Chapter Eleven

June 1974
George was always an early riser, without alarm clocks and often before the sun was up, no matter how late he went to bed, and he was always alert and ready to dive in to life – a ‘morning person’ as he had warned me. That particular morning early in June, he commented that we seemed to be doing pretty well on the wild carrot seed as a method of birth control.
‘I wasn’t too sure about it,’ he admitted, shaking his hair from his face. ‘I don’t like chemicals either, and I’m not one for abstinence as a method…’ He grinned ruefully. ‘But some day it would be nice to have a kid or so, have that experience.’
I was, I admit, rather consternated. ‘What, like the Wheelers?’
‘Good Lord, no!’ It was worth the joke to see the look on his face, but I knew he was serious. ‘Not six. God, where would we put them?’ He looked about, for dramatic effect. ‘No, and not one, because it would be lonely, so two seems reasonable, don't you think?’

‘Zero population growth?’
‘Joe and Maggie have skewed that already,’ he drawled. I waited some moments before speaking, as I really didn’t want to jump into that before we’d had proper time just with us alone.
‘…When?’ I was hoping he would not say ‘tomorrow.’
He frowned, thinking. ‘Three years? Is that good? We’ll be settled then, really into our life, and will have time with just us.’ His absolute echo of my own concern was stunning as always. ‘Two hearts beating as one,’ really had meaning here. So it was decided anyway. A rather logical method of ‘natural family planning’. Different from the swinging London crowd, launched with the Pill, or the ‘whatever God sends’ of conservatives. He had strong opinions of the matter, as one might expect.

‘It’s irresponsible to populate the world like rabbits,’ he’d said in January. ‘If we are given dominion over the earth, then we should take care of it properly, not use up all its resources. And where do they get the money to rear them, your Irish with their fourteen kids in Belfast?’
‘The dole, mostly,’ I said.
‘Great.’ He reached for the bowl of nuts on my sister’s kitchen table. ‘I’m all for socialism, but what good in being a pariah?’
He would not call Joe and Maggie pariahs, because they looked after their own, but, as he said, ‘I don’t want to work that hard, as hard as they must to feed and clothe and educate all those kids.’ That is what it came down to – it was against our basic ethic.

I went to my first Tuesday night of quilting just after starting summer school. The Zen Centre was off the main road through town, up towards the school; a stone-built square edifice with pine trim. I wondered if James Fischer had anything to do with it, for it resembled his house.
‘He designed it,’ Betsey said, when I asked her inside.
‘Is he a Zen Buddhist?’
She smiled. ‘Something like that.’
I was impressed, for their own home gave no indication of it. ‘Far out.’
‘He likes to keep it low key,’ Betsey said. ‘We used to have a sitting at our house, but it got too big.’

Maggie came in with bags and a big Tupperware container, sunglasses still on her nose. Putting it all down on one of the tables, she looked over the glasses then squealed, breaking the deep silence of the dojo.

‘Claire! Oh babe, you came!’ she hurried over and gave me a hug. ‘I meant to tell you that the two necklaces you brought in were snapped up the first day, by a couple of our toniest women tourists from Palm Springs. More! More! God, why don’t you guys have a phone? I almost wet my pants, I was so excited. I sold them for four hundred dollars.’
I laughed. ‘George doesn’t like telephones. If we can’t run down into town and talk to someone or leave a message on the co-op board it’s too intrusive.’ I winked at Betsey. ‘Four hundred dollars is good! It will pay for our double-glazing.’
‘Jim has those on standing order,’ Betsey said.
Maggie shook her head. ‘You two are too practical.’
‘If we had no need of them, George would give it all to Oxfam,’ I said.
‘Most impractical,’ Betsey said.
‘His father thought so…. What are we doing tonight?’ I asked Maggie.

‘Oh, hang on!’ she said, opening up her Tupperware. ‘Bets,’ she said while rummaging,’ who’s coming tonight?’ Betsey reeled off half a dozen names, stopping on the last one, ‘Anne Burke – no, I heard this afternoon that she was having her baby.’
Maggie looked up. ‘Oh good. I’ll bring them a casserole tomorrow…. This,’ she said to me, pulling out a purple and green square of batik the size of a bath towel, ‘is what we’re working on. It’s for the community centre. It’s a pano of the area, and will go around the wall on the north side. Here’s the photos –‘ from a folder she pulled out a dozen snapshots. Pointing to one of Tahquitz and Suicide Rocks, she said, ‘this one’s up for grabs. I saved it for you – ripped it off from Betsey,’ she grinned ‘because I thought you’d appreciate it. The fabric is all here, do whatever you like with it, but they should all be about this size,’ she thumped on the purple and green batik. It was like no kind of pieced patchwork I had ever seen, but art quilting. Now I knew why they were so hot for my company.

We had a great time, sitting at the tables cluttered with templates and French curves and silk pin holders on little wristbands. Shirley Fozzie the waitress was there, in a tie-dyed shirt, long broomstick skirt and Birkies. I’d have to tell George that she didn’t always wear polyester. She also wore a Wiccan pentacle on a leather lanyard, and dangling beaded earrings. That definitely was not part of the waitress uniform! Somehow, I had missed noticing these at the community meeting. There were pots of Moe’s 24 and zucchini bread and a lot of laughter.

At the end of the night, I had a lift from Betsey to the head of the trail – I wouldn’t take a ride on the logging road.
‘You’ll be okay?’ she asked dubiously, peering into the darkness.
‘Yah, I have a headlamp,’ I smiled, pulling it out of my bag.
She shook her head. ‘ Like Boy Scouts. Any excuse to break out the gear. G’night, Claire.’
‘Good night – oh, we’re seeing you on Thursday?’ We had invited her and James to dinner.
‘Yes. We’ll bring the glassware!’ she laughed.

When I got in, George was sitting on the floor in the common room with his carving tools all about him doing fine work on a recorder by the light of a couple of oil lamps. He looked up at me askance.
'So, how was it? A lot of old ladies with blue hair?'
I laughed. 'If anyone had blue hair it would be Technicolor! No, Shirley was there, in tie-dye and Birkies. Did you know she is a Wiccan?'
'I did not.' He put down the chisel he held. He held out a hand. 'Come sit. I missed you. You were all right coming through the woods?'
'Yes. Betsey wanted to bring me in by the road, but I told her not to – I didn’t want her getting lost in the dark on the way back.... Oh, they're bringing the windows on Thursday.'
'Eh?' He tossed his hair back as I sat, and gave me a kiss. 'Generosity?'
I smiled. 'No, I made four hundred dollars on the necklaces. We can buy them outright.'

He cocked his head. '.... Calculate that?'
'About a hundred and fifty pounds.'
'Good God! Who bought them, the Queen?'
'No, a couple of rich ladies visiting from Palm Springs.'
'Windows and sod roof and workshop!' George murmured. He gave me a hug. 'Well done!'
'I thought so.... It makes me very happy.'
'As it should do.'
' I like being able to contribute to our well-being.'
'You were doing that already, teaching music.'
'But this is a special windfall. And no trust fund! Ellen will be green.'
He looked at me candidly, 'It's all to the balance when you need little.'
'Yes.' I nodded. And yawned. 'Oh my. I'm for bed. Are you coming?'
'I'll be along,' he nodded. I was waiting for you.'
I smiled. It was about half-past ten, early for him. 'You are transparent,' I said, 'Don't ever change.' I stood up regarding him with affection. 'I like your worry.... And when you go off to Suicide Rock with James, I shall sit up worrying. Oh!' I sat down again and pulled my hemp bag over. ' You must see the quilting project I have!' I pulled out the pictures. 'Look at these!' We pored over the climbing routes I had got from Betsey, comparing them to those he had seen on James' OS maps. That wasted a good twenty minutes before I was yawning again. But by then we had worked out where we wanted to climb when summer school was over.

The school bought George's rosewood recorders for a hundred dollars apiece and asked for enough for the whole school, which was fifty students. Suddenly, we were rich, which was rather unexpected. It would take him all summer to make forty-six recorders, but they should be ready by the time regular school commenced in the fall. It was a huge job of work, though. In the end, we donated the money to the town council, and it went to finance the winter snow ploughing, we were told.

James came at the next weekend with Joe and Mike Oldfiled and Dave Morrisey to put in our double-glazed windows, with home-brewed beer in recycled bottles in tow. It was amusing to me to be the only woman – in a long skirt and smock- among a gaggle of men in various stages of dress. I set out food on a makeshift table at James' sawhorses and sat with them as they took a lunch break. George was on my right, his hair tied back, tan lines showing on his naked chest. Joe was on my other side, his sandy hair obscured by a bandana, his sinewy arms exposed in a sleeveless undershirt.
'Hey, George,' Joe said, leaning round me,' tell us about Findhorn. You said you would.' Findhorn, the magical, mystical place. No one there had met anyone who'd actually been there.

He looked up. 'Eh?' His glance wandered from James to Mike to Dave. They all looked game, nodding, so he drew a breath, thought a moment, had some beer, and began,
'I went up there after I did est in London... I'd been in Soho before that, into some really heavy shit. And est had knocked me sideways. I knew I needed a new direction, but didn't know where to look. ' He shook loose hair from his eyes. 'Then my friend –' he looked at me here, nodding, 'Hamish – asked me up for one of the weekend workshops. David had arrived not long before, and there were massive changes afoot.'
I touched his arm, and he squinted at me.

'Oh!'' he smiled. 'David Spangler, I mean. That was early in '72. February.' He smiled again. 'It is bitterly cold in the north of Scotland in February, and Findhorn is on the Moray Firth. My Austin didn't have heat, so I and the dog were bundled up in blankets.' He laughed. 'I had to get out every so often and check for frostbite.' He smiled at James. Our own first visit there had not been much better in terms of the weather, both of us in the red Austin mini, the dog taking up the whole of the tiny back, with just enough room to cram a couple of rucksacks on the floor. George had said to me as we passed Fort William, 'Peter's a bit of all right. Something of a sergeant major – he was in the RAF –he is paternalistic, and likes to run things, and people.... He's also a bit of a womaniser, I hear. That may be gossip, for I've never seen anything to give evidence of it. But he has been married three times, or something three times – I'm not sure if they were all legal.' So I didn't know what to expect of the tall straight white-haired man in green wellies who greeted us and shook our hands strongly.

'I arrived on the Friday night, it was pitch dark at teatime, and I'd got lost coming from Forres.' George was saying, 'Everyone was in the community centre for an orientation meeting, and I felt even more lost and confused than I had in London. There were about 300 people crammed in there and I couldn't see Hamish to save my life. I stood to the side – David was speaking, and I have to say, I fell into his spell –he is a wonderful speaker. He was talking about universal energy, and by the time he was done, I was in tears.... I had found my spiritual home, and a way of being that I deeply longed for, though I hadn't known it, until that moment. The place was so weird and ugly in those days, nasty corrugated caravans, but the people were beautiful and the experience was unforgettable....' He drew a shaking breath. The company was utterly silent. I put my hand on his knee under the makeshift table, smiling with ineffable tenderness.

'Oh, the workshops were great, with a lot of really deep sharing,' he said. But I went for a walk on Saturday afternoon during the break – off into the woods, and encountered a beautiful old branching oak – there are so few in Britain now, and even fewer in Scotland – it was breathtaking.... but it – the spirit of it – spoke to me, like a voice inside my head. It was, I understood, the voice of God. It said,
'"You come to us and ask if we have anything to show you today. Our answer is not to show you anything but to ask that you continually reach and stay in the state of Lightheartedness, which is the password to our Kingdom. There we can show you what needs to be shown at any time – then we can be with you in everyday happenings, when our practical help would be useful. We would have our co-operation a constant. We only operate in the present. We set no store in what has been, and while the folklore of the ages may be about us, we are concerned with what applies now. So when you step out into the day lift your heart and mind to the Light and keep them there and we will show you many pertinent things. Keep relaxed in the Light, and in the moment we will be present."'
He paused, opening his eyes, and did not brush away the falling tears. He looked about at the company.
'I live by those tenets, to the best of my ability. Findhorm gave me a way of life... ' He looked at me and smiled gently. 'And Claire gave me the opportunity.' He kissed my cheek.

There was silence for a long moment.
'Wow,' said Mike.
''Far out,' said Joe.
But James was beaming, with a keen look at George. 'Enlightenment,' he said. George looked up, squinted, and then smiled a little.
'Yeah, I guess so.'
'Why didn't you stay there?' Mike asked. He was small and dark-haired, ran the music shop in town, and was a member of the jam sessions.
George looked at him keenly. 'I had my internship in London, and they told us not to – David said that we must take this way of being out into the world, into our own lives and make it happen.' He paused. 'Then a girl came into my shop one day, and here I am.'

George had told me at Findhorn that he used this relationship with the Divine all the time, and that when I came into the shop in Covent Garden he had been going over the inventory with Roger in the back – and was told 'look up!' When he did he was overwhelmed. Not least when It said, 'This girl is your pathway and your companion. ' And 'coincidences' of our interests and philosophies kept piling up in those twenty minutes of his coffee break. It was not wrong. This is how the 'everyday' magic worked.

I think that some people have the wrong idea about manifestation, they think that abundance means 'having it all' in that way of our parents' post-war generation, only got by extraordinary means – not having to work for it. But it means living in a state of gratitude for the bounty and richness of experience; it means being grateful for the ever-provident Universe facilitating meetings and bringing just what you need when you need it. Actually, the mindset of wanting to 'have it all' comes from a place of fear and greed, and belief in lack. It is in no way positive, which is why, I think, that it has such bad outcomes – debt, war, violence, crime, broken families.

George cleared his throat. 'One of the most important things I learned at Findhorn was how to be genuine, and how not to be an asshole.'
Dave laughed.
'Yes I know, that sounds more like est,' George smiled. ' But that only went so far. I saw what a real ass I was; I knew that I needed to let go of that, that it was a pointless game, but in the day to day, how to do it, without sounding like an automaton? What I learned at Findhorn was how to be ruthlessly honest with myself and self-examining. To really think about what I was about to say, whether it would do harm; think about why I felt what I did, to examine my own motivations. And slowly, a conversation began – ha, sorry Dave!' he laughed again, and they smiled at each other, the 'esties' ' – began with this voice that said that it would teach me, moment to moment, how to live in that love, and have that experience always, rather than as a rare occurrence.' He took a breath. 'There's a game I play in my mind when I'm in a situation where I might otherwise act like a public school twit –' he looked at me here ' and I say, If I were God what would I do now? And immediately, that sense of peace and benignity comes over me.' He shook the hair from his eyes, shrugging. 'Perhaps it's merely Pavlovian, but it works.... I don't think any of you would have liked me a few years back when I first went to London. I was the biggest asshole walking.'

'Why?' said James, cocking his head.
'Oh I was full of myself, scholarships, a "rare talent", was diversely talented, I was a rational atheist, maybe a communist. Anyway I thought I was so much better than other people. I really did. And I let everyone know what I thought about everything, my opinion on it. But I was desperate inside. Something inside said, "You're a fraud". '
There were looks of disbelief; this gentle funny young man, this practical romantic had been such a creep.
'I've never known him that way,' I said.
George shook his head. 'No, thank God. I'm not up on that perch anymore. And no games. What you see is what you get; this is what I am. There's no bullshit, and I don't lie. If I don't like something, I'll say so,' he looked at me, and I smiled. 'But I will own it, and not blame my dislike on the person in front of me. Nobody makes me feel anything, my responses are my own, and if they are negative, then that's my problem to work through. But I do talk about things, and I never did before, growing up or in Soho. Talking about feelings was for nancy boys then,' he smiled. 'So I try to be genuine, my real self to all people in all circumstances, but the godlike version of my real self, not the ratty one.'
Joe was smiling. 'Right on!'
'You should teach a workshop at the Wobbly weekend,' James said. 'The Whole Being. It would be great.'
George looked up keenly. 'I'd like that.'