Loneliness

My father-in-law, David, said something recently which really struck home. David and his wife, Liz, are presently grieving the death of their dog, Barney and the first thing that talking to them taught me was that it’s all-too easy to underestimate the pain associated with losing a pet, particularly one which has been by its owners’ side for the best part of fifteen years, and seen them through major life changes. They were both incredibly shaken and struggling to deal with their loss. 

However, the thing which David said which really struck me was that losing your dog effectively returns you to the ranks of being a non-person. In an age where people are becoming increasingly suspicious of anyone who smiles at them in the street, or starts randomly talking to them on a bus, having a dog remains one of your only options if you want to make new friends or while away the odd five minutes by engaging in small talk. Human contact facilitated by an animal.

Children, of course, are also great enablers when it comes to strangers talking to each other. People love looking at, and commenting on, babies - and children, just like dogs, will rush off and play with other children without prejudice. Parents often have no option than to chat to the parent of a child their child has discovered!

My friend Philippa, who has both dogs and children, took me on a walk across the park with her extended brood. Sadly, her two dogs routinely snarled at, or ran away from, all the dogs with owners whom we both felt it might be nice to chat to, and almost exclusively bonded with dogs whose owners turned out to be eccentric bores! But, of course, these ever-faithful dogs had done their duty, because it rapidly became clear that we were talking to people who didn’t get a lot of conversation in their lives. Without their dogs, I’m sure their loneliness would have been a great deal more acute. 

I think loneliness is a massive issue in the world at the moment. The more we barricade ourselves into our cyber existences, the more fussy we become about who we actually interact with. People who do online dating end up with almost impossible demands because they can distil their ideal soulmate in the form of a check list. None of this is helpful. 

I remember, as a kid, going shopping with my Mum and our journey being peppered with her saying hello to people. “Who’s that?” I’d ask. “I’m just saying hello” she’d reply. My Grannie, similarly, used to love people-watching. After her mobility was compromised, we’d often leave her sitting on a bench in a park whilst we went for a stroll, knowing fully well that she’d get chatting to someone, or enjoy watching the children playing on the swings. We’d invariably return to find her electrified by the stories she’d accumulated. Nowadays I wonder if she’d be viewed with suspicion, or considered mad. 

In the olden days, of course, older men, were even allowed (and actively encouraged) to seek out the company of children. The great J S Lowry, for example, would regularly go into parks, strike up conversations with kids and offer them sweets. How awful does that sound to our cynical 21st Century ears? But equally, how terrible is it that the modern world requires us to treat this behaviour with suspicion? Young children can gain so much by interacting with older generations. As a teenager, I regularly went into retirement homes simply to talk to people about the First World War. I benefitted enormously by having pen pals who were veterans of the conflict. It led to Brass! 

And yet, as a 44 year old man (for one day more!) the only children I interact with are the children of very close friends. If a child sits opposite me on the tube, I purposely ignore them and I get incredibly uncomfortable if one approaches me or, heaven forbid, makes physical contact in some way.

So, to test David’s theory, I took to the streets of Finchley, willing people to look at me and smile. And, yes, I’m aware that it’s fifty times worse in London than it is in the rest of the UK, but I genuinely couldn’t get anyone to smile back at me. I got a couple of “you’re a crazy person” looks, and I think I might have pulled a seventy year-old man, but broadly speaking, had I been a lonely person hoping for a bit of human kindness, I would have been sorely disappointed. I was a non person.

Of course, if I’d been in a park with a dog or a child, David’s theory would have been bailed out entirely. I did pass a man with a very cute dog and felt that his body language suggested he was both open to, and used to, interaction with strangers.

I have therefore decided to try to be more open to social interaction with strangers. You never know, for a lonely person, or a grieving person, a smile, or a three-minute chat, might make all the difference.