lost it! In fact I was always fully expecting the customs to open it thinking I had a stash of marijuana in there.
Whenever I was in London I would meet up with Daphne who was our cleaner when we were living in Barons Keep, and we had always kept in touch whether we were in the States or later in Spain. We would go to a pub in Soho Square and get quietly pissed talking about the old days and when Ray was alive. We spent good times together. Daphne was a spiritualist and when she was cleaning Barons Keep would collect hair from a hairbrush or comb and the odd nail clippings, both Ray’s and mine, and send them off to some crazy lady living in the country who would give her mangled readings about our hair or nails. Ray and I always took the letters with a pinch of salt, but Daphne believed it and it made her happy. She was forever telling me that her husband would die soon. The woman had told her that he hadn’t long to live, and she would be free. It deemed he was a burden to her. In Barons Keep when she was cleaning we always had a coffee together before she started work. When I wasn’t there, Ray would take over, although he wasn’t too keen on it as he used to say, “she talked too much”. On one of my returns to London post Ray, I got a call from Daphne’s daughter-in-law. She told me that she had been trying to telephone me for months, and, to cut a long story short, “Daphne had died”. The first thing I asked was whether her husband was still alive and she told me he was well and very much alive. So much for the clairvoyant who read hair and nails!
Well, I decided to talk to Ray (the urn, that is!). Daphne’s daughter-in-law told me that her ashes had been scattered in the Rose Garden of Remembrance at the Mortlake Crematorium
I went there to see where they had strewn Daphne’s ashes. Daphne’s daughter-in-law had given me complete instructions as to the exact spot, by a rose tree on a certain path, in the Rose Garden. It was such a beautiful day and it was so beautiful there just by the Thames, peaceful and tranquil. Ideal for Ray. So ideal, that I thought that at long last I had found a spot for him
THE CLOISTERS AT THE MORTLAKE CREMATORIUM
Well, I went back to the flat and talked to Ray (the urn, that is). I knew that he must have been as sick as I was with all the travelling backwards and forwards, and I told him that it was time I let him go and that it was quite beautiful where Daphne was and at least he would have company and someone to talk to, even though she might drive him mad now and again.
A ROSE FROM THE ROSE GARDEN
So the deed was done and I had his ashes spread by the rose tree, so he could talk with Daphne and have a wonderful view of the Thames. They kept the urn at the crematorium. Talk about recycling, it wasn’t even theirs. I paid for it when Ray was cremated at Golders Green Crematorium!
So I had put Ray to rest. I wasn’t happy about it, but it had to be done, and he was in a beautiful spot and, God Bless him, he at least had Daphne to keep him company. In my mind I thought that when my time came I could have my ashes spread in the same spot (That all sounds so good and easy. Ha! Ha! Don’t believe it!). On my last visit, I am always taken there by my very good friend Shane Collins
Who is as famous as a Theatrical Agent as he is Theatre Producer and Director. He has received numerous awards for his brilliant productions of Gilbert and Sullivan. Too many for even me to remember. Whenever I am in London I stay with Shane and as I don’t drive any more (too old), he always takes me to the Mortlake Crematorium. I had asked him to spread my ashes in the same place as where Ray was when I pop my clogs. Don’t you believe it! The rose garden with all the paths had gone! In it’s place was a green field – no paths, no rose trees, nothing! With a big sign that said keep off the grass! “Fuck it!”, I said to Shane, “When no-one was watching, go into the middle of the field and chuck my ashes towards the Thames, making sure, of course, that the wind was behind him. I didn’t want him to finish up with a mouth full of Eric Lindsay!
This is a plan of the way the ROSE GARDEN was, and Ray’s ashes where laid between 36R2 and 37R1 up in the top left hand path 36 – 37. Well when I was last there, there was nothing but lawn and a big fucking notice which said.
“KEEP OFF THE LAWN”
Well, sod that for a lark!
Do I believe in euthanasia? YES!
I have seen and read too much of the old people’s care homes, government-run or private. They are all the same, and I wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy. There is a total loss of all dignity and privacy, and it is deffinately not for me.
When the time comes and I’m ready, I would like to be able to control my own destiny and death. The only thing that I would really wish for is to die on the 25th of October, the year doesn’t matter. Then, when and if I am remembered it will be linked with Ray’s name, and the toast will be to the both of us, and we will be together at last.
So rest assured dear reader that for the time being I certainly won’t be popping my clogs this year or even in the near future. It’s just that I have to plan to wait for the 25th of October to come around one year in the future.
Meanwhile I will stay very much alive and happy.