Baby Boomers: Time and Ageing Bodies 9781447318804

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NAOMI WOODSPRING

Time and ageing bodies

BABY BOOMERS Time and ageing bodies Naomi Woodspring

First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Policy Press North America office: University of Bristol Policy Press 1-9 Old Park Hill c/o The University of Chicago Press Bristol 1427 East 60th Street BS2 8BB Chicago, IL 60637, USA UK t: +1 773 702 7700 t: +44 (0)117 954 5940 f: +1 773-702-9756 [email protected] [email protected] www.policypress.co.uk www.press.uchicago.edu © Policy Press 2016 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 978-1-4473-1877-4 hardcover The right of Naomi Woodspring to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of Policy Press. The statements and opinions contained within this publication are solely those of the author and not of the University of Bristol or Policy Press. The University of Bristol and Policy Press disclaim responsibility for any injury to persons or property resulting from any material published in this publication. Policy Press works to counter discrimination on grounds of gender, race, disability, age and sexuality. Cover design by Policy Press Front cover image: istock Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Policy Press uses environmentally responsible print partners

To Cian

Contents Acknowledgements vi one

Introduction: the curiosity of ageing body, time, and identity

1

two

Kaleidoscopic Sixties

13

three

The appearance of time

39

four

On time

53

five

Body and identity

81

six

The past and present converge

105

seven

The future

143

eight

Chiasm, the intersection of time, embodiment, and identity

169

nine

Time will tell

189

Appendix A: On the research Appendix B: Interview questions

197 203

Bibliography 205 Index 217

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Acknowledgements No endeavor is ever possible without the ‘behind the scenes’ support, encouragement, and a willing listening ear. I am deeply grateful to my friends, family, and colleagues who provided me with all that and more. Both the research and this book would not have been possible without Dr Robin Means. He has been unfailing in his support and encouragement. To use an antiquated but marvelous phrase, Robin is a true gentleman and a scholar. My daughter, Phoebe, copy-editor and proofer supreme, and I survived this project, our relationship intact. In between the bookends of death and new life we have argued over words and semi-colons. I am grateful that the life of the mind is an important meeting place for us. Thank you to Sukey Parnell and Marian Connolly for your thoughtful and useful comments. Much appreciation and gratitude to Dr Sue Tate for pouring over some of these chapters with an open, questioning mind, and an unfailing sense of content, context, and critique. Thank you Nick for having the patience of a saint and a willingness to hoover, shop and cook and listen, listen, listen. You are the best.

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ONE

Introduction: the curiosity of ageing body, time, and identity We who are older have enormous freedom to speak out, and equally great responsibility to take the risks that are needed to heal and humanize our sick society. We can try new things and take on entirely new roles. (Kuhn quoted in Dychtwald, 1978/2012) Leave safety behind. Put your body on the line. Stand before the people you fear and speak your mind – even if your voice shakes. When you least expect it, someone may actually listen to what you have to say. Well-aimed slingshots can topple giants. And do your homework. (Kuhn, 1977) As a young American in the Sixties, Maggie Kuhn was one of the few older people on my radar who were labeled as cool. The organization she founded, the Grey Panthers, got its name after one of the Black Panthers, the radical liberation organization, suggested it to Maggie. To me, Maggie seemed mouthy and fearless and she was raising a ruckus. She was shaking up what we used to call, ‘the system,’ and her campaign called for ‘young and old together’ (1972), because our concerns were, in many ways, the same. And then, I forgot about her. She was not one of my heroes, just a cool old woman who ‘got it.’ Fastforward about 40 years and, at the age of 60, I had my first experience of ageism. Upset and angry, I started to read about the experience of ageing and ageism. I remembered Maggie Kuhn and read everything she had written that I could get my hands on. So much of what she had to say and what she stood for holds true today; she was a true visionary. Much of what she campaigned for and was about is relevant today. Some ageist ideas have gone by the wayside, while another new, virulent rhetoric has risen up – that of the ‘selfish generation’ and ‘stolen futures.’ Some of the stereotypes of ageing that Kuhn and the Grey Panthers agitated about have been dispelled. She stated that old people are not ‘wrinkled babies’ and senior care homes are not ‘glorified playpens.’ Longevity, understanding, and exploration of the meaning of old age are central to the postwar generation’s coming

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of age. If those images of wrinkled babies and glorified playpens still exist within pockets of society, this generation will most likely pry those ideas loose. Thanks, Maggie … Here’s to raising a ruckus and doing your homework.

A study of time, body, identity, and ageing At its core, this book is a study of the postwar cohort’s experience of time, body, identity and ageing. In the last 30 years, each of these areas has been explored by sociologists and gerontologists to varying degrees, but not as a unified whole. The interconnections, the entanglement of time, body, and identity, offer another pathway to an understanding of ageing. There is no single and distinct way of describing ageing and what it means to get older, but those questions are on the minds of the postwar generation, the baby boomers. A principal element of this book is their attempts to answer those questions. Many times, ageing is viewed from a monolithic perspective. It is as if all old people are one category and all ageing people are described in a singular account. There is no one story, no single dimension that encompasses this aspect of the human life span. It is true that ageing, the last part of the human life span, is a universal experience but, in reality, it is nuanced and in many ways, there are radical differences between older people depending on a myriad of factors from class to culture to historical period. Time, both the times we live in and time within us, has a significant impact on our conception of ageing bodies and our sense of self. By the same token, this is a permeable process – as we are influenced, so we are also an influence. In these pages the rich interlacing of temporality and embodiment as manifested through old age is examined through the lived experience of the postwar cohort.

Ageing bodies in time For those who are lucky enough to reach old age, there is a commonality in the experience of ageing body. Yet, it is an experience that is also specific to our culture and our time in history. The intention of this book is to explore one small slice of history and culture, the ageing of the baby boomers. This is not to say that this cohort’s experience of ageing is unique, but, instead, it exemplifies the reality of ageing body and identity within a specific span of time. This book could have been written about the parents of the postwar cohort or, in some years’ time, their children. There is much of interest about the Sixties and coming of age at that time that is underlined by changing notions of

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Introduction

our ageing bodies. Investigating ageing body and identity in relationship to time raises some immediate questions. Does the meaning of our lived-in bodies change with history/time? Do our notions of ageing body remain static or do they change? How does time live within us? In what ways does that influence our identities? I found that growing up in the 1950s, under the shadow of the H-bomb, and coming of age in the ‘60s provided an intriguing window into the answers to those, and more, questions. Body, time, and identity have been explored as separate areas by sociologists, anthropologists (with various specialties), and gerontologists. The goal of this book is to enfold those three aspects of our human experience and explore them through the lens of ageing.

Whose old? Throughout the process of my research, participants stated that they did not have reflections of themselves; there were few role models for the sort of ageing that they were now experiencing and anticipated encountering in the future. Perhaps it is difficult to imagine the universality of getting old, the human rendezvous with all the physicality that age brings to our attention. Perhaps, Maggie Kuhn’s statement, ‘Few people know how to be old’ (Kuhn, 1977) still holds true today. I suspect it is a combination of both those things plus much more. One of the aims of this book is to give the reader the feel, the sense, of what it is like for the postwar generation to frame their ageing process at this point in time. For young people or, for that matter, middle-aged people, it is difficult to imagine getting old. The voices of the research participants convey a sense, in surprising and intimate ways, of what ageing feels like. Yet, behind those voices is Kuhn’s statement turned into a question – how to be old? The postwar generation itself seems to have a yearning for reflections that echo their experience. Perhaps that has to do with their strong sense of generation, which is discussed throughout this book and was so evident in the research.

The chapters This book consists of nine chapters, including this introduction. Chapter Two, ‘Kaleidoscopic Sixties,’ is a survey of the Sixties in Britain. As an American hippie who was immersed in that time, for me it was surprising to discover the differences between the US and the UK. The general outlines and some details were the same but the context, events, and meanings were different. There are multiple narratives of this time with conflicting analyses of events. The media

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Baby boomers

has had a heavy hand in crafting the story of the Sixties. The survey in this chapter comes from a variety of sources and is not meant to be definitive. Instead, the story of the Sixties is meant to set a backdrop to the lives of the research participants. In describing the setting of their teenage years, the question is – what is the influence of that time on their lives, their ageing bodies, and identities? My interest is systemic; I am investigating relationships. The Sixties are long gone, yet there continue to be echoes of that time. The Sixties are described from a cultural and historical perspective, creating a context for the lives of the postwar generation. The Sixties have been defined as the ‘long decade’ from 1958 to 1973 (Marwick, 1998). The postwar cohort came of age in the Sixties, and entered full adulthood at the time of the recession and oil crisis. They were bequeathed the National Health Service (NHS) and the Pill, among a raft of other intergenerational gifts. There was an interplay between what was bequeathed and the postwar generation’s own choices and activities in the constructing of the Sixties era. A range of topics are covered, from the new rhythmicity of music and dance to feminism, the Pill, a shift to modern household conveniences, fashion, the Cuban Missile Crisis and Earthrise, among others. Chapter Three, ‘The appearance of time,’ explores the conceptual and theoretical framework that is expanded upon throughout the book. The temporal dimension is central to the lives of human beings, from diurnal cycle to our own internal body time. Living time, whether experienced or representational, is the framework of our lives. In the absence of ceremony and ritual in postmodernity, the temporal dimension provides a meaningful structure to the potential sense of chaos. Much of our meaning making, in relation to time in our lives, is through relational interconnections with friends, family, acquaintances, events, and objects. Timescape, time embedded and time embodied, and the various measures or non-measures of time are discussed in this chapter. Time, like much in this book, is introduced from a multidisciplinary perspective that ranges from sociology to feminist studies, to philosophy. . Chapter Four, ‘On time,’ shifts to the voices of the research participants and investigates the meaning of time as defined by them. I found that there is a perceptual shift in our conception of time when we realize that we have lived more years than we have left to us. This is the meaning of ‘relative time.’ From this vantage point, research participants discuss varied aspects of time. Through the perspective of relative time, both the mundane, or everyday, and exceptional temporal markers take on different meanings. This chapter explores the meaning of chronology, anniversaries, and the continuity or discontinuity of

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Introduction

time. The interpenetration of past, present, and future, as manifested through memory, experience, and action, is investigated. All events are part of the continuity or flow within the temporal dimension, and can pass in a moment or feel like a lifetime. This chapter is a description of temporality from the perspective of those who have experienced the perceptual shift to relative time. Chapter Five, ‘Body and identity,’ is a two-part exploration of the separate topics of body and identity. In the ‘Body’ section, the conceptual, theoretical, and historical approach that underpins my framing of body and embodiment is considered. In many ways, ageing studies, and the social sciences in general, have been served well by the intellectual inheritance of those who have sought to understand body and embodiment. This chapter, like Chapter Two, explores the intellectual inheritance that underpins the book. Although writing and research on body and embodiment is not new, there has been a certain discomfort with addressing the kind of ‘down and dirtiness’ of the subject from the perspective of ageing. This will be explored in the chapter. In the second half of the chapter, ‘Identity,’ social science and neurobiological theories and concepts of identity are investigated. This chapter provides the framework that notions of identity in the research are built upon. The perspective that informs this chapter, like the rest of the book, is a systemic one. Both Jenkins (1996) and Epston and White (1994) have specifically stated systemic perspectives. I have chosen to mix social scientists’ writing about general theories of identity with work that specifically focuses on ageing identity to more fully build the foundation for the intertwining of time, embodiment, and identity. Chapter Six, ‘The past and present converge,’ and the following one are the heart of this book. The voices of interviewees are brought together as the concepts of time and embodiment come to life through their thoughts and descriptions. Chapter Six discusses the influence of embodied time on the ageing postwar cohort. Time, embodiment, culture, and society are at the core of how we constitute ageing. Through the voices of research participants, a collective sense of the postwar cohort’s identity is developed. The interviewees describe the influences of the past and the interrelationship between past and present as they discuss many facets of their changing bodies and shifting perspectives. Some of the themes covered in this chapter are body image, appearance, biological body change, acceptance, generation and body, exercise and fitness, body ownership, and music.In Chapter Seven, ‘The future,’ research participants discuss what is yet to come – their future plans, fears and worries, and imaginings. Their narratives

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and thoughts include dementia, loss, health and vitality, agency and fulfilment, and much more. Longevity and ‘deep time’ have played an instrumental part in the postwar generation’s ability to imagine a possible long and generative future. Becoming, death, and generativity sit together in anticipation of imagined futures. Chapter Eight, ‘Chiasm: the intersection of time, embodiment, and identity,’ defines the chiasm or intersection of body/embodiment, time, and identity as seen through the experience of the postwar cohort. The interrelationships of the past, present, and future imaginings merge to delineate the boundaries of ageing-embodied identity. Although the experience of this generation starkly exemplifies this chiasm, it is not a singular experience. The specificity of the cohort’s defining experiences and the influence of those experiences on their current notions of ageing, and the universality of ageing, are explored. Chapter Nine, ‘Time will tell,’ is the concluding chapter and pulls key messages together from the previous chapters. At the end of the book are two appendices. Appendix A is a key to the research participants. All 30 participants’ voices are heard throughout the book. More information about the participants as well as a short discussion of the interview process is contained in this appendix. The research questions are contained in Appendix B.

Systems thinking I turn now to a brief discussion of the systems thinking. Systems thinking is a discipline for seeing the relationships, patterns, and context that underlie a complex situation or problem. Systems thinking has informed every aspect of the research presented in these pages. Metaphor is essential to understanding systems thinking. Gregory Bateson, one of the founders of this theory and the person who first translated systems to the social sciences, says of metaphor: Yes, metaphor. That’s how the whole fabric of mental interconnections holds together. Metaphor is right at the bottom of being alive. (Quoted in Capra, 1988, p 77) Look at the hand in Figure 1 and consider it as a metaphor for a whole system. Bateson explains that it is not just the fingers that are important, but also the spaces in between, because it is the relationship of the whole system1 (Bateson, 2010). The hand operates not just because it has fingers but because the fingers and the spaces work together to

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Introduction

make a whole. Systems thinking is most concerned with looking at the whole, all the parts, and how those parts work together or influence each other. From a systemic perspective, we are called upon to get curious about relationships, connections, patterns, and context. Systems thinking invites us to change the way we think about things as discrete and separate ideas or concepts. Instead, the question becomes: what is the relationship between those ideas or concepts, the context in which they occur, the pattern that may exist, and the connection between context, pattern, and relationship. Returning to the hand metaphor – without the spaces, there are no fingers just a mass of flesh; fingers and the space in between form a relationship that is essential to the making of a hand, making the hand functional. The hand functions as an important part of our body, and so the context is body. There is much that could be said about pattern, from the evolution of singlecelled beings to sophisticated bodies with hands, to the pattern of neurobiological impulses that allow our hands to function. And so, the hand is inextricably connected to the whole system that is body. The fingers and the spaces between can be used as a metaphor for ideas. Bateson calls this ‘an aggregate of ideas or ecology of ideas’ (Bateson, 1972, p xxiii). Within the map of the hand, what are all the Figure 1

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existing elements? What is their relationship to each other and the whole? Bateson states the question this way, ‘How do ideas interact?’ (1972, p xxiii). Specific to this book, the question is, what is the relationship of body, time, and identity to ageing? This question is at the core of my research. Questions do engender curiosity, and, in this case, I was led to a wide-ranging, interdisciplinary investigation. This investigation led to an understanding of the context of the lives of the postwar cohort and the connectedness of those relationships and patterns as the cohort now enter old age. Central to this notion of interaction is the knowledge of relationships and how ideas interrelate with one another, rather than being a group of discrete facts or ideas. In other words, in the research process that has resulted in this book I was not exploring discrete ideas about ageing body, time, and identity but, instead, investigating the connections, context, relationships, and patterns of those big ideas. Capra calls this ‘a unifying vision’ (2014). What has resulted is the understanding that ageing body, time, and identity are a whole, one thing, not separated bits, and important to our understanding of what it means to be old.

The participants The book draws extensively on research carried out with 30 adults born between 1945 and 1955. The central tenet of my research is best stated by Gumbrium and Holstein. Participants ‘themselves interpret and discern what it is like to grow old and be older in today’s world’ (Gumbrium and Holstein, 2000, p 3). The 30 interviews were completed throughout England. The 10-year span of birth dates, from 1945 to 1955, was chosen because interviewees would have been young enough to have had limited experience as independent beings in the 1950s and old enough to have become relatively independent by the end of the Sixties. I used the commonly accepted years 1958 (the appearance of the Mods) to 1973 (an economic shift with the oil crisis) as the period defined as the ‘Sixties’ (Marwick, 1998). The interview group was diverse in terms of class, ethnicity and race, sexual orientation, and personal experiences and engagement with what is usually thought of as the Sixties experience. This group was also the first cohort to have experienced an entire lifetime with the defining term ‘teenager.’ The term had been in use previously, but it now held specific connotations, as defined first by Madison Avenue advertising (New York City) and then rapidly exported to the UK in the postwar period (Frank, 1997; Heath and Potter, 2005).

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Introduction

It was surprisingly easy to recruit participants. Repeatedly, people stated that they wanted to talk about ageing. Many more people contacted me as potential interviewees than I was able to interview. People were chosen based on their diverse backgrounds and locations. The strong desire on the part of the participants to discuss ageing in intimate terms and to talk about their experiences can be understood as a quest for understanding and meaning. Repeatedly, people wondered about the process of becoming old and what it meant for them. They felt there was something different there than for previous generations. Differences and similarities are discussed throughout this book.

Presentism: the worst of times This brings me to another aim of this book, and that is the exploration of time and ageing within the context of the long reach of time. This does not mean that the book is a history of time, but, rather, it is meant to contextualize ageing body, identity, and the many aspects of temporality within our times or history. What I am arguing here is that there is a constant flow of ideas, events, mythologies, and the like that come to us from the past and influence the present and the future. This brings me to discuss the curious phenomenon of presentism, which has captured the imagination of many within ageing studies and sociology in general. The work of such writers as Beck and Bauman, and the later work of Giddens, has put forward a narrative demarcating this time as postmodern or Modern II. Such terms as liquid modernity, risk society, network society, and consumer society in late modernity set this time apart and claim some unique badness or sickness of society within this period of time. Central to this narrative is a delineation between that which is old and the new. This sharp delineation constructs a juxtaposition not a relationship between what has come before us and where we are now. It is as if there are clear demarcated lines, rather than the constant process of time and, particularly, history. I agree with Savage (2009) in his distrust of those who believe that what is deemed as ‘new’ does not need to be ‘anchored empirically but rather counterposed to an old whose very existence is vouchsafed by its contract to the new’ (Savage, 2009, p 218). Savage here is questioning the basis on which sociologists (and in this case gerontologists) name something new. Inglis shares this concern: ‘They provide pre-packaged, highly simplistic accounts of complex historical forces …’ (2014, p 101). There is a seduction of the new, the novel, that has informed a good deal of writing in the social sciences, in general, and in ageing studies, in particular. In the

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construction of ageing, as seen through the lens of Modern II, some gerontologists and other social scientists offer up the notion that we are living through, uniquely, the worst of times. Historical complexity and nuance are lost and the contemporary condition, and the context of that condition, becomes a ‘caricatured modernity’ (Inglis, 2014, p 104). In caricaturing the present, the past becomes distorted (Savage, 2009; Inglis, 2014). Dividing time into periods is not necessarily in itself a negative process and is a natural outgrowth of time and Western thought. It is when the claims to uniqueness are a featured description, and period is plucked out of history that notions of time, society, and behavior go awry. Periodization is a tool that gives us a window onto understanding our lives, society, and culture, but only if that period is understood within the larger context of the flow of time. At the core of this work is a specific period, the postwar period with an emphasis on the Sixties, but the Sixties do not stand alone in the flow of time. The events of the postwar period were a result of large flows and small eddies in history. Take for example the Sixties sexual revolution or ‘free love.’ In Foucault’s The History of Sexuality (1990), he places the seeds of revolution in the act of sexual repression. In the context of history, the long trajectory of the sexual revolution began with the repression of sexual expression, whether one dates it from the 17th century or earlier from the rise of the Judeo-Christian ethic. The free love movement dates from the 18th century and outspoken feminists like Mary Wollstonecraft. The 18th-century Romantics could be called the first proto-hippies, espousing mind-altering drugs and a free-wheeling life-style. These and many other ideas continued to bubble to the surface throughout history and came together in a very particular way during the postwar period. The Sixties, then, are part of the larger pattern of history that makes it nigh on impossible to say where the real boundaries are in the long view. This is not to say that there is a binary cause and effect that governs events in history/ time. It is an organic process where past, present, and possible futures integrate through human affairs. Time as history is not neutral. It is not a neutral container waiting to be filled by human doings. It is instead a complex stew that includes the human and natural worlds (if the two can, in fact, be separated), past, present, and imagined times, and culture and society. As Wagner states: Modernity is not a permanent revolution, either. Rather, the answers that any given collectivity of human beings – for the sake of brevity, any given society – elaborates to

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Introduction

these questions can be traced back to significant moments in their common history. (2008, p 3) Although this book focuses on the Sixties, in the end I use this period of time as illustrative of time and ageing embodiment, rather than as a singular statement about ageing. In other words, I invite the reader to expand my thesis on the influence and interaction between the postwar generation and the period in which they grew up and came of age to any given time in history. Because of the social rupture that occurred in the Sixties, that time period highlights notions of time and ageing body. The Sixties social rupture may, in the end, be but a very small blip in history – or not. Perhaps some periods are more seminal than others, but it is the long reach of history that will determine the answer to that question. However, at this juncture, history’s judgment falls on the Sixties, and hence the postwar cohort is a useful starting point to explore time, ageing body, and identity. One final word: I have chosen not to use the definite article in conjunction with the word ‘body.’ I found the use of ‘the’ distancing – a linguistic trope that solidified the binary myth of mind and body. Language does have the power to profoundly influence our conception of things. Note 1

I first became aware of the hand metaphor through viewing the film An ecology of mind: A daughter’s view. Later, in private email correspondence the director, Nora Bateson (19 and 20 September 2012), told me that the footage came from Kresge College commencement address, 1979.

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TWO

Kaleidoscopic Sixties This chapter is a story about a moment in time, in history, the Sixties. The baby boomers came of age in the Sixties. It was in the Sixties, the historical, cultural, and political context, that that generation developed their first real taste of independence as teenagers. The chapter explores that context with a sketch of the time, that story. The Sixties was to be an influence on the lives of the postwar generation.

‘My’ Sixties The Sixties has been both demonised and romanticised. The story of that time has been told as a time of change or as a time when nothing much changed. In other words, there is no agreement on the importance of the events of the Sixties. Some writers identify ‘Swinging London,’ affluence, drugs, sex, fashion, and rock and roll as the story of the Sixties. To be sure, that is part of the story, but not the whole of it. Swinging London is not the only story of the Sixties. Notably, the media has had a heavy hand in popularising that story. In his critique of the Sixties Sandbrooke (2007) emphasizes that the young people involved in the events of the day were urban, middle or upper class, and represented a very small minority of the nation’s youth. Although this may well have been the case in Britain, Sandbrooke’s critique does not represent the influence of the ideas that developed during that period, on the lives of the postwar generation. I did interview a small number of people who identified as hippies, mods, or political activists. Throughout my research participants identified the story of the Sixties as an influence on their lives regardless of how and where they were during that time. A few mentioned that they never had been able “to find the party,” and what that meant for them. Some research participants used events of the Sixties as a comparative mirror. Although they may have stated that “I’m not like that,” they then went on to describe aspects of their lives that developed specifically out of events or attitudes of the time. Involvement in the Sixties cannot be defined by any set of activities. What is important is the influence of the ideas and events of the time on young people during that period. Many interviewees related memories of the time that were not the story of Swinging London but, instead, the narrative of their time,

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coming of age in the Sixties. Here, Jack describes the generation, and also a collective sense despite the differences: I was a member of that generation but it wasn’t uniform but we shared, amongst other things, we shared. Patricia self-identifies as being very much a part of the Sixties generation. She says of her experience: And we were all very good and didn’t have drugs [laughter]. None of us tried drugs. Suzanne describes her adolescence as not being involved in the Sixties this way: I mean, I was sort of well behaved as a teenager… I mean, well, we all smoked drugs a bit but, I mean I didn’t go into anything – you know, it was around so one certainly had to try it – not hard drugs – I wasn’t into that – you know, the occasional spliff or something. Nick self-identified as being very involved in the Sixties as a musician. Here he describes his Sixties: And looking back, it’s historically interesting, as well. So, yes it certainly has influenced me. I think in a way it influenced me in that I look at that period now in a nostalgic way, as well, as with affection for friends and people who were around at that time. But also, that looking back as a time, a time of change. Although Paul was clear that he had not been involved in the Sixties, he went on to discuss coming of age during that period: You see, having fun is part of the picture as something that’s on the table, that’s open to you because you’re more open minded. You’re not, you know, narrowly following convention or what you’ve been taught is the way to behave or that sort of stuff – that tended to open up in the Sixties, you know, that sort of life-style. Even if you didn’t become a hippie, for example, you were sort of exposed to it – it was an option, the idea, even if you didn’t want to follow it.

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Kaleidoscopic Sixties

Creating the memory This chapter captures a number of the elements that led to change during the Sixties and beyond, and is a blueprint of one of the currently agreed-upon cultural narratives of the Sixties in the UK. By this, I mean that the story that unfolds in this chapter derives from an amalgam of individuals’ experiences of the time, the collective generational memory, historians’ construction, and the media’s framing of the period. The media has always had a fascination with the Sixties (one of the reasons why the postwar cohort seem so noisy) and has had an influence in shaping the period’s events into a coherent narrative. Time is an important factor in the story of the Sixties. As time passes, events take the shape of cohesive stories. This collective narrative is the product of these factors. To be sure, the media did not create the Sixties narrative, but nonetheless was one factor in shaping the agreed-upon memory of the Sixties, or what we might call the ‘official version.’ During my research the participants told me stories that did not fit this official version, but in reviewing and analyzing their stories and ideas about the time I found common themes or memories. The Sixties was an international phenomenon, including Europe, the Americas, and reaching as far as Japan, Australia, and New Zealand. In India it was confined to a literary and arts movement. Each country had its own primary flavor or focus, influences, and ultimate outcomes through this period. In the US, it was a mix of politics and culture, with politics being the primary emphasis. There was constant crossfertilization and inspiration between the centers of activity – from Mexico City to Paris, to Rome, for example – but between America and Britain, there was a particularly robust intermingling. For Britain, the Sixties was a time of cultural revolution. Society, rather than being dominated by dialectical conflict, was permeated by new ideas. (Marwick, 2005, p 781, emphasis in original) These new ideas did not bubble up out of the ether but were, instead, part of a process of time as manifest through history. Ideas from the Romantic era, the Utopian movements, and the Golden Age Twenties were influential in shaping the Sixties cultural rupture. Of course, the rise of these movements and times can be traced further back in the continuum of time and history. It is not the purpose of this chapter to trace the specific genesis of the ideas and changes that became the

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central focus of the Sixties, but it is important to understand that, like all things, those ideas were embedded in the continuum of time. The subjects covered in this chapter – governmental/institutional changes, the Bomb, Earthrise, technology, Astrofuturism, the Creative Revolution, subcultures, liberation movements, and music – could each be a book in itself. This chapter is designed to give the reader a snapshot of the Sixties, and thus, to place the growing up and coming of age of the postwar generation within a time/era. We always live in time; we cannot escape from it. This picture of a time some 50 years ago represents some of the images and ideas of the day, placing the Sixties generation in a context. Some of the topics described in this chapter – governmental changes, the Bomb, Earthrise, and Astrofuturism, – were not created by the postwar cohort. Instead, they were recipients of these changes and cultural happenings. But in the areas of subcultures, liberation movements, and music, the members of the postwar cohort were direct innovators. These influences, major elements of the cultural rupture, affected everyone, whether they were hippies, protesters, musicians, or went to hear and dance to the music. They also influenced those who sat on the side-lines and watched, or others who tried to ignore the ruckus. This chapter has the title ‘kaleidoscopic’ because a rapidly changing scene or pattern occurred in the Sixties that was rainbow hued; one might call it psychedelic.

The times There is no real agreement as to what precise chronological period defines the Sixties. Among the varied opinions, the years 1958–73 (Marwick, 1998) appear to capture what Donnelly (2005, p 3) calls a ‘totem’ or an entity set apart. The period was initiated by the appearance of the Mods and concludes with the ending of the Viet Nam War (direct US involvement), the oil crisis, and, the most decisive event, an economic recession. Then again, it has to be said that the Sixties was as much a ‘state of mind as a chronological concept’ (Green, 1999, p 6). With the appearance of the Mods, the Victorian era took its final bow (Marwick, 1998; Donnelly, 2005). It was the confluence of events, notions, and the tumultuous moment that made it possible to usher in a new era. Baby boomers, the babies born after the Second World War, created a small demographic bulge in the UK. The Who lead guitarist, Pete Townsend, sums it up in Sixties style, ‘There was a bulge, that was England’s bulge. All the war babies, all the old soldiers coming back

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from the war and screwing until they were blue in the face – this was the result’ (quoted in Szatmary, 1996, p 102). Those baby boomers became teenagers in the Sixties. The term ‘teenager’ did not enter into mass use until 1944 (Savage, 2008). It was coined by sociologist Talcott Parsons as a ‘distinct social, cultural and economic period’ (Savage, 2008, p 453). Again, like so many of the ideas presented in these chapters, it did not develop in a moment, but instead percolated through years of history. There are any number of starting places in the development of the concept of a discrete group called teenagers. For the sake of this book, I start in the 1920s (although we could have gone further back in history) with American psychologist and educator G. Stanley Hall’s pioneering research on adolescence (1904/2012). Toward the end of the Second World War the notion of a youth culture and peer identity was firmly established, as well as the idea of youth’s being included in society. The concept of the teenager spread to Britain through the GIs, popular print media, and advertising. By the end of the war, it was firmly established as both an ideal and a consumer group. The postwar cohort was the first group to grow up with the term “teenager” denoted as peer culture and as a targeted marketing group. Government and the Church Fundamental societal changes were enacted after the Second World War that had been in the making throughout the first half of the 20th century. As a result of the cohesive societal attitudes bred of necessity during the war, social policies were enacted that were based on a more just and equitable society. What is often called the welfare state, as a result of the enhanced role for the state, made changes in health, education, social security, and other areas. These reforms were to have a major impact on the postwar generation. In hindsight, the National Health Service (NHS) was to be at the center of the welfare state, making access to care of the body a right and not a privilege. Britain might not be able to lead the world any longer through her colonial, military, and economic might, but some have argued that it could lead through demonstrating tolerance and even-handedness (Robinson, 2007). Labour MP Roy Jenkins was the central figure in the pursuit of a series of legal changes that liberalized British society (Adonis and Thomas, 2004). In 1959 Jenkins was the principal sponsor of the Obscene Publications Bill. The passing of the 1959 Obscene Publications Act encouraged the publication of D.H. Lawrence’s novel Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which had been banned since its first

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publication in 1928. The publishers were prosecuted under the Act but won, and many forms of censorship ended as a result of this landmark judgment. Following the Labour Party’s victory in the 1964 general election, Harold Wilson appointed Jenkins as Home Secretary. During his period of office further liberalization occurred, namely the abolition of capital punishment, decriminalization of attempted suicide, relaxation of Sunday drinking laws, lowering of the age of majority, reform of the divorce laws, legalization of abortion, and reformation of homosexuality laws (Adonis and Thomas, 2004). Looking back on it, all of this legislation represented a loosening of the state’s control over individual citizens’ bodies. As Jenkins saw things, a ‘permissive society was instead a civilized society’ (Pimlott, 1992, p 486). The Church of England also assumed a more liberal position in some of its attitudes (Green, 1999; Brown, 2011). A new line was drawn between public and private matters of conscience (Robinson, 2007). The boundaries of leisure activities, entertainment, and culture loosened. These changes, along with the children of the demographic bulge becoming teenagers, led to a ‘peculiarly intense’ sense of generational consciousness (Clarke et al, 1976/2006). Nuttall (1968, p 22) called this a ‘break in the cultural fabric … a rupture.’ It was, simply put, a ‘break with the old’ (Clarke et al, 1976/2006). The Bomb and the Cold War For many young people, the old was represented by Britain’s involvement in the nuclear arms race and the Cold War. Whether members of the postwar generation were actively engaged in protest or saw nuclear weapons as a positive deterrent, the Bomb and the Cold War were to have an effect on their sense of the world. Alvah argues: It is possible that growing up with a ubiquitous fear of nuclear war contributed to baby-boomers’ distrust of authority figures and fueled their social, cultural and political activism in the 1960s. (2010, p 27) Dropping the atomic bomb on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was the culmination of the Manhattan Project. Based in Los Alamos, New Mexico, an international group of scientists worked in secrecy to develop the first atomic bomb. It unleashed on the consciousness of humanity the very real possibility of planetary destruction. In Bomb Culture, Jeff Nuttall states:

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Moral values thought to be absolute were now comparative … Society lacked the moral authority with the dropping of the H-bomb. (1968, p 22) The ensuing Cold War, and the reality and rhetoric of Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD), created a constant background hum for the postwar generation. For many children, it was also the first inkling that there was something inherently wrong with the current state of the world. The information they learned in science classes about radiation and nuclear materials contradicted the government’s message of peace and safety. Studies conducted in several Western European countries found that 50% or more (depending on the study) of children stated that they believed a nuclear attack would occur and they would not survive (Doctor, 1988). From its onset ‘the Cold War could not but affect the temper of British public life’ (Kynaston, 2007). The postwar cohort grew up with the looming H-bomb threat and they could not fathom that the world was better off. There was a sense of a ‘brutal stability in Europe’ (Stone, 2013, p 677). British scientists had been included in the wartime Manhattan Project team. After the war, Britain entered the race to acquire atomic weaponry. Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin stated it baldly: ‘We’ve got to have this thing over here whatever it costs … We’ve got to have the bloody Union Jack on top of it’ (quoted in Hogg and Laucht, 2012, p 482). The Atomic Age was launched in Britain. Although there was ambivalence within the Labour Party about the continued development of nuclear weapons, the Wilson government continued to build and test them (Hughes, 2009). From this distance, the events that ensued may seem far away, but they were the stuff of the postwar generation’s childhood preoccupations. Consciousness of the Bomb was ever present. Paul Boyer, of the Daily Express, referred to Hiroshima as ‘a psychic event of unprecedented proportions’ (quoted in Bingham, 2012, p 609). Unlike in the US, where the idea of the atomic bomb had been unleashed on the public, in the UK the government had to sell the Bomb to the public. The Bomb, or what some in the press referred as ‘The Monster,’ was a central social discourse in the 1950s. It appeared not just in the print media, but through all cultural media of the time, from art to film. It is of note that in the postwar period newspaper circulation reached its peak, with over 30 million copies sold per week. Newspapers were at the heart of the discussion and the marketing to the public of the necessity of nuclear armaments (Bingham, 2012). Marketing of the Bomb included visual imagery that displayed photographs of mushroom

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clouds and diagrams of concentric circles showing the potential areas of destruction (Bingham, 2012). Pictorial representation was a regular feature in the news media because it so dramatically demonstrated the power and might of nuclear weapons. Children, even those with limited literacy skills, were able to follow the dialogue. This was at a time when, as compared with today, there was a paucity of images, with newspapers, pamphlets, and billboards being primary sources of visual imagery. As a result, images of mushroom clouds and diagrams of ground-zero vulnerabilities were even more startling, effective, and iconographic than they would be today. The Bomb and the Cold War were, by measures, frightening, mundane, and ubiquitous. Giveaway toys like atomic submarines in packets of cornflakes; screaming headlines like ‘The Family that Feared the Future’ (about parents who had first killed their children and then themselves because of their belief in a nuclear holocaust) and ‘Threat to Children?’ (about milk contamination resulting from a nuclear accident) were part of daily life in Britain’s nuclear culture (Hogg, 2012). British nuclear culture developed in the context of the postwar period, where memories of the Second World War and all the trauma connected with it created a heightened sense of threat, whether real or imagined (Hogg, 2012). In survey interviews with university students and workers, the Daily Express found that there was an ‘overwhelming sense of anxiety, powerlessness, resignation, and a surprisingly unified understanding of nuclear danger’ (Hogg, 2012, p 544). Concern also came from another quarter, the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND). From the late 1950s until the early 1960s, England (and Germany) had the strongest anti-nuclear movement in Europe, even measured by today’s standards. This broad coalition functioned as a social movement (Nehring, 2005). The CND’s rhetoric served to inform the public, in no uncertain terms, of the dangers of nuclear weapons and exemplified resistance and action. Although after 1964 the CND’s numbers declined from their peak, many young people from the postwar cohort would become active in the organization. The Bomb and the Cold War would mark a shift in Western industrial humanity’s relationship to the Earth and its environment. The Cold War made it blatantly clear that humanity could no longer perceive itself as separate from the Earth. The Earth no longer seemed vast; it shrank with the understanding that decisions made by governments regarding nuclear weapons had the potential to destroy people and places thousands of miles away.

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Earthrise There was another event that was to affect humanity’s, and particularly the postwar generation’s, perception of the Earth: Earthrise. In 1968 Frank Borman, an astronaut in the Apollo 8 crew, took the first photographs of Earthrise as seen by human eyes. It was as if humanity had discovered the Earth (Poole, 2008). There was a new focus on the planet, rather than on what was out there in space. In the UK, The Times published the first color pictures in newspaper history in an Earthrise supplement. Borman toured the UK, meeting the Queen and he was a guest of Parliament. At the time, the potency of the Earthrise image was enormous, rivaling that of the mushroom cloud from the Hurricane nuclear test image of October 1952. There was a cooling of the Cold War – a moment of peace and cooperation in a number of areas from science to art. Humanity’s pictorial imagination shifted from a two-dimensional map or a small round three-dimensional globe to a knowing of the whole Earth. With the change in imagination came a new language. ‘Globalisation,’ ‘global humanity,’ ‘global environment,’ and the like were phrases that did not exist prior to Earthrise (Lazier, 2011). The environmental movement, which had begun to coalesce as a result of Rachel Carson’s book, Silent Spring (1962), took off in big way after Earthrise. The language of environmentalism, like the new global speak, was a result of Earthrise, culminating in the notion, ‘Thinking globally, acting locally’ (Poole, 2008; Lazier, 2011). It was, what Jay Winter has called, a utopian moment. Winter states that we have a desire to dream dreams, structures and futures precisely at the moment when those dreams, structures and futures are least likely to be realised. (2006, p 99–100) Like ‘the Bomb’ and MAD, Earthrise signified the Earth as one living organism, all of us living (or dying) on it. Unlike nuclear weapons, Earthrise offered the promise of collective action and peace. Today the image of Earthrise is everywhere, but in the context of 1968, when society was far less saturated with images, Earthrise took on a meaning and significance that would not have been possible today. Space travel was, of course, a technological feat and it is of note the place that technology held in the public imagination.

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Astrofuturism In 1963, then prime minister Harold Wilson declared that his Labour government would ‘stoke the burning white heat of technology.’ His speech excited the nation. The notion that technology could, and would, be used to create a better world, or even provide the means to leave this world for a better one, was part of the discourse of the day. Science fiction literature was not new to Britain, but the Astrofuturists, led by Arthur C. Clarke and ‘New Wave’ writers like Kingsley Amis, had an important influence and place in the Sixties (Kilgore, 2003). Science fiction book sales during this period were the highest in history. Astrofuturism connected hard science to popular imagination through dreams of the possibilities of space travel and life on other planets. Science fiction literature came of age during this era, exerting an influence on how the future was perceived, and shaping the imagination (Bland, 2013). On bookshelves, apocalyptic and utopian visions stood side by side – very much as they did in people’s imaginations. There was something about the Sixties that invited a flourishing of the imagination – an opening to dream of all kinds of possibilities. Media, advertising, and the cultural revolution The postwar industrial West was awash with economic possibilities for many. There was a new affluence, with historically low unemployment and high wages and salaries (Gardiner, 1999; Clarke et al, 2006). The focus changed from production to consumption (Donnelly, 2005). Working-class young people had access to disposable incomes either of their own or through their parents. With the rise of the postwar advertising industry, teenagers became a unique class and an important marketing niche. From this arose the notion that teen culture was essentially homogeneous: young people could be assigned to their own self-contained world (Cohen, 1987). The development of mass media and technology added influence and momentum to the cultural shifts. The impact of the ability to watch the Viet Nam War and images of the iconic music festival, Woodstock, on the nightly television news was inestimable. Young people watched their counterparts protesting the Viet Nam War, nuclear madness, and civil inequities from Rome to London to Mexico City to Berkeley (US), inflaming and inspiring each other. The Beatles came to the US through a popular television program and Bob Dylan similarly crossed over to the UK. Air travel also became more accessible to middle-class

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youth, enhancing a mingling of ideas and cultures. Mass media provided information in the form of words, music, and images to the entire generation, whether they were actively engaged in some aspect of a subculture or not. A sense of cohort experience was, in part, created through the mass media. The term ‘global village’ was coined as the media and travel made the world smaller (Marwick, 1998). In the early Sixties, a British textile magazine, The Ambassador, initiated a new campaign, ‘Creative Britain,’ projecting an image of Swinging London fashion and culture (Tickner, 2012). Other British industry and media followed, packaging and exporting Britain’s cultural revolution, from pop art to science fiction, music, and fashion. Meanwhile, ‘Brits’ were crossing the ocean to work in New York City (NYC) advertising firms, learning from the Creative Revolution that was in process as hard sell shifted to creative, ironic soft sell (Cracknell, 2011; Frank, 1997). There was a good deal of cross-fertilization between NYC and London throughout the Sixties. UK companies opened NYC offices and vice versa, but it was not until the early Seventies that the real Creative Revolution hit London (Curtis, 2002). The new art colleges were turning out graduates full of fresh ideas and looking for work. London ad agencies, ready to make the shift from old-style advertising, were looking for the talent to make it happen. Additionally, with the launch of ITV in 1972, a new market opened, generating a boom (Curtis, 2002). The British Creative Revolution was a driving force, selling populist cultural ideas and images constructed by young people who were part of the counter-culture (Frank, 1997). At the heart of the Creative Revolution were young counter-culture art school graduates selling the cultural revolution. That said, the Sixties was a revolution not just in style but also in substance. There was a social rupture that continues to echo today. This rupture speaks to the broad brush of history; it is the cultural and historical context of a specific place and generation and, most importantly, time. When reading the sweep of this era, it may be easy to forget that these events took place in the context of individual lives. What has been described so far in this chapter are the historical, economic, and cultural conditions of the Sixties. Some analysts point to these conditions as creating style and not substance – empty spectacle (Debord, 2002). This analysis appears to be a surface reading of the era. There was, like any time of change or social rupture, an interaction between the conditions of the day and those who were living within or creating those conditions. There were an infinite number of paths that the postwar cohort could have taken as a group, within the conditions of the times. They chose the path of cultural revolution; ultimately they

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created the social rupture of the Sixties. The path to cultural revolution was paved by affluence and a democratization of consumption. This was in the form not just of new access to consumer goods but also of choice. Embedded in that choice was the double-edged sword of liberation and oppression.

Making the revolution happen Yes, there were Martin Luther King, Timothy Leary, Mick Jagger, Germaine Greer, and Mary Quant, but at the core of the Sixties were the millions of individual young people who participated in a multitude of ways, whether small or with the whole of their beings. This was not history led by their betters but history created by engagement and, in many ways, homemade – crafted and created by those individuals. There is not universal agreement that something significant happened in the Sixties. The Left-center and Right agree with an analysis that these events and changes were of import, but the radical Left never did get revolution on their terms and view the Sixties as empty spectacle. However, through the lens of cultural revolution and an examination of postmodern life, there can be little doubt that something happened. That ‘something’ changed the terms of life in the industrial West and influenced a good part of the rest of the world, for better or worse. Arthur Marwick, in his extensive history, The Sixties, describes the Sixties not as counter-culture and subcultures, but as a large network of subcultures that interacted ‘thus creating a pulsating flux which characterizes the era’ (Marwick, 1998, p 11). Hebdige describes it as the breakdown of consensus in the period following the war … style is the medium levelled against hegemony through subculture. (Hebdige, 1979, p 17) What were the main components of this Sixties revolution? Mods The first reported appearance of the Mod(ern)s was in 1958 (Rawlings, 2000), and they were the first Sixties subculture. Yes, there were the Rockers and the Teddy Boys before them, but it was the Mods who were the first to break away from the grey and drab of the 1950s (Donnelly, 2005). Paul Stagg, one of their founders, put it this way:

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I also think ours was the first generation that hadn’t been obsessed by the war, we were in a way selfish in that respect. It didn’t matter to us at all, I looked at my older brothers and they were all fucking shell-shocked – they knew their place, we didn’t give a shit. (Quoted in Rawlings, 2000, p 50) Started by lower middle-class and working-class young men, the Mods subculture fetishized appearance (Clarke et al, 2006; Hebdige, 1979). Motor scooters, longish bouffant hairstyles, Italian and French cinema-style clothing were how the Mods signified themselves visually. Music was paramount to identity; music was the dividing line as to whether you were or were not Mod. Later, music from some of the important Mod groups would be one of the ‘pulsating strands’ that ran through the generation connecting them. Two songs from The Who became anthems for the cohort. Amphetamines and marijuana were their drugs. It was the liberalization of the education system, leading to the development of art colleges, which formed the core of the early Mods. It is interesting to note that Mod young men were considered ‘sissy’ in their mode and attention to dress, some wearing make-up (McRobbie and Frith, 2000). Original Mod style was also more unisex for girls than past styles had been, including very short hair and slacks. Later, with the rise of boutiques, there was a ‘democratization of fashion’ that had never before been available to working-class females (McRobbie, 2000b). A variety of more affordable clothing specifically designed for a teen market became available during this period. There was a new freedom on the dance floor for young Mod women moving independently of men (Hedbige, 1979). Young Mods of both genders did ‘not just consume but they created themselves’ (Cohen, 1987, p 151). This was the first generation of young working-class women to work and live away from home. Hippies If all things mod came to the US from Britain, the hippie movement in America flew back toward the British shores with a force. Hippies in the UK were, for the most part, from middle-class backgrounds. Their stable childhood and adolescence provided them with fertile ground to challenge and subvert the culture and society, or ‘the system’ as it was often called in counter-culture politics. Some strands of the hippie movement were hostile to politics. There certainly are accounts of this (Webster, 1975; Brake, 1980), but, like the Mods, this was a cultural

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revolution that was inherently political, even if certain members of the subculture did not take an overt political stance. This jibes with Brake’s description of hippies as covering ‘... a vast array of bohemian and student subcultures from politician and militant to mystical and religious’ (1980, p 91). There was a larger proportion of middle-class young women who identified as hippies because of the different gender attitudes between working-class and middle-class females. Many young middle-class women were more independent, living away from home and attending university. They had more disposable income through their families than their working-class counterparts had (McRobbie, 2000b). Many people declared their place within the Sixties cultural rupture, some drifting between ‘head’1 subcultures and activist groups. Hippiedom also had its categories of weekend hippies (working ‘stiffs’ and serious students who donned their gear and went to rock concerts on the weekends), as opposed to those embracing the hippie culture on a full-time basis. Later, this became a dividing line with the advent of communal living and intentional communities or hippie communes. LSD and marijuana were the drugs of choice although later harder drugs were part of the urban scene. At the core, the binding feature of the hippie subcultures was a deep optimism that they could change the straight (mainstream) world. Along with the optimism was a questioning of authority. All that free milk and orange juice and cod-liver oil made us big and strong and glossy-eyed and cocky, and we simply took what was due to us whilst reserving the right to ask questions. (Carter as quoted in Rowbotham, 1997, p 338) Middle-class hippies approached the world with more privilege and media savvy than working-class young people did. They were able to construct a world of alternative or underground culture through print media, visual art, and theatre. Hippies looked to earlier radical notions and integrated them with new subversive ideas on environmentalism, education, social work, psychiatry (anti-psychiatry), and alternative medicine. Straight-world technology and materialism were attacked while subculture entrepreneurs hawked sophisticated light shows, stereo systems, and the accoutrements of hippiedom. As well as Jefferson Airplane’s appeal to ‘feed your head,’ some British subcultures came together as an intellectual core to feed the mind. In 1965, the Dialectics of the Mind conference in London brought together important elements from subcultures on both sides of the Atlantic. The conference

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represented a wide spectrum: theatre, literary pursuits, Black Power luminaries from the US, New Left politics, education progressives, social work radicals, and the anti-psychiatry advocates. The 1965 and 1967 Dialectics of Liberation conferences were, perhaps, the most influential events in the framing of the counterculture political agenda (Marwick, 1998; Robinson, 2006). Included in that political agenda was the notion that play/fun was part of making a revolution. It must be noted that few women were invited to the podium during any of the conferences, and male voices dominated the proceedings, as both speakers and participants. Politics were central to some groups within the hippie subcultures, but it was not traditional Left politics focused on class. It was politics as developed through the values and rhetoric of the counterculture. Some of its members had been active in CND and, when it became clear to them that the government had not, and would not, take notice of them, the youthful protesters were further radicalized (Nuttall, 1968). Taking an ethical stance and organizing in regard to Viet Nam, students’ rights, women’s rights, gay liberation, and environmentalism were some of the ways that hippies identified themselves. Toward the end of the era, the intentional community, or commune movement, gained traction. Communities formed along the lines of aligned interests. There were communes that were primarily political in orientation, while others had a ‘back to the land’ focus or a spiritual one. Many communes were built on nostalgic ideas harking back to earlier utopian movements. In community lay all that was the opposite of alienation, estrangement, rootlessness, loss of attachment, disintegration of the social bond. These were the products of the city, of mass society, technology, industrialism, and the state itself. (Cohen, 1985, p 121) However, Disillusionment set in primarily because the interpersonal problems that living together in groups created were far from liberating. (Robinson, 2007, p 31) Rudies I turn now to the significance of the postwar economy’s need for new sources of labor, which was to lead on to the creation of another

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subgroup, the rude boys or rudies. Starting in the 1950s, postwar Britain saw a glut of jobs. There were more positions available than there were people to fill them, and so began a migration from the West Indies to Britain. For some, it was a return to the ‘Motherland’ (Jones, 1988; Shah, 2006) as migrants came from former and current British colonies. For others, it was a second-best choice, since the US had enacted tight quotas for Afro-Caribbeans. Although Britain wanted such ‘incomers’ to solve the labor shortage, the new immigrants found discrimination on every other level, from housing to leisuretime activities. As a result, immigrants created their own terrain and, for many, life revolved around the black church, the shebeen (house party), and the gambling house, just as it had in their home islands. This isolation was the foundation of a subversive culture and would be a primary element in their struggle in Britain for years to come (Jones, 1988). For the first generation either born in Britain or primarily raised in this country, their parents’ life was not what they wanted. The ‘rudies’ were a homogenization of black youth from all over the West Indies and white working-class youth. Rudies adopted the look of close-cropped hair, high-water (short) loose trousers, suspenders, and a confident ‘jive-ass’ walk with an attitude of strong self-assurance (Hebdige, 1975). Significant numbers of these children of immigrants responded to being the target of discrimination at school by becoming truants and young school leavers, hanging out and carousing with the ‘white negroes’ in their community (Cashmore, 1979; Brake, 1985). Over time, rude boys saw their white counterparts gaining employment, but they were without prospects as the economic engine slowed and employment opportunities declined. The alliance between black and white was short lived; as the rudies became more politicized, their consciousness turned to the racial struggles being enacted in the US and Africa (Cashmore, 1979).

Liberation movements The notion of liberation was in the air. From Freedom Riders civil rights activists from the US to student movement demands in Mexico City and Paris, to women burning their bras in Atlantic City, young people were demanding change, in the form of what they called liberation. Toward the end of this period, identity and liberation became a central issue for women, gay and lesbian people, and black British citizens. At the beginning of the postwar period the term ‘liberation’ was associated with political movements. By the Sixties it

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had come to be identified with notions of self-determination – ‘an opportunity to be the self that every person should be allowed to be’ (Goldie, 2004, p 38). The liberation movements ushered in a new development in the Sixties social rupture. At their core was the notion that the personal is political; personal lives and struggles could not be separated from the political realm. In all three major movements, consciousness-raising groups – exploring the personal and political – were a central focus. Subcultures split again; people broke off to explore new or hidden identities. For some who had been a part of the earlier Sixties groups, it was a time for consideration, a juncture on the road towards action and liberation. For some young people who had not participated in earlier movements, it was an opportunity to explore, declare one’s identity, and participate in liberation struggles. Gay Liberation Front The evolution of a gay/lesbian political identity is most commonly associated with two pivotal events – the 1967 legislation that provided for limited decriminalization of homosexual activity (between men) and the Stonewall riots in New York. However, it was the development of countercultural political notions of liberation, an abandonment of traditional class-based left politics, and a development of ‘gay political subjectivity’ (Robinson, 2006, p 448) that led to the founding of the gay liberation movement. The Gay Liberation Front (GLF), a people’s movement, was founded in London and lasted from 1970 to 1973 (Weeks, 1990). Lesbian women played an important part in its founding and early years. The first Gay Pride parade took place in 1970. Gay liberation was a product of counterculture consciousness – the notion that communities and individuals had a right to self-expression (to ‘do their own thing’) – and a call to stand up to oppression. The failed legislative reforms of 1967 had politicized people, inciting them to call for an end to discrimination. At the heart of the movement and the GLF Manifesto was the slogan ‘No Revolution Without Us. An Army of Lovers Cannot Lose’ (quoted in Robinson, 2007, p 69). The movement was dominated by white middle-class men and, by 1972, many women had fled the organisation to become involved in a range of feminist groups. Some women formed radical lesbian separatist groups, seeking liberation through the construction of single-gender/ sex communities. Gay and lesbian liberation movements have left a profound legacy, in that the meaning of relationships and of sexuality have become part of the social discourse, which has led to a shift in assumptions and attitudes (Herzog, 2006).

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Black British liberation The year 1962 marks the beginning of the Black British liberation movement with the passing of the Commonwealth Immigrants Act. Unlike the GLF mythology of change in a moment rather than developed over time, 1962 was a historical point of demarcation (Kapo, 1981). The Act sharply curtailed immigration from Commonwealth countries, primarily affecting immigrants of color. The 1962 Act was, as Hugh Gaitskell, the leader of the parliamentary opposition, stated, ‘cruel and brutal anti-colour legislation’ (Lester, 1998). With passage of the Act, it became apparent to the black community that White Britain had shifted their attitude from one of ‘racial condescension’ (Kapo, 1981, p 15) to open racism. The groups that comprised the Black British liberation movement covered a wide political spectrum (Mullard, 1973, 1985). Martin Luther King visited the Campaign Against Racial Discrimination (CARD), which was focused on multi-culturalism. The leadership was taken over by white liberals and the organisation was dissolved within three years. At the other end of the spectrum was Obi Benue Egbuna’s United Coloured People’s Association, which espoused militant separatism (Mullard, 1973, 1985). Malcolm X and American Black Panthers, Angela Davis, Stokely Carmichael, and Huey Newton, attended Dialectics of Liberation conferences, assisting in the founding of the British Black Panther movement. The British Black Panther movement differed in focus from the American one in that they were working for community social change rather than political action (Bayley, 2013). It should be noted that the fundamental differences in Black British history led to differences in the liberation movements. Fundamentally the Black British and the Black American experience was different, right from the source. Black Americans were dragged, screaming and kicking, from the shores of Africa to an utterly hostile America, whilst my parents, they bought a ticket on the ‘Windrush’ bound for London! (British Black Panther member Don Lett, quoted in Whitfield, 2013) The kinds of explosive political actions that America saw in the Sixties did not occur in Britain until the Eighties. Yet it was the Sixties social rupture, counterculture politics, and the call for self-determination and Black Pride (Mullard,1973, 1985; Foner, 1977) that initiated the Black British liberation movement.

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Feminism The second wave of the Women’s Liberation Movement (WLM), some say, started in 1963 with the US publication of Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique. The book was immediately popular in the UK. Discontent was in the air. The next, and uniquely British event in the UK second-wave feminist movement was the sewing machinists’ strike at Ford’s Dagenham plant in 1968. The women demanded a reclassification of their job status and equal pay commensurate with that status (Carter, 1988; Rowbotham, 1997). The women of Dagenham did not call themselves feminists but their actions and the framing of the strike were, by definition, part of the liberation movement. By 1970, the women’s movement participants were a diverse group demanding an end to discrimination. Women committed to a New Left socialist perspective were at the core of the movement. Although most women adhered to a socialist agenda, the countercultural notion of small groups creating closeness/sisterhood, so that each woman was free to express herself (Rowbotham, 2013), was a core principle of the movement. The movement’s structure was always decentralized and there was a tension within the movement from its very roots. As with the GLF, satisfactorily mixing the personal and political had its pitfalls (Robinson, 2006; Rowbotham, 2013). Feminist politics can become preoccupied with living a liberation life rather than becoming a movement for the liberation of women. (Rowbotham, 2013, p 142) Color and class tensions caused a splintering, leaving primarily middleclass white women to take the movement forward, founding the National Women’s Coordinating Committee. Despite the tensions and splits, second-wave feminism has been carried forward by the next generation, a third wave, and it does not look like it is going away anytime soon. The WLM had, and continues to have, an impact on the lives of women and girls across the class spectrum.

The Pill – two generations of women The Pill is widely associated with the women’s liberation movement and free love or the Sexual Revolution – the latter contested by some feminist academics. The new oral contraceptives, commonly called the Pill, made one of the most startling changes for wide swathes of humanity: the uncoupling of procreation from sexuality (Elias, 1985;

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Feher, 1989). The Pill allowed women ‘to control their fertility as and when they see fit’ (Cook, 2005). It also shifted the central focus of birth control from men to women (Cook, 2005; Herzog, 2006; Szreter and Fisher, 2010; Brown, 2011). Prior to the Pill, the preferred forms of contraception, for British couples, were abstinence and withdrawal (Collins, 2003). The story of the Pill is one of how oral contraceptives became routinely available and is itself a story of liberation, enacted by both the postwar generation and their mothers. Originally, the Pill was available only in family planning clinics, which tended to be located in urban areas. Women wanted this new form of contraception and went to their GPs asking for it. Many GPs saw birth control as trivial and outside their purview and refused to prescribe the contraceptive. For the first time, women, specifically mothers of the postwar generation, delivered ultimatums to their GPs in large numbers: either offer family planning or they would go to another GP who did provide it (Cook, 2006). As a result, the NHS began to offer comprehensive family planning services across the country. From 1970 onwards, women of all classes and statuses were using the Pill. The Pill shifted the boundaries of respectability – respectability as ‘good girls’ or ‘bad girls’ (Brown, 2006). Brown argues that this loss of investment in respectability, along with all the liberalizations that loosened state control of body, had a detrimental effect on Christian Britain: ‘Religion had simply become irrelevant’ (Brown, 2006, p 153). The Pill removed the fear of pregnancy and led to increasing levels of sexual activity by single women. There was a shift in attitudes towards religion and Christian church attendance fell, which was ‘a significant instigator of the religious crisis’ during the Sixties (Brown, 2006, p 189).

Music No discussion of the Sixties would be complete without the music. For many people within the postwar generation, it was the music that signified the Sixties. Rock’s superiority over previous popular musical forms is simply the result of its existence in a period of expanded and heightened social, political and psychological awareness, a period which made possible and necessary a hip and relevant popular music. (Levin, 1971, p 131) The common experience of music bound the generation together (Frith, 1996). No matter what the subculture or opposition to it all, the

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music pulsed, influencing anyone within hearing range, from publicschool kids to working-class office boys. Music became a ‘metaphor for identity’ and an ‘organizing principle’ for the subgroups (Frith, 1996). It spoke to a generation in a language that literally moved body and mind. From Muddy Waters and the Rolling Stones to The Who and the Beatles to Bob Dylan and Bob Marley and everything in between – and there was a lot in between – music moved from a leisure-time activity to enacting cultural politics (McRobbie and Frith, 2000). The lyrics described the times, sometimes leading, sometimes following, in framing attitudes of the day. The Bomb, war, and racial divisions were all represented in rock lyrics. Making and listening to music are deeply ‘body matters’ (Firth, 1996). This bodily connection to music was of deep significance in the formation of the Sixties social rupture. There was a new abandonment that was manifest through dance – moving to the beat, rhythmically moving with one’s whole body. The music of the Sixties has the enduring power to evoke emotional responses and keep alive identities as it continues to be used in film scores, advertising, and played again and again over the radio. Ask almost anyone who came of age during the Sixties where they were the first time they heard any number of the important songs of the day, and they will be able to answer in detail. Schwartz (2007) argues that it started with the Blues – American GIs selling 45s (records) to working-class boys. Singers like Sonny Terry, Bo Diddley, and Fats Domino captured the frustration and lack of possibilities that many working-class young people felt in the late 1950s. Young women felt these too, and singers like Bessie Smith and Ella Fitzgerald spoke to their sense of marginalization. The first British incarnation of the music was skiffle, and that morphed into British R & B. It was a British sound, since white young men were interpreting music that was very much a part of the African American cultural experience. The deep rhythmic back beat with repeated syncopated motifs was replicated (Baily, 1994) – a rhythmic flexibility, since, as James Brown said, ‘Black music’s basically rhythmic, it’s all about Africa and dancing’ (Hall et al, 2006, p 59). Music changed rhythmically to reflect African beats and this introduced a new way of moving. Cream drummer, Ginger Baker, called it a ‘change in time’ (Bulger, 2012). Dancers separated, moving to the beat but without touching each other. The strong irrepressible beat freed the body to move. At first the music centered in the London club scene, but it quickly spread out to other urban centers. Live music was paramount because the BBC would not play it. Radio Luxembourg had been around since the 1950s, but could be heard

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in Britain only in the evenings, and even then the signal could be weak in some locations and, in many cases, shortened versions of the songs were broadcast (Crisell, 1997). In 1964, the pirate radio stations arrived; Radio Caroline was the first. Just one year later it had an estimated audience of between 10 and 15 million listeners. In 1967 the newly elected Conservative government was determined to shut down the pirates, which, eventually, it did. The response of the BBC was to launch Radio 1 as a new dedicated music channel with the result that ‘British sound broadcasting would never be the same again’ (Crisell, 1997). Throughout this time, the music grew with cross-fertilization between the US and the UK, but something else was happening: great advances in recording technology. ‘I’m working on music to be completely, utterly a magic science,’ Jimi Hendrix declared (quoted in Clarke, 1983, p 195). The technology of sound recording was evolving exponentially. Rock music had become a ‘recorded art’ (Clarke, 1983). The recording revolution allowed for new forms and new ideas to come into the musical lexicon. Beginning with the Beatles’ Rubber Soul album, some popular music shifted away from a dance beat to an aural experience, allowing for major innovation (O’Grady, 1979; Whiteley, 1992). A short time before, Bob Dylan’s music had moved from classic folk to music that could be better described as prophetic poetry (Galenson, 2009). ‘Bob freed your mind the way Elvis freed your body,’ as Bruce Springsteen put it in a speech at the Rock-and-Roll Hall of Fame Induction Dinner in 1988. Some music critics say that, from the beginning, Cream’s music was an aural and lyrical exemplification of the psychedelic drug experience (Whiteley, 1992). Others credit the Beatles and ‘Strawberry Fields’ with that honor (Daniels, 2006). The Beatles’ Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was the first concept album and took progressive rock and psychedelic rock to what some saw as a revolutionary place. Cream, Jimi Hendrix Experience, Jefferson Airplane, and the Rolling Stones fed the heads of the counterculture with coded lyrical references to drugs, but it was not just the music of a subgroup; it was the music of a generation (Whiteley, 1992). It was music to make your body move, music to make your mind dance, music that called out the concerns and issues of the times, music that was sexual and sensual, and music that said, with love, it would all be okay.

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The naysayers Not everyone thought the changes expressed during this time were good for society. Journalist Malcolm Muggeridge likened the Sixties to the last days of the Roman Empire. He and Mary Whitehouse were strong voices representing concerns that British morality was being undermined. Whitehouse’s concerns were primarily centered on television, although her focus became more generalized toward the end of the Sixties. She called the popular music show Top of the Pops ‘disgusting filth’ (Christopher, 1999). There were calls for a return to traditional values as social critics openly debated about drugs, sexuality, abortion, censorship, and the liberation movements. The debates were reported throughout the media and were very much a part of the social discourse of the day. On that note, I end my brief window into the Sixties.

Conclusion So much happened so fast. The conditions were created by a commitment to a more equitable society by some in government, positive economic conditions, and technological innovations both terrifying (the Bomb) and wondrous (Earthrise). The postwar generation took those conditions and made the era their own, initiating a cultural revolution that played out throughout British society. Technology, whether the medical innovation of the Pill or the new capabilities in the recording studio, played a major role in the social rupture. Style and identity produced a bubble around the postwar generation that was named the generation gap. Gap? Probably not. This media-created phrase did not reflect reality. Music and dance were the common denominators of a cohort that saw themselves as an ‘us,’ a generation. Initially, the sense of teenagerhood was marketed to them; but through the changes, the counterculture/subcultures, liberation movements, and the commonly held experiences of the Cold War and Earthrise, this group made their own generational definitions. It was within the context of the Sixties that the postwar generation came of age, and the social rupture that occurred during that era influenced not only the postwar cohort but the culture at large. Their experience, the times they were born into, the changes that were taking place at the onset of their adolescence, place them within a specific historical moment in time. The same could be said of any of us, about any time, but there is something about the Sixties that now looms large in the cultural imagination – perhaps because there was a baby boom

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during the postwar period, albeit small, and baby-boomers made, and continue to make, lots of noise. Certainly the Second World War, the context of their parents’ youth, had a deeply rooted effect on their parents’ life perspectives. Living through the battlefield experience, air raids, and, possibly, relocation from urban to rural areas, away from family and friends, were all experiences that loomed large in the childhood and adolescence of the parents of the postwar generation. It is little wonder that stability and home were intensely important values for that generation and were espoused through all forms of media in the Fifties (Langhamer, 2014). My point here is that the context of time is important. Historical context and the times we are born into inevitably shape our experiences of life and the meaning we attribute to those experiences – perhaps some times more than others. Historical events can act as signifiers or symbolic ideas that create meaning. For the postwar generation, it is not the historical facts of the Sixties that resonate, but historical memory. Throughout this chapter, the words ‘time’ and ‘the times’ have been used. History, generation, and memory are all part of the temporal dimension. The next chapter will explore time. Note 1

This term refers to hippie drug use – primarily marijuana and psychedelics – and was used as an alternative term for hippie.

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The appearance of time The word ‘generation’ is anchored within the notion of time. The idea of generation exists within our understanding of the temporal dimension. In the last chapter we saw the historical context of the postwar generation’s youth. Generation and history are but two aspects of a vast network of notions of time that are embedded within our world. On the surface, time appears to be straightforward. We count the number of years we’ve been alive annually; the alarm clock goes off and we know a new day starts, the weather is warmer and a new spring season has announced itself, and our stomachs grumble and we know it is lunchtime. We use duration or longevity, diurnal time, clock time, and seasonal time to measure and to inform ourselves about our world. This chapter examines ideas about time and expands upon the ways we consider or define time to include more complexity than the everyday use of time. After all, if ageing is about anything, it is about the movement of time in our lives, both from the perspective of our bodies and the world we live in. For most of us, time is a distant concept. Yes, we are caught in the schedules imposed by industrial time.1 We wear watches, make appointments, notice it is getting dark or feel relieved on a weekend day away from the responsibilities of work, but time seems to just be. Yet, time talk is ingrained in our everyday thought and speech. One of my interviewees, John, made a statement containing a number of references to time: I suppose we were all conscious, our generation, of being children of the Sixties, which was clearly, with hindsight, a period of social revolution. I don’t think we realized it at the time, that as a schoolchild in the early to mid-Sixties one was not aware of anything but a little bit of the Carnaby Street fashion changes, pop music era. One was not aware of the social changes that were happening in Britain and certainly now it’s appearing to be a radical period in British social development. Several aspects of temporality – generation, hindsight, period and era, childhood, and development – are referenced in this quote. This statement comes from John’s memory, another kind of time that looks

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back to a time that lives within us. Generation as time has already been discussed and we will return to it later in this chapter. Hindsight looks back from the now moment and sees the past through the lens of the now. Period or era, for the sake of convenience, divides time into segments, even though time is a continuous flow. Childhood is a time in our lives of human development, and a part of the continuum that makes up a single life span. John’s reference to “British social development” is interesting in that development implies the next stage of something, like moving from childhood to adulthood – an unfolding. Time is critical to development. John’s statement references the Sixties, but beyond a simple reckoning of a time in history there are other layers of time. Bateson called time ‘unifying,’ both as a construction and in the natural world. Everything we do or everything we are happens within the context of time or, as Bateson stated, ‘In the real world there is always time’ (1972, p 281). This is obvious but we think little about it. Considering time as a unifier, the question arises: in what ways do the many dimensions of temporality affect our notions or construction of ageing? This question leads us into the chapter’s exploration of time. It seems that in every age, the philosophers of the day have left us their thoughts on the subject of time. There is a vast compendium of material written about time from wide-ranging disciplines. This chapter, in the background, is informed by some of those thinkers, Nietzsche, Merleau-Ponty, Elias, Luhmann, and others. In the foreground, I have used the writing of social scientists whose work has directly influenced the themes and ideas in this book. Most especially, I am indebted to the work of Barbara Adam who translated and applied the conception of time to sociology in new and systemic ways.

Barbara Adam The unity of time is at the heart of Adam’s writing. She first outlined time as a whole perspective in Time and Social Theory (1990). She is not the first social scientist to have theorized time in this way. Elias (1992), Giddens (1987), and Luhmann (1976) have all written work maintaining this perspective. The difference in Adam’s work is that she moves from describing time to creating a body of knowledge about time. Her concept of time as a landscape allows us to perceive time in its entirety and analyze its aspects, while maintaining a sense of wholeness. Her term ‘timescape’ provides a metaphor for perceiving the unity of time. First, it is a place, a space, an environment with no fixed boundaries, like a landscape. The fluidity of timescape is

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like walking through landscape. As we walk we may notice different contours, depending on whether we encounter hills or a valley or flatland. As each feature of the land catches our attention, this is what is foremost in our mind. It is the same with timescape: we may focus on the past or memories, or look to the future, or move our bodies to the rhythm of a song. In this book, specific aspects of time are explored, like chronology, or rhythm or ageing – each comes into focus, into the foreground, yet they are all part of the whole, the timescape. Rhythm and duration Adam’s work invites social scientists to review old assumptions about the divide between human time and the natural world (1990, 1995, 2004a). For Adam, time is a binding force within all nature – which includes humans. In the social sciences time is usually addressed only as social time, but Adam’s work makes a significant shift away from this narrow view. The study of time, in the social sciences, has been defined within the context of human life focused on activities, events, and behaviors that are unique to humans. Adam does not deny the importance of social time; after all, she is first and foremost a sociologist. Her work focuses on the knowledge of larger, universal principles of natural time. She invites us to investigate humans from the principles of natural time rather than separating humanity from the natural world. The starting point of this investigation is rhythm. It is through rhythm that we can begin to perceive that the world lives in time. From the radiance of the sun, to the rotation of the planet, and the relationship between the moon and our Earth, there is a primal rhythm. This measured flow of time events governs our social processes, along with the processes of all life on Earth. Whether it is the time of year for the football season or the time of day to wake up and go to work, these activities happen within the context of the planet’s rhythms. Adam’s work critiques social scientists who have described natural rhythms through cycles of sameness – plant seeds in the spring, growth in the summer, harvest in the autumn, and winter takes the earth into a fallow phase, sequentially, year after year. Instead, she looks to life sciences research and argues that there is not sameness but a profound complexity in all of life, from single-cell organisms to humans, from the rhythm of fast chemical processes to the slow geological changes below the Earth’s surface. Consider the rhythm of the garden. Seeds, plants, and fruits all contain within them the past, present, and future. Although we think of seeds as the beginning of a process, they are a product of the fruit. In this way there is a relationship between past,

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present, and future that interpenetrates. A single plant is embedded within an environment that experiences the rhythm of sun and night, weather patterns, and seasonal change. There is a variety within these rhythms. They are not a steady, metronomic movement. The variation in time of rhythm, growth, or duration is context dependent: for example, the length of time it takes our plants in the garden to grow is dependent on the timing of weather patterns. The above examples come from the natural world. Adam argues that human life cannot be separated from the organized field that we call the natural world. Both physically and psychologically, our health and well-being spring from the same rhythms that nurture the plants in the garden. These rhythms, growth, and duration are part of the context of our existence in the world. Adam’s work addresses not just the external world of time but also the internal world, or, how time lives within us. Our body clocks are attuned to time. Each system in our body has a different rhythm. Oscillating together as a whole, these systems are connected to the seasonal and diurnal cycles, the lunar rhythms, and growth and decay, to name a few aspects of time that interconnect with our living world2. Our body clocks are also attuned to time through sequence (morning, afternoon, evening), duration, and intervals. These are just a few examples of how we live in time and how time lives in our bodies, literally at a bone deep level. Humans, along with the rest of the living world are fundamentally dynamic beings. This dynamic vitality of flux, constant change, is in part due to a profound interconnection to time that must inform a primary understanding of our human world. Return, past, present, future I will now focus briefly on the notion of return. Adam is clear that, within the living world, there is no possibility of return to an identical place/state. Travel through time, whether it is seconds or years, is in itself constitutive of change. Adam states that each act contains the ‘seeds of change’ (1995, p 9). The present always includes the past and this inclusivity colors all succeeding moments of time. It could be said that cycles are not entirely circular, for time cannot be reversed. For example, take Mary Whitehouse and Malcolm Muggeridge (see p 35). Their vehement calls for a return to a time before the social rupture of the Sixties, if heeded, would never have produced a replication of an earlier moment. All the changes that had occurred during the Sixties could not have been erased and would have been included in the present/now in that return. Likewise, the influence of the liberation

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movements caused new societal developments which impact the present (such as gay marriage) and the future. It is not possible to erase the past and return to the exact same moment in the present. Our life span, or the birth–death arc, is central to the structure and organization of human life. In human life, our consciousness of death is the most obvious way that we come to know the boundaries of time. Awareness of finitude, in combination with our need to construct some sense of continuance, or something of permanence in our lives, is an integral aspect of life and time. In the social sciences, Adam (1990) explains, the birth–death horizon is usually understood to be sequential and linear. She goes on to say that as a result this limits the definition of the life span within the social sciences. Instead, Adam argues that all ‘habits and traditions, goals, wishes and intentions, values and meanings, even pragmatic action are only possible’ through continuity and the interpenetration of past, present, and future (2004b, p 4). All pasts and futures are continually lived out in the present. Within the temporal dimension, aspects of anticipation, imagination/projection, experience and return (cycles), as played out through mental, psychological, and physical human activity, are examples of the interpenetration of past, present, and future. For example, you have planned a surprise party in anticipation of your partner’s birthday and have invited guests who are also anticipating the party. You imagine what the party will be like as you buy decorations. You think back, remember the gifts you have given your partner in the past, as you try to decide what to buy now. One of the invited guests has known your partner since childhood. As she anticipates the party she remembers childhood birthday parties, the sadness of the recent death of a mutual childhood friend, memories float up from the long relationship between the three of you. In this example, we see the interpenetration of past, present, and future through the temporal aspects of anticipation, imagination/projection, experience, and return played out in the arenas of participants’ mental and psychological worlds, as well as in their physical activity. In all aspects of life we reach back into the past and forward into the future. The example describes both small and large time frames: a shopping trip to buy a gift, and a lifetime. Past and future can, and do, extend to vast periods of time. Take evolution, for example, which, occurring over a great span of time, includes the aspects of time named above, and profoundly affects both our construction of society and our individual selves, and yet no human can comprehend this breadth of time.

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Clock time, multiplicity of time, and disjuncture Clock time is an aspect of the temporal dimension that most frequently comes to mind when we mention time. At the centre of an analysis of clock time are ideas of organization, regulation, and symbolism. I have already established that Adam does not perceive time, in general, as a symbolic measure, but as a tangible, material, unifying dimension. We think of clock time as an organizing human structure, and the organization of time as exclusively human. But organization is seen everywhere in nature – an obvious example being in colonies of ants and bees. Time regulation is everywhere in the living world, from diurnal cycles that regulate most of our work days and traffic patterns, to metabolic cycles that regulate essential activities like digestion. It could be said that natural time is ‘being time,’ while clock measurement symbolizes time. Within the many rhythms of human life, from sleep to seasonal life, to human rituals, it is natural time rather than clock time that in the end is embedded in our being. The time of the winter solstice is an excellent example of natural time rhythms. From the earliest times, humans have celebrated the light at the darkest day of the year. This continues into modern times with the rituals of Christmas and Chanukah, which occur in December not because of clock/calendar regulation but because of the larger rhythm of the planet – in this case the winter solstice. Clock time is not irrelevant, nor an unimportant measure, but the reification of clock time in the social sciences is problematic for Adam. By its nature, industrial time is different from clock time. Industrial time is the commodification of time, where a monetary value is attached to units of time. We can experience clock time and industrial time side by side. At any given moment, we may experience the temporal dimension in multiple ways. For example, we go to a Ginger Baker3 concert on the appointed date and time, remember the past when we last saw him live, relive that moment with the person next to us who has never seen him live before but has ‘always listened to his music,’ all while experiencing the music, moving our bodies in time to it, in the present. We wonder if this will be one of the last tours for some of the players because of their age, and this has influenced our decision to attend the concert. We also wonder how long the show will last, given the health of one of the players. For the Baker group, as much as they love to make music, it is still a job and they are ‘on the clock.’ This example underlines how aspects of time operate/exist together in relationship to each other. There is also the audience’s desire for a long concert, as set against the musicians’ desire to keep the concert within certain

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limits for health and contractual reasons. Thus there is audience time and there is musician time. This is an example of what Adam (1990, 1995, 2004a) refers to as ‘mutual implication,’ or the relationship of two different times. Adam argues that through the interconnections of these relationships, aspects of time can be mutually reinforced and exert influence on each other. Adam also states that there are just as likely to be gaps and disjunctures in time. For example, we miss the train because of a long traffic light at a road works. The timing of the traffic light bears no relationship to the train schedule. It is an example of a gap in the relationship between two manifestations of time. In Moran’s analysis he states: Mutual implication as a term ambiguously suggests that all times somehow relate. However, Adam is quick to point out that gaps are more common than connections, and that non-interactions can be more important than connections. (2013, p 11) Moran’s contribution helps to clarify not only Adam’s concept of mutual implication but also the fluid nature of defining time – it is like trying to hold mercury between your fingers.

Chuk Moran and social time Chuk Moran, who researches time, power, and subjectivity in computer games, describes the nature of trying to capture an understanding of time this way: we should trust our instinct that time is confusing and not reducible to a timeline or experience of passage. (2013, p 17) Within the social sciences there is a wide divergence of opinion regarding the definition of social time. Generally, it covers what could be called ‘human doings.’ Yet there are no unifying terms and there is little agreement as to the parameters and meaning of time, and opinions vary widely as to the importance of time in the social sciences (Adam, 1995; Nowotny, 1988, 1992, 1994; May and Thrift, 2001; Moran, 2013). It is not that there is a dearth of literature theorizing time within the social sciences; it is more that each discipline discovers time/temporality and reinvents it (Nowotny, 1994; Adam, 2004a; Moran, 2013).

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As we have seen in Adam’s work, it is not possible to separate natural time from social time. Looking at basic human activity, like work, we see that it is tied to the natural world by day and night, the seasons, and many other aspects of the temporal dimension. This multiplicity of meanings of social time is not necessarily a limitation. A universal or singular definition would inevitably create a narrow and binary description of all things human within the temporal dimension (May and Thrift, 2001). Thinking about all the aspects of time touched on so far, and how they can be applied to the social life of humanity makes it clear that no single, all-encompassing definition is possible. Moran builds on Adam’s analysis of social time, defining it as a social practice or, rather, a group of social behaviours that are fluid. In other words, social practice is a kind of time in and of itself. For example, waiting is an aspect of time but is also something we all engage in as a social practice. Clocks are our references to time, but social practice (what we actually do) is how time is ‘enacted and lived’ (2013, p 15). Moran is interested in social practices within any number of time functions, such as speed, anticipation, waiting, or access. The lived experience of time as in, say, standing in a queue and waiting, is a kind of time; waiting is the name of the time. Temporal events or experiences are captured within the language of these functions; this is the temporal as social practice. Moran states that there is an inevitability or an assurance to our experience of time in the present – we have arrived here in the now, and this assures us of our passage into the future. As you sit and read these words during a specific passage of time you are assured of the next moment, and the next, and the next. Finally, Moran looks at the timing of shifting social practices and how technology affects our daily lives. From the introduction of the telegraph, telephone, and the internet, time and social practices have shifted dramatically as a result of technology. There has been compression or erasure of diachronic time, from telephones to internet search engines (and the compression or erasure of diachronic time as a result of those search engines). This places timing within the context of history, in a world of changing social practices. But has it ever been any different? The passage of time, or our collective human history from the invention of the wheel which speeded up human travel to the latest Instagram, reflect the interconnection of time, technology, and social practice.

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The appearance of time

History as time History is, of course, an element of time, as events, large and small, unfold within the temporal dimension. In the last chapter we looked at a specific historical time period, the Sixties. In the Industrial West, history is divided into periods, like ‘the Sixties’ or ‘the interwar years,’ to facilitate the creation of a sense of meaning and coherence. This is also a linguistic convenience, a means to refer to a specific time. The convention of dividing history into distinct periods of historical discontinuity is a social construction. The result of this periodization is the use of terms like ‘modern,’ ‘postmodern’ or ‘watersheds’ to divide time into segments. Periodization is a useful form of time categorization. It can also limit our understanding that history is time and happens within time, and each event or ‘new’ period of time brings with it all that has passed before and much that can be imagined in the future. It is tempting to see a watershed period, like the Sixties, as representative of a set of behaviors, values, and events. Instead, imagine the Sixties within a larger context or flow of time that includes what has come before, like the ‘Roaring Twenties,’ which in many ways was a rehearsal for the Sixties. The behaviors, values, and events of that time in turn influenced the future. In other words, history is about temporal relationships rather than singular events. Using the language of time, Toulmin and Goodfield reframe the telling of history, opening the possibility of reaching far into the past and an interpenetration of the past and present, as well as presaging the future. History moves beyond a retelling of events to encompass a wider field of understanding. The study of history has for the most part been divided into human and natural history. However, Toulmin and Goodfield (1965/1983) developed the perspective of history as ‘temporal development,’ profoundly interwoven with natural history (p 17) and human history. Links to the past in the form of history become the shape of pooled collective human memories in the present. In these memories, human motives and thoughts are central, but continually entangled with the natural history of the planet. Recognition of the interaction of natural and human forces within the temporal dimension is necessary in order to have a comprehensive understanding of history. Earthquakes, floods, tsunamis, and the aftermath of those events in human history are dramatic examples of this.

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Naming time Moran describes how we are constantly invoking notions of time. How often in a day do we use words like ‘become,’ ‘later,’ ‘move,’ and ‘frequent’? Social time does not click along at a steady, even pace like the beat of a metronome: the pace at which we live our lives varies for individuals, groups, cultures, and so on. The idea of variance of time is important in ageing studies, where pace, timing, duration, and other aspects of time may change. There is also a variance within the rhythms of life. For example, the pace of our weekends may be very different from that of our working weeks. There is also the notion of time as experienced within specific groups, and here I focus on gender/sex and time. Women’s time can mean living within and with an awareness of physiological cycles (menstruation, pregnancy/lactation, childbirth), caring times (for children and ageing parents), and in relationship to other times (children’s, partner’s, industrial time) (Fisher, 1989). Menstruation and menopause are examples of a larger cycle within a lifetime. Many of the women I interviewed marked menopause as the time when they began to see themselves as ageing or old. Forman (1989) discusses similar ideas of time. An older person’s time might mean, for a retiree, walking at a slower pace because there is no need to rush. Using the term ‘older person’s time’ is linguistically evocative. The naming of time within a particular group provokes an imagining of what that might or does mean. It is a useful way to think about how notions of time may be applied to ageing people.

Culture and time The way we think about time is a cultural construction and our ideas are reflected in language. Philosopher and sinologist François Jullien (2011) looks at the larger implications of time and language when he analyzes differences between the Chinese words for transition and our English use of the word. This cultural difference in the use of the language of time profoundly affects the way we understand and think about ageing. Jullien’s work provides another lens into an understanding of temporality and ageing. He describes the process of ageing as one of silent transformation. Nature is reflected in Chinese language and meaning. Ageing is a continuous process and, like ‘all change, all movement [is] indivisible’ (2011, p 37). It is like watching the continuous process or movement of a meadow. We can name these artificial moments of sprouting or end-of-the-season but, in reality, it is

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all continuous movement. He asks the question, where in the process, or at what juncture, does one begin the analysis? For the Chinese, transformation is global, continuous – an interchange of elements that are envisaged as non-differentiated. Jullien notes that Chinese historians have not developed a concept of time. To them, it is all framed as continuous process. Of course, I am fully aware that what Jullien is describing is embedded in a rich cultural network and do not suggest that this could be replicated in the West. Nevertheless, this framework can be a useful analytical tool. Within social gerontology it is frequently stated that ‘we are always ageing,’ a statement that I have not found particularly useful to my own thinking. Jullien’s description of time framed within the Chinese cultural context details a continuous life flow that dispenses with the binary of young and old. Jullien’s work provides apt and evocative distinctions that are useful.

Generation: divided memories and mnemonic community The consideration of generation is central to the Sixties. In the social sciences there is an ongoing debate about the idea of generation: whether it is a useful concept or an over-emphasis on a particular self-identity (Aboim and Vasconcelos, 2014). There is of course a relationship between the Sixties, the times, and the youth or generational experience of that period. Throughout my research, participants made frequent references to their sense of generation. Interviewees repeatedly used the possessive “our,” as in “our generation.” “Us” and “we” were also used liberally throughout the interviews, regardless how people self-identified their role in the events and general ruckus of the Sixties. Timonen and Conlon describe this as ‘how people “talk” and “do” generation’ (2015, p 1). They point to the importance of the concept of generation in the lives of ‘ordinary people.’ Generation is a social concept, but it is also a temporal aspect. Bernhard Giesen (2004) approaches generation from the point of view of time. He describes generation as part of the ‘hybridization’ in the historical movement of time. Hybridization is the mixture and overlapping of different historical periods and the potential cultural changes resulting from that mix. Some of the postwar governmental legislation that led to a liberalization in society was first suggested during or before the interwar years. Although the legislation was enacted in the Sixties, there was an overlapping or hybridization from previous periods of history. For Giesen, it is the ‘messiness’ of time, juxtaposed to clean notions of historical periodization (such as the Sixties), that is contained within generation. Generation is a social

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collective that is located in time. This social collectivity results in a merging of memories. Giesen states that this is not simply the process of a sequence of events but instead an interplay of time and the times in the formation of this collective memory. He likens collective social or generational memory to individual memories, where there are indeed, differences in recollections. A central aspect in the generational merging of memory is the development of a collective meaning or meanings. Giesen calls this merging of memory within the generation ‘divided memory,’ because it is divided from one generation to the next. The ‘official’ version of the Sixties (see Chapter Two) developed as a merging of memories to create a collective meaning that results in a divided memory. Giesen’s theory of generation is not only a mental process but also includes memories of bodily experience. Corporeal experience, he explains, can be direct, through the body, or indirect, through the media. In other words, the memory of the experience is held and experienced in body and mind; it is embodied. Generational memory can be reinforced through ritual or repeated experience, like dancing to the same Rolling Stones’ or Animals’ songs, so that participants reflect one another’s experience/memory. Zerubavel (2003) names collective memory as a mnemonic community. He broadly defines mnemonic communities as groupings that share a commonality of remembrance – families, ethnic groups, and nations. Simply stated, mnemonic communities are groups that hold common memories and that construct the past together. Zerubavel describes a collective memory as not just remembered events, but a process of synergy that happens within the group to shape the memory. We develop plotlines and narratives that are combinations of individual memories and, together, these accumulated remembrances collectively form a mnemonic community. There are things, like relics or memorabilia, that connect the mnemonic community, as well as imitation and replication of the past, which are similar to Giesen’s ritual or repeated experience. Together Giesen’s divided memories and Zerubavel’s mnemonic communities construct a definition of generational memory.

Ageing time Carstensen has had a long-standing interest in time. Her work has called on gerontologists to consider time as an important aspect in the study of ageing. She developed the socioemotional selectivity theory (1991, 1999), which ‘suggests that age-related differences in the anticipated future lead to developmental trends in the ranking of knowledge-related

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and emotional goals.’ Carstensen’s ongoing research into time explores the strong linkage between a sense of a limited future and with whom and how we use our time. Her research does, in part, demonstrate that we hold an internalized sense of time. Time has been explored in the work of Bytheway. He investigated chronology, first as central to age ordering and stereotyping that results in ageism (1998, 1995). More recently, Bytheway (2005, 2011) has explored everyday life, or the social practice of time in the lives of older people. Bytheway is concerned with the questions “what is age?” and “what is the experience of growing older?” He finds that the answers to both questions are intertwined with time. He has explored these questions through investigating the experiences that mark time, like anniversaries and birthdays. In his investigation of the seasons and the weather we see how natural time (seasonal weather) affects, and at times defines, the experience of growing older. Bytheway writes about the experience of returning to places that were significant in an earlier part of life. In this he captures the experience of ageing within an understanding of the temporal dimension. There is a shaking loose of emotional memories but as with Adam’s understanding of ‘return,’ this is a return but not a replication. Both Bytheway’s and Carstensen’s important work introduces the centrality of time to the lives of older people.

Conclusion Until recently, time has largely been missing in gerontological analysis and theory and given short shrift in the social sciences. This chapter has explored some, but by no means all, of the research and writing about time. I have introduced the importance of both social and natural time, in our lives, as we live in time and time lives within us. The most comprehensive analysis of time has come from sociologist Barbara Adam who has developed a theory of time that is based on the natural sciences, and is a departure from many of the clock- and calendar-based notions of time that had been previously put forth in the social sciences. The development of the concept of timescape invites us to see time in a whole way. Timescape is inclusive of all aspects of time. Within our lives there is an interweaving of past, present, and future. This interpenetration is not sequential but a messy overlap and flow. Toulmin and Goodfield (1965/1983) specifically address history as an aspect of time and bring forward the interconnection of natural time and history. Their work invites us to think about periods, watersheds, or eras in a different way, as part of a continuum. Jullien’s

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(2011) work is a useful way of looking at cultural difference (between the West and China) in conceiving of time and ageing and provides us with a window to imagine that there are other ways of framing time. These differences shed light on possible new ways of thinking about time and ageing. Both Giesen and Zerubavel point to a way of seeing generation as an aspect of the temporal dimension. Individual and collective memory, both mental and bodily shared experience, hybridization or the overlapping of history, and repeated ritual are some of the aspects that make up generation as an element of time. I return now to Bytheway’s central questions: “what is age?”, “what is the experience of growing older?” The first question many adults ask when introduced to a child is: “how old are you?” But, beyond a measure of years, as a means to understand ourselves and others within the continuum of the life course, calendar time is limited. It does not tell us what age feels like or the meaning of time for us. The next chapter explores ideas about time from the perspectives of the research participants. Already we know that they have all lived their youth in the time we call the Sixties and they identify as part of the postwar generation. Notes 1

2

3

Industrial time, as defined by Adam (1995), is ‘… where it [time] is used as a medium for the translation of labour power into a monetary value.’ ‘The living world’ is an ecological term that refers the whole of all planetary life. It refers to the inter-relatedness and inter-dependence of all things on the planet. Ginger Baker is one of the most important rock drummers of the Sixties and is credited with creating the rhythms that became psychedelic rock (Whiteley, 1992; Schartz, 2007; Galenson, 2009).

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FOUR

On time There is no single time, only a multitude of times which interpenetrate and permeate our daily lives. (Adam, 1995) Within a lifetime there are a myriad of times. I have visceral childhood memories of sitting in the classroom, looking at the warm spring sunshine and blue sky, feeling like the school day would never end; now years fly by almost like they were weeks. Seen through the lens of age, time does seem to move at a swifter pace (Chernus, 2011). Time is the container for our life span and the dimension we live in. It is unstoppable. Time is always a moving universal force through all lives. The flow of time has carried the postwar cohort along, past youth and middle age, toward old age. They now see time through the lens of many more years lived and from a very different point in their life spans. I know, like most of my research participants, that I have lived more years than I have left in my lifetime. As we shall see in this chapter, this shift in perspective changes our relationship to time. It is not just our sense of time that shifts through a life span, but also the meaning we attribute to time. There is a visceral sense of finitude in knowing that more years have been lived and experienced than remain ahead of us. This consciousness changes our view of time. We perceive life from the perspective of ‘relative time.’ In this chapter, we see how some of the many aspects of time are described and defined by the research participants.

Time is … Although many people use chronological time as a marker, it is the lived experience that creates meaning (Bytheway, 2011). Events and, more importantly, relationships are interwoven in time to create meaning in our lives. Relationships in time are more than shared experience, although that is certainly part of their dynamic. Relationships also live in time within us as memory and imagined futures. Others are a resonance in our memories and future musings. In this chapter, many of the quotes are connected to relationships with friends, family, colleagues, or acquaintances. Included in the chapter is an exploration

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of the passage of time – past, present, and future – and the linear and non-linear ways that passage occurs in small and large movements. The elusive nature of time and some of the many ways we try to capture it or mark it are described here. The ways we create meaning through moments, eras, beginnings, and endings are also covered. The interviewees, like all of us, are constantly locating events, descriptions, statements, and musings, in other words, the stuff of life, in time. But I begin with a brief description of time. Time is the sea we swim in and, like saltwater, that saltiness lives within us and is intrinsic to our bodies. Like the ocean, we can sit on the shore and watch as well as being immersed in it. Unlike the sea, the complex layers of time structure our lives – from clock and calendar time to lifespan, era, pace and rhythm, memory, generation, and history. We are embedded in and embody time as clock time interpenetrates interior and biological time. Time is integral to our sense of ourselves, who we are, how we have lived, and who we might become. It lives in our personal memories, the current moment, and our future imaginings. Internal time can make it feel as if the clock has stopped or is racing forward (Mills, 2000). It can be a biological flow with the lunar cycles, such as with menstruation, or the simple light/dark cycles of sleep (Luce, 1972). Our internal sense of time is informed by our knowledge of the finitude of life – that mortality is inevitable. Rich, one of my interviewees, was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. During our interview his manner was resolute and at certain moments he spoke in an almost inaudible tone. From his doctors’ perspective, he is living on borrowed time. From Rich’s perspective, he is living in time. This excerpt from our interview picks up many themes about the nature of time, clock time versus lived time. Some of these themes were ideas that were being explored by him in embryonic form in the Sixties and have been developed throughout his lifetime. Naomi: So what do you imagine, how would you talk about the experience of 65 years on this Earth, in this body? What’s the meaning of experience? Put it in the context of this almost last hour we’ve been speaking. Rich: It’s been five minutes or three moments and life anyway is only a sequence of moments. Our lives, I think, are seldom more than a minute long. Life is a sequence of moments, each one of which lasts, maybe, a second. So, if your life is 60 seconds long when – wow, you’ve lived a lot [long pause]. And the moments

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are so wonderful, they are so filled with wonder and with joy. And those two responses are the crucial ones in human existence and from them all others proceed. All the crucially important ones like compassion, kindness, gentleness, love – all those things come from those moments, I think. You know, I think love comes from wonder. Naomi: And, are you describing experience or are you describing time? Or, are you describing both? Rich: I’m always extrapolating from experience but I’m also describing time here and the very strange nature of time and the way in which our description of it is inadequate to its operation because although we have to tabulate it, we can’t actually control or determine or rule it – it rules us in the strangest ways. It surges in upon us and then it proceeds and it becomes – [Rich makes a tick-tock sound]. Naomi: So, time is central to some of your ideas about experience, of your notions of experience? Rich: I think the timeless moment is more crucial, I think that the significant experiences in your life circle around the timeless moment and you know how that is, Naomi. Naomi: Say more. Rich: [Long pause] – It’s strange that you have to define it in terms of time, isn’t it? It’s a state where time is suspended and awareness is all enveloping. Awareness is all and it’s the awareness of your place in the world. This vivid description of time touches on: (1) the elastic or fluid nature of our sense of time; (2) how we fill those moments and what is really important in the span of moments that make up a lifetime; (3) how we can “tabulate” some types of time but cannot control it – the nature of time is that it just keeps moving in its own way; and (4) how experience and time are interwoven, but there are conscious moments when time is suspended, like in the eye of a hurricane. All of these points are colored by Rich’s knowledge that his time is limited, or his understanding of where he is located on his life span continuum. This shifting perspective is ‘relative time.’ Relative time is a change in our perception of the remaining time in our life span. It is the acknowledgment that we have

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less time left than the time we have already lived. Rich’s perception of time and its many aspects is influenced by his knowing that his life span is limited. The language he has used to describe time is also important. The language, and its understanding, is an expression of the Sixties era. I call it Sixties-talk. Although Rich has not used any idioms from that era, he is using language that expresses ideas that became popular during that time. The motifs pertaining to time, in this quote, along with other themes my research participants discussed, are explored in this chapter. Thinking about timescape, a landscape of the whole of the temporal dimension, this chapter places the postwar generation and their particular perspective in the foreground of the timescape.

Time, ageing, and non-linearity Repeatedly, throughout the interviews, it was pointed out to me that our internal sense of time is fluid, not fixed to clock or calendar time. The passage of time is evidenced through our skin, hair, teeth, bones, and muscles. The proof of our time, our embodiment, is the visual stamp time leaves on our bodies and the shift in tempo as our internal systems slow down. When our time is up, we cease to be. Time is our life span lived, in both interiority and our exterior experience, through events and relationships and beyond. As my participants described their thoughts, musings, and ideas, I came to see that ageing body and time are profoundly connected. Many of the participants described the flow of time throughout their life spans as journeys or other metaphors of movement. Geri uses the metaphor of journey as she captures a sense of looking back at her life, but also forward to the future which is the journey’s end: You know, you think about it in bits. I sometimes read an article and I think about the Sixties – I think about my experience – and I think about how I was – how very lucky I am to have been born in that time and how that shaped my relationship with my children, but I never put it together in the way that we’ve now talked about it, in a whole journey. I think it is a whole journey – and we’re at the other end. Geri is a lively, active woman, still very engaged in her career while also completing a degree in dance. She, like many of my interviewees, was able to hold multiple perspectives in speaking about her life. She could, in one breath, describe her journey’s “end” while looking back at her life and the time/era she was born into and, in the next breath,

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discuss her evolving relationship with her adult children in the present. Even embedded within her statement “we’re at the other end,” she is imaging the future and what it may hold for her. There is a plasticity in our ability to contain different aspects of time, moment to moment. Within the idea of journey and what Geri calls the “bits” is the larger structure of time. Geri is naming her life span as the journey within the structure of time.

Time’s structure Structurally, time gives shape to our lives, providing us with a sense of our world (Bytheway, 2011). Our sense of time is different at different points in our lives. All of the participants spoke about chronological time from the vantage point of an older person – someone who has lived many years within their life span or relative time. By its nature, chronology is a kind of tabulation of time – how much has been lived; how much is left? Calendar time is one way that we mark our years and calculate our ageing process. Chronology is not a metronomic happening clicking along in even steady beats (Young and Schuller, 1988). Instead, even this basic reckoning of time has a sense of mutability. This fluctuation occurs in both small and large increments. Take, for example, the time aspects of waiting and access – standing alone outside in a queue, wondering if you will be able to buy tickets or if they will be sold out, can make time feel elongated. Standing in the same queue deeply engaged in conversation with the person in front of you makes the time seem to move at a faster pace. In my interview with Candice, she discusses time from the perspective of someone who is describing her sense of time over the space of a life span. Candice is a middle-class professional with children in their late adolescence. Pausing after each question, she discusses my questions with an air of thoughtful intensity. I think you think about it [ageing] in a much more transient way when you’re younger because it is just so far off and I feel what happens is you start looking at time spans, looking back and thinking how quickly time has gone and therefore knowing that 20 years hence it’s going to come ’round very quickly. And so, it’s about your appreciation of time or – I think, maybe, at this age, you do have another perspective on the passage of time. From a structural perspective, our reckoning of time helps us to define where we are in our life span. For example, as school children and

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teenagers, many young people anticipate becoming adults; it is the next phase of their lives. It occurs within the passage of time, in both the interiority and exteriority of their lives. Many times, we describe our lives in terms of a movement of time, as parts or segments. In my interview with Gill, she described the next phase of her life: Naomi: So, did I really cover – Gill: About getting old – yes because I’ve only been thinking about that because I’m going to Australia, thinking, Gill, this is your gift. This is your opportunity. This is yours – for the next phase of your life. Gill is describing another beginning, the start of a new time. Her children are now adults. The parenting-of-dependent-children phase of her life has ended and she has decided to explore a long-held interest, pursuing a project in Australia. In this case, the beginning that Gill describes as the “next phase of your life” is in the context of her sense/ knowing of “getting old.”

Beginning The notion of beginning is an illustration of the elusive nature of time. Elusive, for example, in that research participants spoke of beginning and ending together as they described the interpenetration of the present and the future. I would argue that the naming of time does not come from a linear timeline of life or a staged trajectory of phases of the life span, but from the interior sense of the passage of time coupled with memories of experiences. What does the passage of time feel like? Individuals mark “beginning” based on the feel of the passage of time. One of the many reasons for time being/feeling elusive is that it is continuity and segmentation existing together. Time flows along, continuously, yet there are always beginnings. Many participants used words like “start” or “begin” in relation not just to a whole life span, but also in referring to the meaning they have attributed to any given event or moment. Elaine has lived her entire life in rural Somerset and she, like Gill, now has adult children. She describes this next part of her life as “starting life”: Elaine: If you’d been 63, years ago, you’d probably be an old person, whereas 63 now is starting life, isn’t it? It’s young.

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Naomi: How would you describe starting life? Elaine: Well, your family’s gone, so you start doing some things you wanted to. Elaine is speaking about “starting life,” but she is also describing the relativity of chronology. In the past, 63 might have been considered old, but now, from Elaine’s perspective, “it’s young.” The expansive or fluid nature of chronology is dependent on who is defining these terms. For a teenager, 30 is very old and 50 is probably inconceivable. Patricia is an engaging and determined woman. Widowed just two years, she has had serious health problems since her husband of many years died. She grew up in rural Somerset in a working-class family. Patricia and her husband had lived in many areas of the UK, as a result of his work, but they returned to Somerset when he retired. In the following quote from Patricia, her notion of beginning is defined through the lens of an older person, or a relative time perspective. Joe wants to be a doctor [he’s 17 years old] and I wish I could win the lottery so I could put him through university because he’s going to come out of there as – probably £75,000 in debt. You know, what a way to start a life [emphasis in original]. From the vantage point of a young person, Joe most likely would not see himself as “starting life,” but from his grandmother’s perspective of many more lived years, it is an important beginning, a start. So it is, that, the point from which one is experiencing time can change their perception of the moment. One person’s beginning may not be a marker or defined as a beginning for someone else. Sally is from a working-class family and she discussed the very painful circumstances of her growing up. Her direct manner and obvious love of life were disarming. She discusses how the return of an illness, cancer, introduced a new “beginning” into her life. I never accepted when friends who worked with me – they used to have dances at the [name] club because we were brought up at an age with bopping and they used to say, well you come. “No, no I’m not going to do that”. I wouldn’t even do it now but what did change me is that I’ve had three lots of skin cancer. When I had the first lot, I couldn’t accept and I had a breakdown. I think from then on – I got over it – it was a beginning and I realized I’ve got to make the most of every day.

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Sally is describing the beginning of a new life pattern – not only becoming more social but a shift in her approach to life.

Life’s reckonings For many interviewees, there was a keen awareness that they were closer to the last part of their lives. We readily hold both the ideas of beginning and ending in almost the same breath. Again, our notions of time are very much influenced by where we are in the continuum of our life span. In the earlier quote from Elaine she described a beginning, stating that she was “young.” Moments later in the interview, from the perspective of relative time, she discusses an intense awareness of ending or death. In this quote she stakes out her sense of the limited time she has left. She acknowledges and explains the ideas of beginning and ending in tandem. When I think, when I turned 60 – I mean, people say when you turn 40 this and when you turn 50 that – none of those affected me but when I reached 60, I sort of thought about the years and I thought, well, I’m 60 now and I had three-quarters of my life – you know, the years left could be 13, could be 20, but it won’t be nearly as many as I’ve had, as have gone by. Judith, a life-long community activist from a working-class family, is concerned about making conscious choices about her “role,” given her awareness of her “limited amount of time.” Embedded in her questioning is the notion of discovery and beginning in regard to a new project and a new role. It is her sure knowledge of finitude that has caused her to question her “role.” For Judith, her concern springs from relative time; she knows she may have many more years left but she also has a consciousness of death. I have been thinking, over the last few years, about – what is my role? So, in that sense, I have been thinking about what is my role and where I should be putting my energy with an awareness that I’ve got a limited amount of time. Our notions of time and ageing do not occur in a vacuum. We are influenced by many factors, from cultural stories to our own experiences of ageing family and friends. We are affected or influenced by what we observe and by the generations that have come before us. Geri has recently helped her mother to move into a sheltered flat. For Geri’s

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mother, this was a beginning, but also, most likely, “the last move,” a significant ending. From the relative time of her mother’s perspective, Geri is witnessing the “mental acceptance” of her mother’s last move. What I find most interesting – the mental acceptance – “So, that is where I am in my life.” That is significant – [sharp intake of breath] – I mean, that’s it, that is the last part, the last move, really, isn’t it?

Patterns Time, whether it is reckoned through segments or years or events in time, creates a pattern. George describes living in time as being “part of life’s rich pattern.” Seen as part of a pattern, years, and/or events tied to years, become a stabilizing force in our lives. Time becomes a framework for our lives, not as a tyranny but as a way of seeing patterns and creating a sense of stability. In the absence of religion, ceremony, or ritual life many people in the industrial West have little stability in terms of a sense of past, present, and future as delineated in formal ways (Adam, 2007). Time is representational, in that time-marked events come to be rich in meaning. For instance, birthday celebrations mark our chronological age but also can be a time when friends and family come together and celebrate with each other. For many people, birthdays can mean a time of reflection or a time to take stock of their lives or mark a passage from one phase of life to the next. Births, deaths, anniversaries, special occurrences in the flow of time, mark life and the movement of time (Bytheway, 2011). In these two quotes from Nick and Elaine, they describe how their wedding anniversaries were marked with a family gathering. Using time as a signifier, their families came together, adding to their life’s pattern both as a group and individually. Also embedded in these quotes is the notion of continuum, which will be discussed later. With ageing and the passage of time, marking anniversaries takes on more layers of meaning. Growing up in a working class family in London, Nick self-identified as being very involved in the Sixties as a musician. His quiet manner and humility were striking. He has been a life-long community worker. Nick: I’ve been married for 40 years last Sunday. We just had our wedding anniversary. In a small way – we didn’t go out and all that but we had it at home with my son and his partner and

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our first grandchild, Luke. And I felt a great deal of satisfaction – we both did. Elaine: When we were married 40 years, we had a nice meal down the pub and they all come back here – and how lovely. Nothing more than my family. They’re so important, they give me so much pleasure. In these quotes, time is invested with meaning; it is not just a date on the calendar but representative of life experience, memories that may bring up a mix of our emotions, and much more. We mix memories with new experiences, which then become yet another memory, adding to the layers of meaning infused in time. It is not only the small, single marker of time that can be a signifier of meaning. It can also be large periods of time. During my interview with Mike he described the meaning he has attached to decades. He took time out of his busy schedule to meet with me in his office. Mike comes from a poor family and his mother was a young struggling widow. His determination to make a more comfortable life for himself yet stay in touch with his roots came across throughout our interview. Here is Mike on time: I loved the Seventies. I thought the Eighties were pretty anonymous to me but then again, I always, I look at the decades – I tend to go back and look at what am I doing educationally, work-wise and sports- and music-wise.

Movement, flow, and continuum Time period or era was and is an important signifier for people. The period of the Sixties held an important meaning for the postwar cohort. Casting back through history, periods or eras not only are marked in time but mark the individuals who live through the events of their time. Era or period, as discussed previously, is a construction that facilitates our understanding of time/history. In reality, all time is a continuous flow. There are both generational memories of era and the individual framing of time period. Change During my interview with Gregory he describes this in relationship to his life. He is an upper-class, single man living in an urban area. There is a curious mix of cool business man and vulnerability about

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him. Gregory first described his range of experience as gradual. As the larger world changed, Gregory’s expectations also changed. In this quote, he describes how his world changed and how he felt the movement from one period of time to the next. When I was at prep school, which was – I started at the age of eight – it was perfectly feasible that one should become a colonial administrator which I would rather have fancied, to tell the truth – running a piece of the Sudan or something. And that opportunity had dematerialized by 1965. The changes in attitudes – I was brought up in a sort of fairly moderately liberal household so I wasn’t shocked or jarred by these sort of changes that had come gradually and naturally in attitudes. Paul comes from an upper middle-class family. During our interview, he described himself as very conservative during the Sixties and was an active member of the Conservative Club at his university. It is striking how much he has shifted from the stance of his youth. He pauses before he speaks thoughtfully, considering his answers to my questions. Paul describes his sense of the time shift into the Sixties era in different terms, as a break. The Forties were, of course, were a bad time because of the war. You know, people didn’t even think of that sort of thing [being unconventional]. They weren’t exposed to it and they continued doing things the way they’d learned from their parents and so on and so forth going back to way back when. So, I think the Sixties – it was a very positive period for me personally – because it was a break – precisely because of that [emphasis added]. Not everything about it was positive but I think it was a kind of very positive experience for people. In Geri’s description of a seminal experience she characterizes a moment in time – dancing with naked people on a London stage. For her it was a defining moment. And we went to see Hair and we saw naked people on a London stage. And we could go on the stage and dance with them and, now, that was, that was truly revolutionary. So, of course that’s going to color how you take your life forward because you are

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conscious of being – I was conscious of being within a very huge, enormous revolution. In the quotes from Geri, Paul, and Gregory, they are all describing how they experienced the movement of time and the experience of change within that movement but from their vantage point in the present, looking back through the years. The perception of time flow or movement is not a constant. It is our experience that then becomes the memory. Our memories influence the sense of flow or movement of time. Grace is an interesting, complex woman. Our conversation is peppered with a wide-range of references from science to spirituality. She founded a woman-centered business in her early 60s. Grace’s description, like much of our interview, is thoughtful and, at times, emotional. She is particularly animated as she describes certain moments in her life, such as the time of her youth, the Sixties. In our interview, Grace relayed the story of marking the flow of time by her recognition that she had become invisible to men. For her, it is part of the movement of time as ageing that is key to her remembrance. She returns to that moment in the flow of time: I can even pinpoint when I became invisible [laughter] so to speak, physically. Go with the flow The language of the Sixties describes living life within the flow of events/time. The expression ‘going with the flow’ was used by a number of participants. The expression is associated with taking life as it comes. Encompassed within going with the flow is the notion that time takes on different rhythms. Events in time can come fast and furious; in a slow, steady drip; or paced far apart. In these quotes from Lisa, Charles, and Mike they describe different rhythms of life. Lisa is a life-long Londoner. She describes herself as being in the center of Swinging London in the Sixties with a clear affection for that time in her life. The recent loss of her mother is very much on her mind as she talks with me. When you think, you knew you were going to get older – you were too busy leading your life to think about ageing. Did you? I think so much depends upon the life you’ve led. You just go with the flow.

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Charles describes his family as having been very poor when he was growing up. His ready smile and enthusiasm for life are infectious. An adventurous soul, he says he is “very different” from his siblings. Okay, where my head’s gone now – again, it goes back to the question of being a product of the time or the ambience, the mood, but whatever was going on at the time. I think in terms of life, I have kind of gone with the flow. Mike describes the flow of time when life is sometimes perceived as “boring,” as even and constant. Life kind of ticks along with no flutters of the heartbeat, sort of thing. Punctuation Just as the sense that the start of an era is a break in the flow of time, so time flow can be punctuated by events that feel like an instant. It can be imagined as a kind of life punctuation, like a full stop at the end of a sentence. Stephan comes from an upper-class background and he opens up with intimate details that surprise me but also help me to understand the backdrop to his life. Stephan describes a period of time in his life, when he entered the army after having been in an exclusive public school, as an “instant”; he perceived the flow of time as being totally immersed in a social spectrum that was much wider than I had been – where there were colored people, people from much broader backgrounds and much wider range walks of life and becoming very quickly, very close friends with all those sorts of people who I never met before socially or at school. And that was a very instant liberation, exposure to such a wide range of people. There are moments when time feels as if it has stopped and there is a hyper-keen awareness of the present. In this quote from Gill, she describes just such a moment. Her moment is again like a punctuation mark in the flow of time. I remember when I was 40, my 40th birthday, the day of my 40th birthday. I was at work and I used to work in a building – there were 17 floors – and I was walking down – I was a senior training officer. I was walking down the stairs and looking out and I realised,

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oh my God, I’m 40 – I just stopped, it all just stopped. First I felt scared – then I thought, my God, from now on it’s all up to me. I’m responsible for me – from now on it’s really up to me. From one to the next The flow of time is an interpenetrated continuum between generations, partners, and friends. Time is a current, and within that movement of time is the flow of relationships. Time and relationship are tightly knit together. In this interpenetration of time and relationship, past, present, and, sometimes, future are connected. In this quote from Grace, she describes the continuum, the long movement of time, from her vantage point of ageing: And on the continuum of life, I can see my daughters, my mother, and hear my transitioning – having been that and will become this. I can see the map of the territory more at this age. The ongoing nature of time was discussed throughout my research interviews. This continuum, seen through the lens of ageing, is a looking back over the long view of a lifetime, but also reaching even farther back to remember others, who have come before. We experience time as a continuum as we witness those around us, from previous generations, becoming older. Grace places herself within the larger movement of time in the quote above. She recognizes life as a whole; her daughters behind her, mother ahead of her and Grace in the middle of their lives, this succession of time. Many participants described their connection to the flow from the past to the present through physical traits or characteristics. In the following quotes from Stephan, Candice, and Elaine, they talk about physicality as a connection to the past, to the now, and possibly into the future: Stephan: My mother is still alive. My father lived to be very nearly 90, my mother is 88. So, we are a long-living family and a very fit family. So, one’s sort of inherited healthy genes or whatever. Candice: My hands – I didn’t imagine – did I imagine? I can remember looking at my mother’s hands and I can see – with the veins sticking out and – [long pause] – Is it different than I imagine? Oh yeah, I think my joints are bigger in my hands – they’ve gotten swollen or something, I suppose but – My mother always used to talk about having big hands [short laugh] because

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we have got big hands in our family, but I think – I can remember looking at her hands but I didn’t think about mine becoming like that – like they are now. Naomi: Do you look like your mum? Elaine: While I’m alive, my mum will be alive – my husband says that. Within the sequence of time, there are learned qualities that are passed on from one generation to the next. In this way, within the flow of time, a sense of continuity is created and an important sense of connection. Nick explains his connection to his mother this way: … who I am now, I would’ve liked to have been more grateful and understanding of her and appreciative, actually. I, I, I think I was, I hope I was. I was, I saw her quite regularly, you know and she knew that about me. But, of course, you get a bit older and unfortunately for me, my means – we were first married, we, my wife and I and we didn’t have much money so we couldn’t take them out for meals and all that, what we could have done later. I, I have my mum’s integrity [laughter]. When Nick described the “integrity” he had learned from his mother, it was said with a sense of pride and love. Contained within Nick’s statement was a memory of his mother and the quality of integrity he had learned from her, which he had carried with him through time. Repeated activities are carried from one generation to the next, creating a sense of continuity within the flow of time. This quote from Gill describes a simple but memorable task, threading a needle, that she once did for her mother and now her daughter does for her: My eyesight – that’s very interesting. I can remember when my mum always asked me to thread a needle for her – or read something for her. Now I ask my daughter – I feel pathetic without my glasses [laughter]. Rich discusses the flow of time through older friends: I think I have been very fortunate throughout my life for having good, close older friends willing to talk about their life experience

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and certainly their wisdom passed on to me has been invaluable in my own encounter with senescence. Discontinuity Within the quote below from Sarah are the ideas of both continuity and discontinuity in the flow of historical events, which are, of course, embedded in time. Sarah discusses her identity as a Jew and the daughter of a Holocaust survivor, and the importance of making sense of the generational continuity between her mother and that part of her identity. There is also the discontinuity of the break in time, or, in this case, generation, with the loss of family in the Holocaust. I came back to my identity as a Jew and worked a lot, continue to work [in co-counseling] on being the daughter of a Holocaust survivor. My mother came out of Germany and not really having family that was – it was never talked about at home really and it was so traumatic that I couldn’t make sense of it but – it’s another strand, I say, that’s important and tied into that time because, I think post-Holocaust – it affected everybody but there was a particular resonance because of my family background. Within Sarah’s statement is the inherent understanding that the loss of her mother’s family is deeply “traumatic.” Our sense of time is framed by an expectation of continuity. Breaks in our sense of time come in any number of ways, and many times we experience a break in the expected continuity with a sense of unease, discomfort, or even a painful sense that something is missing or out of step. Bill and Jack described discontinuous events in their lives that were uncomfortable, or even painful. As I sit down to interview Bill, I am immediately struck by how comfortable he is in his body. Physicality is central to his work and leisure life. He is also a deeply emotional man, easy with laughter and, at one point in our interview, tears. Bill: It’s the biggest regret that I think I have is that he [his brother who died of AIDS] never met either of my children – ’cause he would have absolutely adored them and they would’ve absolutely adored him. Jack comes from a middle-class family, attended public school and, in many ways, felt different, separate from the events of the Sixties.

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During our interview, I was struck by how insightful he was about his own life. There was nothing facile about his answers to my questions. Each answer was considered and explored in depth. Jack: I used to think that I was, that I’d been adopted because I didn’t look like my family. Compression While time can be described as a distinct flow, that flow can feel like a lazy river of the past flowing into the present with the future there, somewhere upstream, or a wild swift river flowing at dizzying pace. Sometimes, the past, present, and future are imagined and described as tightly compressed. There are moments or thoughts when time – the past, present, and future – is squeezed together. This compression is a defining quality of the interpenetration of past, present, and future. Below, Jack talks about his experience of working with older people and how that has shaped his perception of time. Although he ends the quote by saying he needs to focus on the present, he is seeing this conclusion through the lens of the past, present, and future. So, people’s life course and choices in relationships and all those sort of things lead them to being who they are. I suppose, I thought, don’t worry about who you will be then, imagine how you are now because that will lead to who you will be. The now is really the thing to focus on. Time is not linear. In reality, we do not think in a neat progression of past, present, and future. It can be imagined or spoken of in a compressed jumble, switching between these points. Geri discussed looking back, and then to the now and, finally, to the future. In this statement, she has compressed time from youth to imagining an old age that is different from the stereotypes she grew up with: But actually, if you come back to it, actually this is the last third of your life. I think there’s quite a tension between the way you reconcile the chunk that was the Sixties and how you were brought up because I – when you reach old age you naturally start to look back to your roots – but we left them – which is my point. What do we do now? I don’t want to put my feet up by the fire – so, I’m forced to paint a picture of the old age that’s totally different. I’ve lived my life totally differently. So, what is my old age?

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Time is not static; we can never halt the movement of time. The notion of flow is a striking one when considered in light of the myth of ‘old people living in the past.’ We are constantly making new memories; some stick with us and some float away. Older people do have more memories that inform the present and the future, or what we call experience. Although my research participants were informed by people and events in their past, they did not speak as if they were returning to a past time. It was time, in the present, in which shards of the past were contained, but these memories were perceived in new ways – seen through the eyes of the present. We continually blend past and present to make new stories about ourselves and the world.

Memory, shared history, and relationship Our own memories of family, friends, and colleagues are aspects of our internal lives and time. Collective experience is accumulated over the years, and that experience becomes a shared history between individuals and within groups. Shared history is demonstrated in the stories we hold in common and in our deep – and often-times layered – relationships. Shared history brings past times to the present, not just through stories but through the continuity of relationships. In this quote from Mike, he describes his shared history with his ex-wife. Even though their relationship has changed, their history together, for him, creates a sense of being really “known” by her. I still keep in contact with my first wife who’s in Georgia. We just emailed the other day. For whatever reason we haven’t seen each other for a long time but, I think she is someone who has known me, knows me. In the quote below, Patricia describes sharing memories of her teen years with a friend. Even though her friend lives on the other side of the world, those memories, their shared history, are very much alive. Patricia and her friend remember a past time together but, they are also in the process of making new shared memories – their time together, now. Shared memory is a dynamic process where past stories are told or retold and new, present times are created. As Patricia says in this quote, “it’s a wonder we’re still here.” They are here in the present, enjoying the now through the lens of the past and present. I just did things I really wasn’t meant to do. This is that – a friend of mine I met again – and she is living in Australia and she came

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back and she says, “Ugh, God, the things we used to do.” “I know, it’s a wonder we’re still here.” And she said, “yes.” [Laughter] In the next quote, from Nick, he discusses a sense of shared history with friends with whom there is a common thread of interest and place. Nick: I went to a funeral recently of a very close friend and a few people said, yeah, you look like you were. I suppose, it was a friend from youth club in 1963, a woman who lives in Brighton now. Yeah, I think that’s who said that [laughter]. I’ve known her since she was 17 and me similar. Naomi: What do you imagine her knowing about you now? If I asked her, what would she say to me? Nick: I was part of the group, I was fun – hopefully, I was fun and I hope she would say – [laughter] I was good fun to be with, that it was a good time and we had – she and I never went out or anything like that – she was a part of the group, which makes it more interesting, really. I think there has been, there is quite a sense of continuity with me, in music, I suppose. Music and history – well, social history and love of London and friends, actually. I mean I am the sort of person who likes to stay in touch with people so I make an effort to phone, e-mail, whatever to keep in touch with people. Later in the interview, Nick went on to further describe another shared history of place and relationship: Yesterday – I was part of some community work – I was speaking to a colleague and we’re doing a community film and we met in the cafe at the college I used to go to with my friend. So, this was a great emotional connection. We both did A-levels in art at this college. And we were now sitting in the cafeteria in London and we were kind of – and I was talking to my colleague and it was a great meeting but I was aware of the resonance of the past, as well. And it does have a good effect. Sarah described her long-term membership in a co-counseling group. Her quote discusses the sense of their shared history experienced by a group of people whose values (“social transformation”) are an important aspect of their group. Sarah also discusses the continuity of

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the group, from the “cohort” entering co-counseling as younger people to becoming an “elder,” but there has also been a “whole movement of others who have gone before” Sarah. In co-counseling there’s been this reference person for elders so that’s been a – for people over 50 – so that’s been the same person for as long as – well before I turned 50 … So, there’s been a whole movement of the elders that have gone before me. Now I’m in that cohort because a lot of us started co-counseling at the same time. Some of us have dropped out but a lot of us have stayed – we’ve know each other for 30, 40 years – some people I’ve known for nearly 40 years. And seeing us age and seeing us continue to strive for social transformation has been thrilling. An object can carry the mark of time as a signifier of a relationship or event in time. Later in my interview with Sarah, she mentioned the cardigan she was wearing. It had belonged to a friend who had died. The object, in this case a cardigan, is a signifier of continuity – from the past and the end of time for her friend to the present/now. I was just thinking, probably the biggest challenge to me physically has been the death of two friends in the last – Susan died three years ago – this is her cardigan [motions to cardigan she is wearing]. I don’t know why I chose to wear that today? That’s interesting. Reunion Reunions are a common experience of reconnecting with those who hold a shared history. Although they are conscious attempts to capture the past, they also are an experience in the present, and can be a launch for possible futures. Shared histories are revisited and new histories are made. Suzanne describes a university reunion she had attended recently. She is a journalist from an upper-class family. As we talk, she has a serious demeanor leavened with a dry sense of humor. Like other upper-class women I interviewed, she has a straightforward manner that is both engaging and a little surprising. She recounts her connections, old and new, with a university friend. I sat with two women, one of which I had been very close friends with and we hadn’t seen each other since university and – you know there were things as our conversation unfolded that I just

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knew about her because I knew her when she was young, the work she’s doing now. It was like there were bits and pieces of her now that really evolved and developed and matured to me. That I found surprising and interesting. About a year before our interview, Sally had organized a school reunion. She describes the connection, first through appearance and recognition of each other from another time in life. People reconnected with each other, creating new history and current stories. Sally states that there are people from this reunion who now meet regularly, developing possible futures together. What we did, we had sticky labels and we all put a badge on so we knew who each other were. I found that if I wasn’t sure and somebody said who they were, I could immediately see it. But, nobody said to me, “I wouldn’t have known you” – no, nobody. And now, now there’s nine of us who meet quite regularly now and we all look the same [laughter] – not really, if you saw school photos of us in our little shorts and on the gym equipment. In both Sally’s and Sarah’s narratives, the people who attended the reunion and the co-counseling group could be said to be members of a community of memory, or a mnemonic community. The postwar generation, itself, forms a mnemonic community (Zerubavel, 2003; Giesen, 2004). The shared experiences of the postwar years, including the Sixties, operate together to form this community of memory. Everyone in my research group identified with at least some aspect of the Sixties – individual events, feelings, and history – all the elements that occur within time, or, in this case, an era. The research participants perceived themselves as of a generation with a collective memory, members of a mnemonic community. They used the pronoun “us” or “we” liberally throughout the interviews when referring to certain kinds of collective experience, like memories of Sixties music. The possessive, “our,” as in “our generation,” was also used often throughout the interviews. Mnemonic community will be explored in more detail in the chapters that follow. For now, I turn to a look at the future.

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Futurity Imagining old The elusive nature of time, as it is constructed in the industrial West, makes it difficult for us to imagine our life spans in terms of time. As younger people, we are unable to imagine a future time when we will be old or what it would be like to be old. This may be a universal aspect of humanity or a function of the Western construction of ageing and time. For Lisa, like many people in my research group, imagining the reality of their ageing selves, when they were younger, was an impossibility. Below, Lisa, Charles, and Suzanne discuss their younger selves. Their comments exemplify that point – imagining the movement of time from young to old. Lisa: I couldn’t imagine being 65. I know it’s reality, if you are 65, but it just seems so ancient. But actually, now that I’ve turned it, in fact I feel quite relaxed about it. Do you know what I mean? It is a milestone. Lisa says that she “couldn’t imagine being 65.” Many participants discussed their inability to imagine their own life trajectory through time to being older. Naomi: Did you ever imagine turning 63 would be the way it is now? Charles: No. As simple as that, no. In fact, the simplest way to answer it is that I never imagined being 63. I never thought “When I’m sixty-four” [sings it]. You know, I’ve sung the song – I’m that age where they wrote that song so, no. Yes, I understand the sentiment but it never entered my head to kind of explore that. Suzanne: I was in my 30s and, looking around and thinking, heavens, what am I doing with my life? I need a proper job – I hadn’t really had one ’til my 30s. I didn’t assume – of course, one got old – that was so far in the future. Although it is difficult, if not impossible, for most of us as young people to imagine getting old, ageing people, or what are referred to as the young old, can imagine old age. From the vantage point of being an older person, many participants discussed the future. It seems that, as

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we age, we are more able to imagine ourselves as old people, or, as Candice explained, “I think, maybe, at this age, you do have another perspective on the passage of time.” Unstoppable Our sense of the future is profoundly informed by knowing we have lived more years than we have left to live. The future is filled both with possibility or fecundity and with ending. It is a different sense of time than that described in the quote from Rich, at the beginning of this chapter. His perspective is through the lens of the clarity of absolute finitude. During the course of my interview with Rich, he used the word “transience” repeatedly, the passing of time which, for him, includes the clarity of an end point. For most older people, there is an understanding of the finitude of their lives but not a clarity in regard to its imminence. Lived time is not to be stopped. This exchange between Suzanne and me captures the inherent sense that time and ageing are unstoppable: Suzanne: There’s nothing one can do but grow old gracefully. Naomi: And what does that mean? Suzanne: I prefer disgracefully. Candice, a book lover, put it this way: I know I think I’ve heard people talk about not having enough time to read all the books they wanted to read. And this sort of feeling that you’re constantly developing or there’s something, there’s some sort of learning but – [pause] – not enough time. Lisa describes, with regret, the loss of time, a day. Time is out of her control; she can tabulate it but she cannot stop it. What’s most satisfying to me? I think being able to get out and about, to travel, to have a good life, to do things I want to do. I think, sometimes, one’s hard on oneself and I think, I should be out there doing more things, being more proactive, so I do sometimes beat myself up a bit and think – [sharp intake of breath] – I can sometimes while away a day doing absolutely nothing and I think, my God, where’s the day gone? [emphasis added]

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Projecting into the future Our relationship with futurity changes over the course of a life span to make the passage of time more imaginable. Of course, at every stage of life, we have imaginings about our future. We make plans with lovers, think about work and careers, where we would like to live, and the like. As people age, the realities of what it currently means to be an old person and how family and society will treat us, support us, or even care for us are a worry. People question whether their old age will be a healthy, comfortable one, or whether they will have mobility problems, or enough money to live on. Worries and fears are a part of future wonderings, but so is imagining ourselves as continually developing or becoming. Elaine: I’d like to be self-supporting – independent – so that I can do things on my own, I don’t have to rely on my husband or anybody else. So when I am old, as long as I am fit, that I can get on a bus and get to London. I can get on a – I would be independent – feel independent enough to do that – not rely on other people. I can’t swim so I’m going to take swimming lessons when I retire – ’cause I can’t do it. And I’d like to do it, ’cause I think when you get in a pool and you go up and down and up and down – the cares of the world go by. So, by doing those things you’re going out into the world and being independent – so you don’t have to rely on other people. So, when I get to the point, when I am on my own, I’d still be able to take part in all those things. Not stay home and think the world, my husband’s gone, the world is gone now – get out – keep going. Nick: It’s funny, I was thinking about that today, actually. Not in connection with our meeting. I’m going to see a friend tonight who plays music and he’s just, he’s going to be 70 this year and I was kind of thinking, I wonder if I’ll still be playing when I’m full version 70 or 75 or older. And I thought, well, I hope so, anything’s possible [laughter]. There is tentativeness, a hope, in these future imaginings. Our cultural stories or mythologies also shape our ideas about the future. Certainly, the current story that getting old means declining health and wellbeing shapes our ideas about ageing, but there are also big cultural projections about how our future world may look that directly relate to our present imagining as a society. While speaking about the future,

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Mike casts back to his childhood, to a constructed future certainty that was presented to the postwar generation. It lives as a projection into the future, and, also, as a part of the mnemonic community. I remember in the Sixties, when we used to see what a typical house was going to look like. So, you have the fridge that told you when it was empty of milk – the space age family [laughter]. Older people do know with an inherent, profound clarity that the future will continue without them. The capacity to imagine death is not within our realm, but we do have the scope to know that we will die. Many participants in my research expressed an understanding that the world we inherited had been bequeathed to us by the previous generation, and that we would pass the world on, as it is, as we left it, for the next generation. Included in their worries about the future were fears about the world when they were no longer a part of it. In this quote from Geri, she states her sense of the future, baldly echoing the feelings of many participants: Future generations have a load of crap that they have to deal with. George views things a little differently. He is deeply political and has been active in his union across his lifetime. Cutting across time, across life span, from the perspective of ageing, George imagines a future world that continues: I suppose the one saving grace is that young people have optimism and, you know, they will make a way of things. Death Finitude, for all of us, is both the future and the end. As we integrate the awareness of relative time, we have a heightened awareness of death (Helson and Soto, 2005; Demiray and Bluck, 2014). Within the research group, many people discussed a way of living life through a double vision; time within their life span was finite, but also, the duration, how much time remained, was unknowable. This has been heightened by the shift in life expectancy. We are living longer, but how much longer? How much time makes up a life span? How does meaning shift when one lives with fewer rather than more years in that life span? Sally received her first diagnosis of cancer years ago and had another bout some years later. She believed that death was closer

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rather than farther away. In our interview she discussed her reaction to two separate cancer diagnoses. Sally: I think once I was told about the cancer, I thought my days were numbered, so to speak, and when I got over it I thought, I got to get out and do the most you can. Naomi: If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about the skin cancer. Is that okay? Sally: That’s okay. When I had the first lot all I did was cry and I never told people. But, once I had the second one – it’s funny, I just seemed to accept it – I suppose it’s because I got through the first one. Yeah, fire away. Naomi:  Was there a moment, was there a conscious moment when you remember saying I’m done with my old life? Or did this happen gradually? Sally: Oh no, it just seemed to happen. Gregory, like Sally, has shifted his life perspective in the face of death. In Gregory’s case, it is the death of friends. Here he describes the death of friends affecting his internal sense of lifetime: There is an element of – gather ye roses all, while ye may because they’re our friends who have died unexpectedly. A former girlfriend, a very close friend, died 18 months ago of emphysema and various other things. Another friend is seriously ill with cancer and you – all these people have been perfectly healthy one minute and essentially not there the next minute. Most people express a wish for, and a belief in, the possibility of many more years to live. At the same time, as we age, we experience the death of family, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. Within the research group, many people told stories of family, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances who had not lived what they considered to be a long life. Contained within the telling was a knowledge that a lifetime was just that, a lifetime – self-contained within its own space of time, no matter how short or long. During my interview with Maggie, she brought up the subject while discussing the death of a seven-year-old

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from her village. Here, she sums up an inherent sense of life span that was expressed by many participants. People always say how it is tragic if a life is cut so short or something like that. I believe a life is always complete within itself – his seven years – that is his, John’s life, in its entirety. I think, that’s something I believe that our life, in its entirety – there’s no point saying, if only this or that. We live our lives every day. Tomorrow is never going to come again.

Time and process All of the people who participated in the research were interviewed for about an hour. That was an hour of their lives devoted to thinking about and discussing the issues embedded in my questions about ageing. Time flowed from the present to the future in its unstoppable way. Memories of the past were revisited and, perhaps, refocused as they fitted into the narrative the interviewees were creating in answer to my questions. A reflection on time within the interview itself is a fitting end to this chapter. Here, Rich talks about the passage of time and how time’s passage changes us: I very much go along with that wonderful insight of Keats that he expresses in a letter, when he was a very young man – well, he died a very young man. But, where he writes about the quality that he defines as negative capability and goes on to describe it as the capacity to be in the moment of uncertainty, doubt, and unreason. I think it’s also provisional and I don’t think that set and determined answers are of much validity. The moment changes. The moment in which we started this questionnaire is over an hour ago. The planes have shifted since then, even. And I wouldn’t give you the same answers again. We live in a very shifty universe – atoms are circling continually and whatever is on the other side of the veil will be different now as to how it was an hour ago.

Conclusion Age, years lived, does substantially change our relationship to time. It affects our ability to imagine the future, our sense of the past, and the lens through which we see the present. Our perspective of time is interconnected with events and relationships, and that affects our sense of time’s passage. Those relationships are, primarily, with people,

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but can include our link to objects. The nature of time is, of course, unstoppable and uncontrollable, but through relationships and events we create a sense of continuity or flow of time. Discontinuity can be painful and/or a source of grief. The flow of time has no fixed sense but is, instead, mutable. Our sense of time can also be one of compression, where past, present, and possible future interpenetrate. Beginnings and later stages of life can live side by side as we discuss the start of something new towards the end of life. We mark time through significant events to help make sense and meaning of our lives. We also mark time, for example, in terms of segments or moments, to help give our lives structure or a sense that, although we cannot control time, we can contain it in our minds and through our relationships. Group memories form a community of memory or a mnemonic community. The time of life span is the whole of our time, no matter its length. Our life spans are part of a larger, richer pattern of time. We recognize the smallness of our lifetimes as we consider the future, the point after which we are no longer part of lived time, when we become contained in memory. Throughout this chapter, people referred to bodies, young or middleaged or ageing. Not only do we live in time but time lives within us, literally within our bodies. The next chapter looks at what some writers have to say about body and identity and will lay the groundwork for an understanding the integration of time, body, and identity.

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Body and identity This chapter explores some of the seminal literature on two seemingly different subjects: body and identity. Unlike time, these two subjects have been investigated in depth by other writers. This chapter aims to introduce themes contained in the subjects of body and identity that are most relevant to this book. The two subjects are presented separately, but later in the chapter, in the review of the work of Jenkins, Hockey and James, and Battersby, there are suggestions that body and identity are interwoven. In later chapters, we will explore the connections between body and identity (and time), why those connections are important, and how they bring to light a more whole sense of ageing. For now, this chapter opens the door to an understanding of those connections by providing a framework for the themes that are developed and explored in this book.

Body: an introduction When we look back through the story of the Sixties we can see that much of it revolved around the story of bodies. The Sixties was all about bodies – music and dance, drugs, sex and the Pill, gay rights and queer bodies, liberating women’s bodies from the drudgery of housework, dressing bodies, watching bodies dance on television; and, importantly, much governmental legislation centered on loosening state control over body. It is of note that every person I interviewed discussed at least one of the things on the list and many participants discussed much more. Those adolescent bodies of the postwar generation in the Sixties are now bodies in their 60s. They have a lifetime of bodily experience. This, of course, seems so obvious. Without a body how would we exist? Yet we rarely consider what it actually means to have and be a body. What really constitutes body? Are body and mind separate? How much of how we think about our bodies comes from our culture? Our times? How do culture and the times in which we live affect the way we perceive ourselves living in bodies? Does the story of the Sixties influence the way people perceive their now ageing bodies? Is time important to the way we understand body? Is time important to living in a body? These are some of the underlying questions that came to the surface as I did my research.

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A useful way to begin to answer some of these questions is to explore how some writers have defined body. Since our bodies are inseparable from us, it is difficult to grasp what body actually is. We look in the mirror, stub our toe, make love, gaze out of the window and watch other bodies, and it appears obvious: we know what this thing is that we call body. But do we? Medical approaches such as the measurement of blood pressure and heart beat are one way to get close to our bodies, but such approaches keep us from understanding the lived body experience – fully living in and with a body (Ichcikawa, 1991, translated and quoted in Ozawa-de Silva, 2002, p 31). Inquiring what the body is, or what the relationship between the mind and body is relates to the nature of being human. (Yuasa, 1987, p 25) How do we grasp what we cannot separate from?

Merleau-Ponty It was the French philosopher Merleau-Ponty’s despair over the H-bomb and the Cold War that led him to explore body. It was his belief that the split between mind and body made the unimaginable – nuclear annihilation – possible. He argued that a weapon capable of destroying all life could be created only by a society/culture deeply rooted in Cartesian dualism.1 Merleau-Ponty sought another vision, one that dispensed with the old dualities. He developed the idea that body is not a thing in the world, but instead, a vessel for, and the condition of, experience. His work brings body and mind back together in his seminal text, Phenomenology of Perception (1945/1962). Merleau-Ponty developed the centrality of embodiment, that we perceive the world through our bodies. He sought to re-establish the primacy of our human roots as corporeal beings, and that is what connects us to the perceptual world. The study of embodiment is phenomenological2 because it is the lived experience of being in a body. The term ‘embodiment’ defines a collapse of the mind/body split and articulates a profound intertwining of the two. Nettleton (2006) describes this interaction as oscillation. Grosz (1994) describes it as a Möbius strip where mind into body and body into mind exist together along the strip, thus eliminating the binary divide but maintaining distinctiveness. Csordas (1990) calls embodiment the essence of ‘being-in-the-world,’ our existential lived experience. Conceptualizing mind and body in these ways allows us to

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explore how we live and act/perform in the world both experientially and biologically. In Phenomenology of Perception, Merleau-Ponty details his reimagining of body as a vehicle for consciousness, an ‘opening to the world’ (1962; Morris, 2008). It is the lived-in body that is our existence in the world. This body opening to the world expresses and receives the perceptual, emotional, relational, and sexual – the whole of all there is to experience. Merleau-Ponty goes on to argue that consciousness is sensing and reasoning and that body is our contact with the world. Perception is always embodied perception, and cannot be anything other than embodied experience. The integration of mind and body functioning together creates our sense of perception – of ourselves alone or in relationship to the rest of the world. Of necessity, there is interrelatedness between mind and body that cannot be severed as long as we are alive, embodied beings. Finally it is important to note that for Merleau-Ponty, embodiment is not a tight container that stops at our skin. Because we perceive the world beyond the limits of our physical bodies we include a larger sense of physicality in our understanding of the world. There is an interpenetration between the perceived world and our embodied selves that extends the boundaries of our bodies. In other words, perception is bigger than the skin we live in. Merleau-Ponty describes embodiment as having a ‘momentum of existence.’ It is not a static, unmoving thing in space; instead, existence moves toward the future. Body and mind, consciousness and physicality exist as one interlaced entity. Within this profound interconnection embodied momentum can exist only in time. So it is that body lives in time and time lives in body. This brings us to ageing embodiment, certainly the core of living body time. Merleau-Ponty describes how drastic or dramatic physical changes alter our experience of living in the world. As we age, we do experience dramatic physical changes, albeit slowly, in hair color, skin texture, and body shape. These changes can and do alter our experience of living in the world and our sense of self in the world. This will be explored in later chapters. Merleau-Ponty’s work is important to understanding the experience of embodied ageing.

Foucault Foucault was very much a philosopher of the Sixties, although his work continues to resonate today. He wrote about his experiences with hallucinogenic drugs and actively supported the students’ occupation of the Paris-Sorbonne University in 1968.3 Foucault, speaking of the

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students, declared, ‘They are not making the revolution; they are the revolution’ (as quoted in Marwick, 1998, p 8). His work reflects the concerns and questions of his day – power, knowledge, surveillance, and liberation. The body is central in much of Foucault’s writing, particularly in The History of Sexuality (1990), but also in The Birth of a Clinic (1994), and Discipline and Punish (1997), as well as other published interviews and essays (such as Body/Power, 1972). He traces history through the lens of power and investigates social beliefs that are formulated through that history. This, in turn, informs our construction of body. Foucault is concerned with how power and knowledge are wielded in order to subjugate and control, through external and internal regulation of body. An example of this is the ‘medical gaze,’ a term coined by Foucault. This refers to the dehumanizing practice of examining a patient’s body separating the body from the identity of the person. For Foucault, such practices encapsulate the way in which the medical profession, through its knowledge, holds the power to control people’s bodies. For Foucault, body is not a natural thing but is instead constructed through discourse;4 not just verbal and written descriptions, but social practices and power relationships create the meaning and knowledge about bodies. Thus, for Foucault, our understanding about body is through a multi-layered construction. His work focuses on ‘not merely talking about the social construction of ideas about the body but about bodies themselves’ (Freund, 1988, p 845). Body is a malleable thing that is socially constructed and contingent on history; it is how we come to think about and define what a ‘good’ body is. From Foucault’s perspective, categorizing bodies is a function of expert groups. Knowledge is the domain of professional groups. Folk knowledge, or what Foucault calls ‘local knowledge,’ is discounted. Doctors and psychologists, for example, formulate a codified system based on expert knowledge. This expert knowledge defines behaviors as normal or deviant, or determines medicalized bodies that are healthy or sick. We all are caught in the discourse of expert knowledge; the practices Foucault describes and analyzes become internalized within individual bodies. Foucault argues that bodies are divided in terms of productivity or utilitarian analysis, categorized, and classified. The old, mad, delinquent, and sick are separated from those whose bodies are productive or useful. Appropriate institutions are devised to separate, discipline, and, in some cases, punish those who have not earned the right to remain in productive society. Foucault’s work both was important and continues to be influential. It opened up a discussion about the nature of how we live in bodies in the world that is fertile and ongoing. His stance is questioning,

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digging deep into how history and society/culture influence who we are and how we think about ourselves. Although much of what Foucault formulated is important, what is missing from his formulation of body is both fleshy living bodies and the experience of embodiment. What is relevant to his thesis is the non-materiality of Foucault’s body. In Foucault’s world, bodies are not active ‘producers of meanings’ (Williams and Bendelow, 1998, p 35) through lived experience. His emphasis on the discursive and constructed body leaves little room for social action and the agency of real embodied persons. Ultimately, in Foucault’s work, body is absent as a lived experience; it is a cipher for what he considers the real action, namely knowledge, power, and discourse. Foucault’s world is uni-directional; embodied activity and behaviour are non-interactional within a world of relationships with others and our environment.

Foucault’s influence and legacy That said, Foucault has had a significant influence on the social sciences. As an influential, radical, and outspoken figure, his explicit naming of and discourse on body opened up the subject to modern sociologists and gerontologists. If nothing else, his work has given us something to rub up against – a starting point. Foucault’s work gives us an ongoing awareness of the potency and disciplining power of cultural narratives that influence individual and group ideas about ageing. The important ideas he set forth have shaped and influenced many, either by default or through a more active embracing of his ideas. The feminists From its inception, body has been of central concern to second wave feminists. Issues of power and domination over women’s bodies, both subtle and violent, control over pregnancy and birth or even over access to basic information about women’s bodies were at the core of early feminist analysis. Women’s studies emerged from the women’s liberation movement and from the beginning Foucault’s work influenced this developing area. His formulation of discursive body allowed feminists to move away from essentialist descriptions of body difference to explore new meanings of sex and gender. However, like for Foucault, the body that was central to feminist theory making was discursive, missing physicality. Authors such as Firestone (1970/1979), Griffin (1978), and Rich (1979) tended to define women’s bodies as ‘other,’ meaning that

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men’s bodies were the norm, and all other bodies were ‘other than.’ As with Merleau-Ponty and Foucault, early feminist theory analyzed the definitions of body itself. Those definitions were strategic and informed by the political contingencies of the time. Another feminist, Wilson (Adorned in Dreams, 2003), a fashion researcher, is important to mention here. Wilson has analyzed the morality of certain kinds of clothing. She looked at the notion of ‘natural dress,’ the absence of artifice, what might be called ‘plain or simple clothing.’ She found that natural dress is perceived as morally good and that this was true in feminist circles in the Sixties and earlier. Her critique of the moral perception of clothing – what was deemed appropriate, or not – has implications as to how we see and define ageing bodies. The phrase ‘mutton dressed as lamb’ underlines Wilson’s point: her discussion on the moral imperatives placed on women’s bodies is easily translated to that of ageing bodies. Now, as the first group of second wave feminists enter old age, they are writing about ageing bodies. Ageing bodies are another kind of ‘othering,’ or not the norm. In particular, Ann Oakley’s highly personal account in Fracture: Adventures of a Broken Body (2007) conveys a strong sense of physical ageing through a feminist lens. In writing about her ageing body she exemplifies the feminist notion that the personal is important. She shines a light on what it is to live in an ageing woman’s body. Turner Turner’s The Body and Society (2008) is an important contribution to our understanding of body. His work is strongly influenced by Foucault. Turner’s bodies live in history in a constructed cultural world. Body and meaning come together as he explores the dimensions of body as embedded in society. Turner moves the sphere of human activity away from the disembodied rational mind to one that includes a physicality/ embodiment. In general, he is ‘extremely important in influencing subsequent formulations of, and investigations into, the problem of the body in society’ (Shilling, 2003, p 81). In Turner’s writing about ageing bodies, he describes bodies as ‘walking memories’ (1998, p 253). This apt description of the embodiment of time and memory brings the essential dimension of temporality into a discussion of body. His call for an embodied understanding of ageing within the temporal dimensions of generation, memory, and history is striking. However, despite the physicality that Turner adds to the discussion of body, his bodies are still not fleshy, rich with lived experience, thoughtful entities with agency. Turner’s bodies are integrated into society, with society

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as the governing principle rather than an interactive agent. However, since the publication of The Body and Society, Turner has addressed many of his critics, developing a more bottom-up approach, in which, body is generative rather than governed.

Elias In The Civilizing Process (1939/1978), Elias tells the story of the interconnection between history, society, and body. His work addresses historicized body, which I define as the development of body (form, knowledge, use, and so on) as embedded in and interacting with developments in history. For Elias, body undergoes a civilizing process as it travels through history. His work describes a long trajectory of a learning process, that began in court societies and spread en masse to society as a whole; of the flux or changes in society that we call civilized behavior. Through the learning process, individual intentions or interests become the norm that is enforced throughout society. Elias closely enmeshes biological and social functions. His focus is on primary human activities such as eating, sleeping, excreting, and sex. The ‘civilizing process’ is the shift from public, disinhibited practices of these functions to the imposition of rules of conduct or self-restraints. Through the history of this process, civilized bodies perform these functions in increasingly more private or domestic spaces. The civilizing process is continuous, without a beginning or end point; within any given society, it is always being refined as the boundaries of shame or disgust are internalized within that society. Elias also synthesizes a biological, physical, and psychological dynamic within historical time as he maps the civilizing process. In his work, body is more of a passive recipient rather than an active agent. Civilizing body through the movement of history is a metaphor for social process. Elias’s work is not the story of progress but, instead, the relationship between time/history, body, and society.

Julia Twigg: opening the door to ageing bodies So far, we have covered how we might define embodiment or the experience of lived body. We have looked at how bodies can be defined by society/culture, expert knowledge, and the force of history. We have briefly addressed othering of bodies through gender and ageing. Julia Twigg’s work delves into ageing, creating a balance between the cultural construction5 of bodies and the lived experience of ageing bodies. Twigg’s work has spanned a range of bodily issues, from vegetarianism

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to bathing, to body at the center of social care to her current work on fashion. For Twigg, lived body experience, or embodiment, and constructed body are intertwined. She is concerned with the ‘everyday experience, the subjective and embodied’ of social care (2006, p 25). In her critique of radical postmodernism, she makes clear that the realities of ageing, illness, and death cannot be deconstructed away. At the core of her writing are the workings of the biological and the social and cultural meanings of embodiment. She places body at the center of gerontology: The body is the master theme of gerontology, a single strand that unites the subject and gives it coherence. (2004, p 70) Twigg’s work adds to the literature by bringing body back into the frame, but in a renewed and respectful way. Although she is not the first researcher to discuss ageing and body, Twigg defines ageing body as a category of difference, arguing that the sight of ageing bodies creates a social division as potent as race or sex. Twigg approaches the lived experience of embodiment through an interlocking of biology and culture. Repeatedly, Twigg refers to ‘real bodies,’ taking the mundane experience of those in care and, in particular, being bathed, out of the theoretical realm and into the real world of being touched and handled by care staff. It is this materiality that drives the reader to a sense of tangible ageing corporeality in care. Twigg’s theme of real bodies is the underpinning of much of her work. She calls for more subjectivity regarding accounts of bodily ageing, ‘a widening account of old age’ that is ‘reflective’ of the lives of older people (2006, p 53). The notion of real bodies is inseparably linked to a move away from the Cartesian dualism between mind and body and an embracing of the concept of embodiment. Twigg makes it clear throughout her writing that real bodies are important. She also argues that it is through the ageing body that we most clearly understand the enfolded nature of physiology and culture – the two aspects intertwined. Ageing brings an awareness of the physicality of the life of the body. It is the lived experience of ageing body that, like illness, dissolves a sense of dualism and underlines our awareness of an embodied self. Twigg is also concerned with consumer culture and the influence of consumption on our notions of body. Her critique includes the impact of the shift away from the welfare state to a more individualized approach where self-determination and individual choice are emphasized. She does somewhat balance this view, noting that people are encouraged to have some sense of agency in regard to their own

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health, such as smoking cessation. She pays particular attention to the effects of this shift on older people. She also argues that consumer culture with its search for bodily perfection and idealization of youth has had a negative impact on ageing people. Twigg’s more recent work has focused on fashion and ageing – yet another facet of body. She has unpacked the moral aspects of older people’s fashion and clothing choices. She began to broach the moral aspect of good, bad, and/or transgressive bodies in her earlier work, but has expanded those ideas of late (2007 to now) to include a wider view of dressing and age. This valuing of, or giving moral value to, ageing bodies, and dressing ageing bodies, has opened up a crucial new way of thinking about bodies.

Understanding history Twigg’s work exploring real bodies is brave. I say ‘brave’ because ageing studies has tended to shy away from the subject of embodiment. It is useful, at this juncture, to look at the history of body and gerontology. In some ways, this history is indicative of the lens that society uses to see ageing through. Ageing studies and ageing bodies have an interesting and checkered history. We know the movement of time, ageing, through the changes in the look and feel of our bodies. From the development of physical capabilities like crawling, to walking, to running, to changes in size and characteristics, we experience ageing. Corporeality and age are inextricably linked throughout our lives, although it is in life’s beginning and ending that body is a central defining focus. Modern gerontology began with the sole purpose of understanding ageing bodies through the lens of decline and infirmity. Issacs, a significant figure in modern geriatrics, coined the term ‘giants of geriatrics’ to describe ‘instability, immobility, intellectual impairment, and incontinence’ (Morley, 2004, p 1135). This biomedical perspective identified and, in many ways, continues to identify older bodies as failing. It is from the roots of gerontology itself that Western societies have defined ageing primarily in problemsaturated terms. Ageing bodies’ messiness, the look of sagging skin, watery eyes, enlarged knuckles, or stooped posture are marked as a corporeal defeat rather than the next phase of life. Thus, it is not surprising that social gerontology has developed a defensive posture in relation to the body and, in the main, shied away from a focus on the bodily experience of ageing. It is not a lack of acceptance of body that motivates this position, but, instead, a desire to disengage from decline narratives and explore ageing from other perspectives; and there are a

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myriad of other perspectives. In other words, ageing body had gotten a bad rap from many earlier gerontologists and geriatricians. But there are notable exceptions: the work of Robert Butler and Marjory Warren are two prominent examples. Butler, an American psychologist, is often credited with taking the far-sighted step of separating gerontology from a strictly biomedical perspective. Warren, who was an important figure in the development of modern geriatrics, introduced innovative rehabilitation programs. In the long history of gerontology, the ideas that frame old age shift with the times. Consider Aristotle’s notion of eugeria. He described eugeria as the ‘state of a high quality of life in old age, as the normal condition for old people’ (Youngston, 2005). On that note, we end this brief exploration of body and embodiment and look next at identity.

Identity: an introduction There are a multiplicity of theories about identity – what it is and how we develop our identities or identity production. Some of those theories directly relate to ageing and identity. Other theories are not concerned with ageing, but more with the process of identity production. This section provides the background information needed to understand how time, body, and identity are connected. As was stated at the start of this chapter, the theme will be explored in depth later in this book. In Identity, Walker and Leedham-Green (2010) capture the essence of the two primary perspectives presented in this quote from Alice in Wonderland: ‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.’ ‘The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean different things.’ ‘The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘which is to be master – that’s all.’ (Carroll, 2001, p 113 [emphasis in original]) Humpty Dumpty states the contextual position as he refers to his untimely accident when he broke into pieces. If all the king’s horses and all the king’s men put him back together again, would he be the same egg? Is his identity contingent on the shape and integrity that was his pre-accident self? Like Popeye, Alice takes on the essentialist

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perspective: it is what it appears to be. Time, point of view, and meaning are captured in this exchange. It is also of note that Humpty Dumpty is sure of his identity before and after his accident. How do we define our identity? Is it through our relationships? I am a mother and a daughter, wife, sister, friend, enemy, mentor, mentee, and so the list could go on. Is my identity the color of my skin and the texture of my hair or the appearance of my age? Is it my hippie past, writer and researcher present, or some imagined future? Is it my beliefs and how I speak about them and the actions in the world that derive from those beliefs? Or, is it the specific neuro-biological processes, the pattern of unique responses to stimuli, that makes me me? Identity is perceived from a panorama of viewpoints. Are our identities fixed in the way that the cartoon character, Popeye, answers the question, ‘What am I?’ with ‘I yam what I yam and that’s all’? Or are identities more plastic, capable of molding to the needs of any given situation? It is, seemingly, as unchangeable as DNA, fingerprint, or iris patterns, or it is the almost imperceptible shifting fluidity from infant to older person. As I interviewed participants in my study, they reflected aspects of their identity, how they perceive the world, what they wanted to let know about themselves, who they were as young people, and who they are now.

Who am I? Many of us go through periods of our lives when we question who we are and just what our lives are about. During one of my interviews, Jack talked about going off to boarding school when he was very young and the effects of that experience on his ideas of defining his identity or sense of self. I think partly because of my boarding school experience I’ve kind of learned to set my identity by numbers, a bit – by looking at other people and copying, things like that. And that goes around ageing, as well. You know, that I kind of, I think back to wonderful old people who I have known and also people who I thought – that’s not the way to go, you know [laughter]. Jack appears to be acutely aware of creating his identity by copying others because of the context of his childhood. There is a growing body of theory that explores the construction of identity through our relationships with others and our world in general.

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Bateson (1972) situates identity within a web of possibilities: from values and beliefs to an ‘aggregate of habits of perception and adaptive action,’ to what we decide we, or the group we identify with, likes or dislikes (p 242). Bateson also makes the point that mind/self is systemic and not confined to the boundaries of the body, but part of the larger whole or a relational system. The system that Bateson refers to is the context of our lives: the people, employment, society and culture, environment, and so on in which we live. An example of breaking this boundary of our body is our identity in a relational context as we reach out to others and interact. We mirror each other in big and small ways – if you yawn, there is a good chance that I will mirror that yawn. Social and psychological perspectives shape our notions of identity. At the base of theories of identity construction is the question whether we have a core singular identity or are a group of integrated, multiple identities that shift according to context. Simon Biggs (1999, 1997, 1993) and Featherstone and Hepworth (1991) have written about ageing identity from the perspective of a singular core identity. White (2007), White and Epston (1990), Gullette (1997, 2004), Hood (2011), and Jenkins (1996), along with other writers, pursue the notion of multiple identities. In other words, they theorize that there is no singular thing that we call the self but instead a collection of identities. Ageing is not, in itself, a notion of identity that can be segregated from general identity theory. As Gullette explains, it is part of our me-ness. Thus, I draw from general theories of identity, as well as theories specific to ageing.

Multi-storied identities Gregory: … one is defined to some extent, as one gets old, by what you do – ah, and the, mmm, what you like, um, whatever that is – what – your value system, what your passions are. Naomi: What would you like people to know about you? Gregory: Well – I like to be thought of as an imaginative and creative person. Um, um, ah… a loyal and steady friend … Um, I think, yeah, those are the main things. In this quote, Gregory is describing to me how it is we define ourselves as we come into adulthood, what makes us who we are, parts of our identity. He goes on to describe aspects of himself that are important to him and what he wants people who know him to see about him.

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Hood, in his book The Self Illusion (2012), describes the process of development and emergence of the self through childhood as one of modelling, imitating, or reflecting those around us, the influence of others and the stories that are constructed through life experience. Hood’s central thesis, based on neurobiological and psychological research, posits that the singular core self is an illusion. Instead we are social beings, developing a sense of self that is reflective of the external world or the ‘looking glass self ’ (Cooley, 1902). This is not to say that we enter this world as blank slates; genetics, and even memory within our DNA, may play a part in who we are (Dias and Ressler, 2014). Our sense of self as adults continues to be shaped and reshaped as we adapt to new situations, new relationships – everything in our world. It appears that we continue to adapt, taking on new identities, reshaping a sense of self, our entire lives. The look of our ageing selves is reflected back to us by those around us. It is one of the ways we shift to take on an identity as an older person. In these two quotes from Sally and Maggie, they wonder at how they saw older people as children and how children see them now: Sally: … as I have got older – I realise I’m older than a lot of me friends’ mums – I used to look and think how old they looked [laughter]. I wonder what the young children think of me now. Maggie: I think when people were 61, when I was a small child they appeared a lot older. But maybe I appear a great deal older to today’s children. [Laughter] Like Maggie and Sally, we are all social beings whose identities are constructed through adaptation to our changes in appearance, roles, health, and so on as reflected to us as we move through life. We are part of a larger social system or social whole. I turn again to the Chinese philosophers who believe we have no discrete self but that we are part of the larger social whole (Pirruccello, 2012). Of course, they are perceiving the world through an entirely different set of cultural precepts, yet, it is interesting that the belief in a singular self that has become so rooted in Western thought is not universal. Epston and White: multi-storied selves Our Western ideas about a singular self stem from the writings of Plato. In modern times the dissemination of Freudian psychological theories has popularized the idea of a singular core self. Postmodernists David

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Epston and Michael White founded Narrative Therapy.6 Basing their work on that of Foucault and greatly influenced by Bateson, they developed a form of psychotherapy that is predicated on the notion that we are multi-storied beings. Originally, Narrative Therapy was the translation of Foucault into psychotherapeutic practice. Over the years, Epston and White have shifted their perspective. The development of Narrative Therapy is collaborative, and many practitioners have had a hand in it, integrating theory and practice. Narrative Therapy holds that there is no true or authentic self that then develops various personas or identities while true self remains stable. In other words, there is no sovereign self. Instead, the self is constituted in stories, and these stories shape, and are shaped by, our lives, our relationships, the whole of our being-in-the-worldness. Stories are not defined by consciously constructed autobiography but, instead, by the everyday talk that can be perceived as narratively driven. In this quote, the self is described metaphorically as fluid, rather than a reductive inner reality: What was needed was a shift away from structure and a view of the self as a stretch of moving history, like a river or stream. … I came to think of the self as the Australian aborigines think of their ‘songlines’. Songlines are the musical roadmaps tracing paths from place to place in the territory inhabited by each individual. (Hoffman, 1992, quoting Gergen) Like much postmodern theory, Narrative Therapy draws on Foucault’s concepts of power and knowledge. Knowledge and power profoundly influence our sense of selves: ageism or sexism are results of the cultural and societal myths about age or women. In Narrative Therapy, stories are defined as metaphors rather than rigid literalisms (Freedman and Combs, 1996). So, our stories speak of our identities, the meanings of events, relationships, and so on. Questions central to every metaphor are: What do the stories we know and tell about ourselves mean? How do our stories shape the way we perceive the world? What are we including in these stories of identity and what are we excluding? Included in identity are our hopes, values, dreams, intentions – who we are, as we inhabit a storyline (Duvall and Beres, 2011). In this way, self and identity bleed together and become a landscape of our ‘isness.’ Through action and consciousness or social practice, we create meaning. Meaning, self, and identity are fluid and contingent. Events, relationships, intentions and motivations, commitments, values and beliefs, to name a few, are part of the landscape of action. We act

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and through action we experience; through action, both identity and meaning can and do shift throughout our lives. Although Narrative Therapy was predicated on the work of Foucault, there was always a disconnect between the influence of discursive technologies of knowledge and power and the personal agency that Narrative Therapy champions. In White’s later writing he shifted away from a radical postmodernist view, to something he called the ‘agentive self ’ (White, 2007; also see Guilfoyle, 2012). The agentive self develops identities that counter subjugating stories, like ageism. It is of note that throughout its history Narrative Therapy has been concerned with embodied practices and the conscious experience of those practices. There has always been a discomfort between Foucault’s discursive body and the embodied practices that Narrative Therapists choose to work with – for example anorexia and domestic violence. Like the agentive self, it is the phenomenological body, not the discursive body, that frames Narrative Therapy theory and practice. This is perhaps a result of another major influence in the development of Narrative Therapy: the work of Bateson (Duvall and Beres, 2011). Bateson’s influence is also acknowledged in the notions of temporality that are enfolded into Narrative Therapy. Human sense organs can receive only news of difference, and the difference must be coded into events (i.e. into changes) in order to be perceptible. (Bateson, 1979, p 79) It is news of difference that precipitates identity development as our stories are produced, reproduced, and changed. In other words, our identities adapt to the changing conditions of our lives, whether those be career changes, or becoming a lover or partner, or our hair turning grey and our faces wrinkling. Gullette and ageing identities Gullette (1997, 2004), who names herself an age critic, departs from the idea of singular core identity and turns to a configuration of identity as multiple changing or shifting, narratively driven identities. She is interested in ageing identities and how those identities are forged by culture. Storytelling is at the heart of Gullette’s work, in that she sees our identities as constructed through the stories we tell ourselves and others about who we are – our ‘me-ness.’ The meaning of ageing is developed through our historical and chronological, geographical/ spatial, and discursive contexts. We hold a secret identity that is never

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spoken or shared and also a social identity, both of which come about, in large part, from the decisions we make as to who we want to be, based on beliefs, values, and affiliations. In the formation of our ageing identity, we adopt and adapt these to fit a sense of self-identity. Age is primary in our identity construction. Ageism and cultural mythologies of age decline play a significant role in Gullette’s theory of identity development (1997, 2004, 2011). Resistance to decline plays an important role in her notions of the development of ageing identities. At the core of Gullette’s theory is the concept that, through our narratives, we create multi-storied identities, and these identities are the voice of our multiple selves (1997). Although there is much in Gullette’s work that is ground breaking, the notion of a secret identity and a social identity conceives of our psyches and identity formation in discrete ways rather than as an ongoing, integrative process that includes body, mind, and brain acting in concert. Yes, we may think we have hidden identities but in our everyday behavior and experiences, shifting identities are integrated or appear seamless to us. For example, there are times when our work self bleeds into our sibling identity or our wife/husband self. We may behave and feel significantly different in each of these identities but all are authentic. Finally, Gullette’s theory of resistance is, on the surface, similar to White’s and Epston’s notion of the agentive self, but resistance assumes a fighting stance whereas agency is directed, controlled activity. Gullette’s point that we tend to resist categorization is a good one but she takes it further into a core motivation. This quote from my interview with Charles exemplifies agency as he perceives himself coming into a new ageing identity: So, I’ve had a lot of things – I’m not blowing my own trumpet but I have a lot of skills, a lot of interests, particularly crazy ones that I haven’t really been able to – no – I’ve chosen because of the way that I have directed my life, yeah? – to put those aside. And, and the reason my life is happening the way it is now is because I decided, you know what? – I’m not going to do that anymore. I’m going to go for the things that I want to do, you know. The clock is ticking even though I’ve been blessed with good genes. I want to do those things where my heart really is and I’m just about to begin that. I haven’t given up on those things throughout my life but they’ve been on the shelf. Charles’s quote speaks to his sense of agency in the world as he takes on an ageing identity. It is, indeed, the moving river of history, a new

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songline as described in the quote from Gergen, above. For Charles, like all of us, the bodily changes are the genesis of his shifting identity. Embodiment is integral to the story of identity.

Identities and embodiment Jenkins The work of Richard Jenkins (1996) makes a major departure from previous identity theories when he situates embodiment at the core of identity. It is the fact of our embodiment that is the unifier of the self. It seems obvious, but body and mind together, our embodied being, makes up the entirety of our identity. In analyzing Freudian and Transactional Analysis theory, he names them the ‘theory of bits’ (Jenkins, 1996, p 46). Although Jenkins’ approach is sociological, he comes to the same conclusions as Hood, in that we experience multiple integrative identities that are relational, rather than a singular self. We do not, in reality, experience multiple entities living inside us; instead, we experience ourselves as unitary embodied beings. A unitary model, however allows us to recognise the self as a rich repository of cultural resources; organised biographically as memory, experientially as knowledge; some conscious, some not; some of them in contradiction, some in agreement; some of them imperative, some filed under ‘take it or leave it’; some of them pure in-flight entertainment; etc. The self is an umbrella … (Jenkins, 1996, p 46) In other words, there is no true or authentic self/identity as described in psychological/ psychoanalytic terms. Jenkins views identity as fluid and, like Gullette, portrays its expression as a core ‘is-ness.’ However, unlike Gullette, he delineates a multi-layered investigation of identity. He defines identity, all identity, as social identity. He states that identity itself is the wider category of naming all substantive things and creatures. That said, Jenkins’ stated concern is not with how identity is defined but, rather, with how it works. Seen through Jenkins’ systemic lens, identity is a flow of relational processes and practices. Self-knowledge – our perceptions of ourselves and the world around us – as well as knowledge of others, which we experience through interaction and observation (not the psychoanalytic notion of projection), is the stuff we use to construct identities. Embodiment is the unifier

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of mind and self and, from this, identity flows. Identity formation is a reflexive or responsive process. It comes of our interactions with social constructions, our relations with others, and with institutions. Jenkins describes a similar process in his construction of the collective social identity, a process where individuals reflect the collective and the collective reflects individuals in an active, transferable process. Jenkins’ description of the larger processes of identity making, from the individual to society as a whole, is useful, leading to an understanding of process that extends beyond individual identities. He also explains why resistance to identity classification/stereotyping is a potent process over time. This is an important point for Jenkins; people have a great deal of difficulty being categorized or quantified, and they will resist institutional/societal efforts to do so. As with Gullette’s notions of age categorization and resistance, we defy attempts to categorize us. Jenkins makes an interesting and important point about the process of identity formations: reflexive self-identity is not a modern phenomenon. He compares the ideology of spiritual salvation and how, at another point in history, it could be construed as similar to the modern ideology of personal growth. Identity might, very well, once have been reflexive of an older ideology of religious salvation, as it is today reflexive of personal growth/development ideologies. History and culture determine the shape and meaning of identity, but the process of formation is comparable. Jenkins’ work is significant on a number of levels but it is his conception of embodiment as the unifying basis for identity, not as naturalized but as the fact of our corporeal selves, that is of central importance. In other words, for Jenkins, selfhood is unified mind and body/embodiment that is reflective and reflexive of culture and society. Jenkins’ embodiment, like Merleau-Ponty’s, is not conceptualized as a bounded container but, instead, something that can be, and is, interpenetrated by others. He cites Bateson and his Ecology of Mind (1972), which situates the flow of self as part of a larger ecological whole or system. This brings me to the work of Hockey and James (2003), who build on Jenkins’ theoretical base to construct a theory of ageing identity through the lens of embodiment that is neither psychodynamic nor naturalized. They state: If, as Jenkins (1996) argues, individual identity can only make sense in relationship to social identity then the reverse is also true. Social identities only come into being through their embodiment or animation by individuals. Thus ‘the social is the field upon which the individual and collective

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meet and meld’ (Jenkins, 1996, p 17). We therefore come to know that we are ageing through our embodiment. And, in the social, this experience conjoins with ideological and economic structures. (2003, p 134 [original emphasis]) Ageing identity is the interpenetration of engagement with society, human agency, and embodiment (both culturally constructed and corporeal fleshy body – which, ultimately, cannot be teased apart). That said, there is a wide variance of ageing identities. Class, race, gender, family history, health, and personal choices are just a few possible variables that constitute ageing identities. Hockey and James postulate that age is a significant and basic aspect of identity. Like Jenkins, they develop a theory of identity that is fluid, relational, and reflexive. Identities are formed as we: (1) learn how others view/perceive us; (2) are influenced by the cultural discourses of knowledge and power; (3) interact with the social forces (of all kinds) around us. Identity is not stable. There is no true or authentic self; instead, it is fluid and contingent. In part, the genesis of this instability is age, since age is not static. In large part, our identity is formed by our own internal sense of ageing and how others perceive us. Hockey and James Hockey and James challenge notions of fixed life stages and, instead, describe a ‘fuzzy’ life course where age, all ages, are significant to identity formation. Through the passage of ages, events, interaction, and so on, identity is produced, reproduced, and changed. Individuals and society/culture engage and merge through body. The process of the production of identity, both collective and individual, is initiated and cultivated at this junction. In other words, embodiment is the meeting point of all individual and collective social/cultural activities. Hockey and James touch on the temporal as they discuss not just chronology, but also the historical dimensions of identity. Through embodiment there is an interpenetration of past, present, and future that shapes the imagination and the production of memory. This is the raw material of identity. Age and culture are situated in the historical. It is our dynamic framework of memories that incorporates the past into current identities. With their inclusion of embodiment and temporality, Hockey and James have developed an important theoretical understanding of ageing identity. Like Jenkins, they have moved beyond the disembodied discourses of knowledge and power to add the dimension of embodiment to our understanding of identity.

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Like Jenkins, Hockey and James advance a notion of body that is not a bounded container, but instead, extends beyond vessel status to being part of a social matrix (Hockey and James, 2003).

Extending the boundaries I will now touch briefly on the work of Battersby (1993, 1998), which crosses over both body/embodiment and identity. She describes identity as emerging out of a play of ‘relationships and force fields’ as we share space/time with others. Battersby describes the body’s permeable boundaries, with its ‘potential for penetration and pregnancy,’ as intrinsic to identity. For her, both body and identity flow in a configuration that is outside notions of containment. Elegantly, she states: What I have been wanting to stress throughout this paper is that not all talk of identity involves thinking of the self as unitary or contained; nor need boundaries be conceived in ways that make identity closed, autonomous or impermeable. We need to think individuality differently; allowing the potentiality for otherness to exist within it, as well as alongside it; we need to theorise agency in terms of patterns of potentiality and flow. Our body boundaries do not contain the self; they are the embodied self.(1993, p 38 [emphasis in original]) For Battersby, the embodied self/identity are interlaced; we are our embodied selves. Many postmodern writers (Foucault, Deleuze, Haraway, and Irigaray to name a few) describe others or ‘otherness’ as a necessity in identity construction, meaning that building an identity is positioning ourselves against others. Battersby, however, describes identity as transcending boundaries in a profound flow between ourselves and others. This flow is not against others but an interchange with others. As reflective and reflexive beings we construct our identities to mirror and respond, developing identities through a mutual relational dance with those around us.

Weaving memories and meaning Memory, who we believe we were in the past, how we behaved in given events, our relational connections whether that be as a parent or child or colleague are what we carry forward as we construct our identity narratives. Identity and memory are so tightly interknit that,

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sometimes, one cannot be without the other. Sacks (1985) describes the construction of what is ‘us’ as a narrative that is comprised of the memories of ‘our feelings, our thoughts, our actions; and not least, our discourse, our spoken narrations’ (1985, p 105). We need memory in order to make and take possession of our life stories. Hood (2011) describes memory as ongoing possession and repossession of life story that we use to create our identities. Memory is ever changing. New experiences provide the fodder for making new memories that are used in the process of creating identity. Hood uses the concept of composting: the old stories/identities become compost as we create new memories and our life stories subtly (or not so subtly) shift to accommodate new ideas about ourselves through new experience. Perhaps it is not composting so much as adaptation and fluidity. It is like the flow of a river – same water but new elements are continually added, dissolved, or left behind as flotsam and jetsam. The experience of ageing is one that not only invites, but demands that we shift our identity to adapt to all the changes that come with age. Sacks states we have an imperative to preserve a sense of identity, that this is basic to our being. He describes the neural pathway patterns as created or scored (to use a music metaphor) by all of memory, the sum of all of experience and ever changing. Ever changing because experience and memory creation never cease so long as we are alive. Sacks describes the mind, these continually shifting patterns, as ‘an enchanted loom.’ Shifting identities are shaped along with the weaving of meaning, experience, and memory as we adapt, we become, we are never static. I would like to end with a quote from one of my interviewees, Sarah, as she describes who she perceives herself as being now, as a person of 62. The memories of who she might be, what it meant to be 62 are held up against her current experience as Sarah. Like for all of us, this is in the process of becoming. When I was younger, 62 – I know it’s a cliché, but some people say that 60 is the new 40 or something, but, 62 then was – you weren’t very active and my life now is bigger than it’s actually ever been and I have more kind of agency and power in my life. And, maybe even 10 years ago I couldn’t have anticipated what could have happened.

Conclusion The body and identity theoretical work outlined in this chapter has been influential in the social sciences, and some, like that of Hockey

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and James and Twigg, is directly applied to ageing. Merleau-Ponty created a framework for our understanding of embodiment. His work provides the language to make meaning of a body and mind that oscillate together or form the continuous Mobius strip that abandons Cartesian notions of duality. Elias has made a significant contribution to the sociology of the body as he traces the civilizing process through a history of the body. Foucault provided an initial understanding of the influence of culture/society on the construction of body. His writing has made a powerful impact both in general and, specifically, on feminist scholars searching for gender and sexual definitions. Turner’s panoramic history of the body is a step forward in the understanding of body, history, and society. Twigg’s work gives ageing bodies flesh and brings an understanding of both biology and culture to gerontology. Gerontologists’ reticence to consider the physicality of ageing makes sense in the context of our cultural stories of ageing as decline and infirmity. In the work of Jenkins, of Hockey and James, and of White and Epston, we see a framework that theorises a multi-identity self rather than a singular core identity. Biggs, and Featherstone and Hepworth, along with Twigg, and Gilleard and Higgs (among others) claim that the splintering of identity is a postmodern condition as a result of consumer culture. They take the stance that individualism and an emphasis on choice have destabilized our core identity production. Jenkins and Epston and White are explicit in their writing that this is not the case, and their assertions are backed up by current neuroscience. There are more similarities than differences between the theories of Jenkins, Hockey and James, and those of White and Epston. Perhaps, the major difference is that Jenkins and Hockey and James emphasize embodiment, while White and Epston frame identity through stories. Hockey and James’ focus is, of course, age and embodiment. Ultimately, all five theorists frame identity within postmodern notions of social construction and embodiment. They all develop notions of identity without a stable core authentic or true self. For them, identity is fluid, and there is an interchange between the collective or cultural/societal identity and the individual. Gullette also discusses multi-storied selves, although her stories are age specific. Battersby’s important contribution is the description of a profound entanglement between our embodied selves and identity as transcending boundaries. Through the work of Hood and other neurobiologists, and of Sacks, we come to understand that memory and identity development are interknit. There can never be one without the other. I have reviewed a mix of age identity theorists and writers who did not focus on age, primarily because age is but one

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aspect of our rich pantheon of possible identities. The larger framework of identity production, how we develop our identities, is seamlessly intertwined with our embodied selves and temporality. This is more important than a singular focus on ageing identity. In the next chapter, I return to the voices of participants as they discuss body, identity, and time. It is through their voices that we see how embodiment, identity, and the many aspects of temporality are interconnected. Notes 1

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Descartes put forth the theory that mind and matter were separate, with mind being the far more important of the two. Descartes believed that the material universe was a machine and that mind could and should have control over nature. Phenomenology is the study of human consciousness and self-awareness. In May 1968, after a series of strikes that turned violent, the University was shut down. When it was reopened there was a student occupation, declaring it the ‘People’s University.’ ‘ways of constituting knowledge, together with the social practices, forms of subjectivity and power relations which inhere in such knowledges and relations between them. Discourses are more than ways of thinking and producing meaning. They constitute the “nature” of the body, unconscious and conscious mind and emotional life of the subjects they seek to govern’ (Weedon, 1987, p 108). ‘A social mechanism, phenomenon, or category created and developed by society; a perception of an individual, group, or idea that is ‘constructed’ through cultural or social practice’ (Dictionary.com, 2015). In this case, we are referring to the notion that our ideas about body are not natural but developed through the filter of our culture. This is not to say that our ideas about body are not ‘real’ but, instead, they are defined through the perspective of our culture. Other cultures have different ideas about body. Narrative Therapy has no relationship to narrative analysis or narrative theory, although they draw from some of the same sources.

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The past and present converge It is over 40 years since the end of the Sixties, the postwar cohort is ageing and, by many calculations, old. This chapter presents participants’ descriptions, understandings, and thoughts about ageing body, time, and identity. In this chapter, interviewees provide a window onto their lives as they delve into past memories, current experiences and thoughts. Through the quotes, we begin to understand how time, body, and identity are intertwined. The Sixties is explored as an ongoing influence in their lives, especially as it relates to ageing and to who they have become and are becoming as older people. The section of this chapter titled ‘The present’ looks at how the influences of the Sixties era are reflected in the cohort’s embodied ageing selves.1 Of course, memories, the past, and the present are perceived through the lens of relative time. Mind and body, our embodied selves, the whole of who we are, is a seamless enmeshment. As embodied selves, we live in time in all its manifestations, from rhythmic body time to timescape. We can never pull our embodied selves out of time. The temporal dimension and embodiment are never separate, never really discrete. Our individual bodies are embedded in time and time is embodied within us. This embodiment is so profoundly intimate that we rarely think about it because it is just part of us. As we saw in the last chapter, enveloped within mind and written on our bodies is the stuff of our identities. It can be described as our neurobiology or the sense we feel of our meness or an irreducible interplay of both. Of course, body interweaves with the ongoing development of our identity in the form of gender, age, size, experience and memory, and so on. Where are the boundaries of embodiment, temporality, and identity? Where does one begin and the other end? It is difficult, if not impossible, to know. In this chapter, research participants discuss their lives – in the past and through the present.

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The past Living the Sixties In Chapter Two we saw that research participants had their own interpretation of involvement in the Sixties that did not necessarily match media stereotypes of that period. Their experience of that time was varied – it was ‘their’ Sixties. Few participants would define themselves as part of Swinging London. Yet, many interviewees stated that the period from 1958 to 1973 – the Sixties – was a strong influence on their lives, regardless of whether or not they were directly involved in the politics or subcultures of the day. Other interviewees signaled the influence of the Sixties on their lives through their interests or descriptions. It was that influence, the advent of the social rupture of the Sixties and the many attendant changes, that they attributed to their framing of embodied ageing. The cohort’s young and middle adult years have passed since the end of the Sixties, a considerable span in the life course, yet the social, economic, and political meanings have carried them forward into old age and embodied identity. ‘Their’ Sixties Roy and I met on a sunny day in his small conservatory. He grew up in a rural Lincolnshire village in what he described as a lower middleclass family. Throughout our interview he discussed family events and family members as having an influence on his life; not so much by example but by default. Roy describes his experience of the Sixties: Well, we had the television, we had the news, we learned what was going on at Woodstock. Paul describes his Sixties: Paul: I wasn’t a hippie. I was involved in politics, yes but not in the way you might think in terms of the Sixties. Naomi: So, how were you involved? Paul: Um, I was a member of the Oxford Conservative Society. I was on the committee of the Society.

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Margaret and I met at her office. She kindly squeezed me into her very busy work schedule. She is from a long line of women who worked in the textile mills. Although her life was very different than that of the previous generation of her family, she puts it in the context of ‘normal’ as she describes her life in the Sixties: But, we started our own business and then, of course, I did work but the children were with me as well. But I don’t feel that that time had a great influence on me apart from just normal bringing up because whatever happened to me at that time was normal. I didn’t know, I didn’t think I was doing anything different because it seemed normal what we were doing. Here Rich, who was part of Swinging London, describes his experience: At a tangent, don’t you think we were remarkably lucky to grow up in the Sixties? My teens, for example, were exactly coincident with the Sixties – in 1960 I became a teenager and by the end of the decade I was what? 23, 22. So, I thought the Sixties entirely wonderful. And I thought the permissions, the cultural permissions by the Sixties had an enormous effect on my life in many ways. I think the social changes of the Sixties and the shifts in attitude about – a shift away from a very ossified social order that was maintained in the postwar right up to the Sixties – were liberating. Some of the obvious ones, you know, the changes in political attitudes and sexual liberation, the changes in feminist consciousness, I suppose and the awareness of the subdued role of women in the society, at the time. But, I think also personally, there was a much greater autonomy, the cultural mix allowed and the revolutionary sense in the air. I think there was a distinct revolutionary atmosphere about the Sixties right through to sixtyeight and so on. And I think the major players would have been things like easy access to so-called mind-expanding drugs for an example. LSD was an enormous influence on the Sixties or my social set of the Sixties generation. I think to me, it would have been one of the most important factors about the Sixties. The Pill and growing up female Rich was one of the few men who mentioned feminism, although many of the women included it in their description of the Sixties. Some

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women named themselves as part of the “Pill generation,” creating a demarcation line between that embodied experience and those women who came before them. This is certainly the case, as the postwar cohort were the first to experience what may, perhaps, be one of the most far-reaching changes in the course of human time – the uncoupling of sexuality and procreation. Many of the women who were interviewed discussed the effects of the Pill on their lives. Candice: I think the Pill has got to probably be the biggest influence. Not on me personally – well, yes, on me personally, in the sense, I think, people, young women, in the Sixties were under pressure to have sex because they could without getting pregnant. In the early Seventies for me, really, not the Sixties. But, of course, it started in the Sixties. But, I think that probably, the whole business of choosing to start a family – I suppose having that choice – that’s influenced everything having to do with women’s position in society. That was the key to the whole thing. There was some indication of class differences in women’s descriptions of the Sixties. Some working-class women disclosed that they had married and had children while still in their teens. That did not supersede their describing their lives as different and with more opportunities than previous generations of women. Julia and I met in her sunny living room in the rural North Country. She has a lovely warm presence, welcoming me into her home. Julia comes from a working-class background, married in her teens, and then continued her education at night school. She states: I think it gave women a lot more confidence and just a totally different way of life for women. ’Cause my mum, well, my mum never worked, she was a stay-at-home mum. She had no need – I’m not saying she had no need to work, the money would’ve been handy, but it just wasn’t something that was done unless you were desperate, I think. And so, my mum’s life was totally different to mine. So, when I was a youngster I wouldn’t have thought that I would be going out to work and being independent. The way things changed, you would not have thought that when you were 10. There is a profoundly gendered difference in Julia’s quote between the time of her mother and her time, yet she also characterizes it as a change in her childhood imagining of the grown-up world. She uses the word “independent” – an embodied gender difference. Lisa’s

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description encapsulates the centrality of body to the Sixties as she relates her account of the time. It was a wonderful period because suddenly you were free. Because growing up in Britain, in England, in the postwar period was very austere. You know, when you think you couldn’t buy jeans. I didn’t eat – I hadn’t seen – a proper orange until I was four or five, you know, older than that actually. And I could, you know, it was very, very – we didn’t have butter – it was quite a difficult period. It all seemed to be very dark as a child. I remember my father was in the Navy so we traveled a lot out, out of England. It was lovely and light but back in England that postwar period was very depressing. And so suddenly the Sixties was a – it was like an explosion of everything happening and it was so exciting and you were free and, of course, we had the Pill. We just had this feeling of freedom. There was a sense that the ways of being female were less proscribed. Patricia describes this opening in terms of freedom of movement. I think it is because we have the freedom to do a lot more … I’m country, anyway. I was born and brought up down the road. I used to just enjoy life and things that mum never could do that I was doing. I used to go out and I learned to ride a motorbike ’cause my boyfriend had a motorbike so I had to learn how to ride a motorbike. We used to go down to Brighton on our bikes… Now, mum wouldn’t have done that. Although women may have been riding scooters at other points in history, the significance of Patricia’s statement is how that example was connected to her ideas of “freedom” and change. During this period there were significant changes in household technologies that made women’s physical labor far less onerous. The introduction of labor-saving devices, in effect, created another kind of liberation for women and, like the Pill and other freedoms, body was central. Sally: When you think of the appliances, with that and the comforts in our home. My memories – the house we grew up in – it was a modern one built just after the war but it had a black flooring and my mum used to be on her hands and knees polishing that and it had a half rag rug over it and they made that and when I

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think about how hard things were. You think with the washing where now we got washing machines, we push things in. There was a boiler, and on a Saturday, me and my sister used to help and there was an old mangle and you bought blue bags and you rinsed it and then you put it in this blue water. Loosening the boundaries Along with the changes for women, there were other bodies of difference that were liberated in this time. Gay and lesbian people were deeply affected by the social revolution of the time. This is Bruce’s telling of that time: I mean I was brought up in the 1950s – inevitably having been born in 1948. I think the most significant thing that happened in the Sixties was, if you think about – and you probably weren’t in the UK at the time – in the provinces, in the 1950s, in sort of middle-class households, things were fairly inflexible. People were, attitudes were quite rigid. There were really clear demarcations between what was acceptable and what was not. There was a plus side to that, of course, because life was much more predictable. If you were comfortably well off, the likelihood was, that’s how you were going to stay. But what happened in the Sixties, in society, in this country was that a lot of that rather stuffy kind of predictability was thrown up in the air and, I think, an enormous input of tolerance and understanding of difference. Not just – obviously, it affected me, in terms of sexual orientation but in terms of the way people dressed, the way we looked, the way we behaved, all these things changed. I mean the Fifties were just terrible from certain points of view – food being one of them. I think that willingness to be more open minded, tolerant, accepting of other people, in terms of their outlook, their situation. I think that has been influential – it probably influenced a lot of other people who had that experience of the Sixties. Dressing the Sixties Both men and women spoke about Sixties fashion as a physical marker of identity, of being of that time. I am using the term ‘fashion’ as defined as costume: clothing that is particular to a group (Wilson, 2003). The subcultures had their own specific style markers, but style was larger than countercultural looks. It was a physical statement of generation as

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defined by costume. What makes the costume of the day so important was that, up to this time, most teens dressed like their parents. Bill describes it this way: I went to one or two pop concerts and things like that but I certainly wasn’t a hippie or anything like that. I wore the clothes of the day, sort of kipper ties and flared jeans and did everything that kids did in those days – put sort of flowery bits on your jeans, wore thick belts and suede jackets. Chosen style holds a world of meaning. The mod style was laden with significance, for example, class, music preferences, and drug taking (Rawlings, 2000). Gill describes liking both the look and what mod signified: I remember the mods and I really liked that because it was in between the rockers and the fascists and I really liked the mods. I thought they were really cool. I like the way they dressed. My boyfriend, at the time, my ex[-husband] now, he was a mod [laughter]. Grace tells the following story, in which Sixties fashion plays a central role as a metaphor for many of the values she held/holds dear. The first party of the medical practice he had joined [husband]. And I got dressed the way I usually did and I was wearing a maxi dress, a leopard skin zip-up the front, big hood, perfectly modest, covered everything up [laughter] but I suppose was very, I don’t know, suggestive and he absolutely said, “You can’t wear that. You can’t come to meet my partners dressed like that.” And you didn’t think I was particularly a wild child but I think being in Oxford – there was a freedom being in Oxford which was the Sixties, which was an expression of freedom, of self-expression, eccentricity, creativity, which exaggerated all of that and I didn’t think it was an exaggeration. I just thought it was, it was gloriously, voluptuously to be enjoyed – full-spectrum. Coming to [city name] – partly through his influence and partly through just the recognition of it was like in the provinces – I really tamed things – I’m not saying this was good because he also wanted to tame other things that to me were natural progressions – being curious about life and spirit, and healing and the world – which I didn’t think warranted being limited. So, that became a kind of metaphor of a

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child of the Sixties. And then sartorially having to really edit the appearance and some of the views and mannerisms that didn’t sit with being the doctor’s wife. The Sixties did have distinguishing camps. There were the different countercultural groups, straight people and those Jimi Hendrix named as ‘experienced’ (people who had taken LSD). The most ballyhooed division was the generation gap, which was primarily a media invention. Clothing (and hair) was a significant marker of that gap. John describes it this way: My parents’ generation, many of them were very averse to the changes – the long hair, the children of the Sixties and Seventies who we were – so many of one’s parents, they droned and they moaned about our dress sense and our hair and our style and our attitudes and our liberalism and whatever. And even now, when I see photographs of myself, I think, oh my, did I really look like that? Oh God, how awful. So though I never strayed too badly, even I can see that there was a period of one’s life when one must have, no doubt, caused anguish to some who thought, “Oh wow, what’s going on with this modern generation?” But I never strayed too far. But I mean, I can look at some of those photographs of friends from university, these chaps are champions of industry now. They’re, you know, supremo top-notch people. Wow, look at what they looked like in 1970 – you think, good God! [laughter]. Who we were – what we knew Generation gap Few people discussed their relationship as young people with their parents. Among those who did, there was little consensus. Some people did discuss an aunt, or a grandparent or an older friend of the family with whom they had had an understanding relationship at the time or who they felt “seen” by. Gill: As a child she [aunt] always told me you are bright, if you want to get anywhere, never let your skin color get in the way. Just remember, you are a bright child and if you work hard you should do well in life. And she always told me she loved me and she just gave me that, that spirit to remember who you are and what you can be.

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Lisa: I think she [grandmother] was quite a liberal woman for her day – very laissez-faire. She let me do what I wanted. I remember staying with her as a teenager and she was never against my going out – “I’m going out this evening.” “See you sometime, darling. I won’t lock the door.” [Laughter] She was never what I would call strict about what you were doing and where you are going. She was quite sort of get-on-with-that sort of thing. She was fun loving. She would say, “Good for you, darling, get on with it.” [Laughter] Fun It is difficult to discuss this era without mentioning fun. Life, the whole embodied physicality and spirit of it, was something to celebrate, to live, to have fun. This quote from Paul describes the era. He also uses a term that was frequently repeated in the interviews: “open minded,” the embodiment of opening up and taking in the new. You see, having fun is part of the picture as something that’s on the table, that’s open to you because you’re more open minded. You’re not, you know, narrowly following convention or what you’ve been taught is the way to behave or that sort of stuff – that tended to open up in the Sixties, you know, that sort of lifestyle. Even if you didn’t become a hippie, for example, you were sort of exposed to it – it was an option, the idea, even if you didn’t want to follow it. Music and dance were at the heart of fun for the postwar cohort. Music was mentioned repeatedly by both women and men during the interviews. The insistent, even aggressive beat was ‘eminently danceable … the very social and functional origins of rock and roll’ and demanded body movement (O’Grady, 1979). Rhythmicity, the beat in time, ran through the Sixties, seductively pulling at people to dance. Patricia: We only went into town once a week to go to the disco. But everybody – hardly anybody ever smoked in there because there was too many people. So, we was just dancing too much to stop for smokes [laughter]. Julia: I was just into music, dancing – I enjoyed myself and then I was only 19 when I got married – and then the child within 12

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months, so – that sort of stopped but I was out at the clubs just dancing – and night school. Generations/time flow Many of the quotes and discussion, up to this point, focus on periodicity or the Sixties era, generation, and history. The word “bequeathed” was used in a couple of interviews in regard to what the previous generations had initiated or given to the postwar cohort. Other interviewees used other terms to describe a continuum, or sequence of time, where one generation hands over to the next. The time of the Sixties moves into the background and earlier times become foreground in the ever-shifting timescape. Instead of conceiving of the Sixties as an isolated moment or period, some interviewees discussed aspects of the Sixties in a shifting flow of timescape. Some described a larger flow of time. In this quote from George, he explains the flow of time as he perceives it: what happened in the Sixties was not down to us – to our generation. It was down to the generations before us, our parents’ generation. I mean, they were the ones that changed the law – I mean they were MPs in Parliament, they were the ones that changed the laws to make it more progressive. What we did, our generation, was to take advantage of it all – well, some people took advantage of drugs, sex, and rock ‘n’ roll [laughter] – but I didn’t. But I did what most of us did, which was listening to music. Contained within the flow of time are the shifting cultural images. In the next quote, Jack describes time in transition from the postwar glorification of the Second World War through war comics to Sixties poets and “all the rest”: the Second World War and the previous depression sitting on their shoulders – which we understood but we actually were a long way from, in some ways. The business of the war comics – they were extraordinary. I sometimes remember them now – because they were a cultural feature that’s completely vanished. I mean, in the Fifties and early Sixties every news agent had piles of these – they were called war comics and were usually in a slightly smaller format, full of stories in which gallant British and American soldiers all called Dirk and things like that fought their way through piles of bodies and all those guns and Germans and blitzes and so on.

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They were just extraordinary cultural artifacts of the time which, by the time I was 11 or 12, I could recognize as being bizarre and I couldn’t understand why people would read them anymore [laughter] – all that kind of thing. I picked that one out just because it was a tiny – I’m trying to think how it was for me to think about – well, that’s not me. I’m looking somewhere else – and along comes the poets and all the rest of it and, of course, they capture something that you’re responding to – they’re a reflection, there’s an interactive process there. The things they’re saying are the things you’re trying to find a voice for … Contained in Jack’s quote is the question: how did it all change? The war, the comics made sense – and then they didn’t. What happened? Generation Throughout the interviews, almost every participant spoke from the underlying assumption that they were a member of a group or generational cohort. Interestingly, despite the media’s label of ‘baby boomer,’ that term was rarely used. More often, people referred to “my generation,” or simply “us” or “we.” Some participants called themselves “a child of the Sixties,” or used other allusions to their generation. Throughout the interviews, there was a noticeable identification with the founding of the National Health Service (NHS). This identification was part of the postwar generational experience and memory. The experience of universal healthcare throughout the lifetime of the cohort was woven into the interviews. The knowledge that care of the body, in terms of health, was a universal right was within the consciousness of the postwar cohort. Val, a single woman from a working-class family, described herself as a “child of the NHS.” There is another reading of many of recollections quoted so far in this chapter, and that is through the lens of memory – memory as the living time of a generational experience. The collective experience as a generational memory forms a mnemonic community. The NHS, music and dance, a sense of open-mindedness and fun were a few of the agreed-upon ways interviewees remembered the Sixties. This is the stuff that comprises their mnemonic community and forms the postwar sense of generation.

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The Bomb and Earthrise The postwar generation grew up in the shadow of the H-bomb and the Cold War. The Cold War was a constant during their childhood and adolescence. Images of mushroom clouds were ubiquitous, embedding themselves in the consciousness of every member of this cohort. The possibility of nuclear war threatened not just individual bodily annihilation, but the annihilation of the body of Earth. In the postwar years, Britain experienced a ‘brutal stability’ (Stone, 2013). The possibility, or even sure knowledge, of a foreshortened future was the constant backdrop to the times, heightened by the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1963.2 For some research participants, the phrase “Cuban Missile Crisis” was used as a kind of descriptor or shorthand for the Cold War and the Bomb. The threat of death, both individual and planetary, was a reality and is another aspect of the postwar mnemonic community. Some of the participants reflected very specifically on this. Jack: Well, I spent most of my – I suppose I spent most of my early teens and early adulthood imagining I would die young because of the Cold War. George: Thing is, that I’ve been involved in politics for, well, I suppose I would define my starting point as the Cuban Missile Crisis. I didn’t want to get blown off the face of the earth so I joined the CND. In this quote from Judith, she states: It was all rather surreal. You are doing everyday things like going out with friends and the same time, well, maybe we all go up in a puff of smoke. The image of Earthrise is another important aspect of the postwar cohort’s collective memory. As a representative image, Earthrise is as seminal to the mnemonic community of the postwar cohort as the image of the nuclear mushroom cloud. The 1968 Apollo 8 astronauts took the first color photographs of the body of Earth from space. What was intended to be a discovery of outer space became the discovery of Earth (Poole, 2008). It is hard to imagine that this ubiquitous image was unseen, unknown before 1968. At the time, Earthrise had the power to spark the collective sense of all of us together on the body of the Earth, a global humanity. The profound physical beauty of the

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Earth, as seen from space, Earth understood as home to all humanity, formed an ingredient in the community memory of the Sixties. Rich recounts here what he remembers as his first impressions after seeing Earthrise. It is a description straight out of its time with its mix of “magical resonance” and “certainty,” that combines the physicality of the body of Earth with the notions of the magic/spirituality of the Sixties time. It’s so blue and I thought, gosh, we’re in flux. Our life is actually one of flux and it’s so blue and shimmery. And the blueness, of course, that has its own magical resonance. You look how, for example, the mother of God and religious icons are always depicted in blue – and the blue of heaven and the blue of the sea. It all becomes blue – and vast – and yet the world was so round and small and certain in those pictures. The Cold War and Earthrise along with other intrinsic aspects of the Sixties discussed in this section informed the postwar cohort’s construction and meaning of embodiment. They are, as a generation, a mnemonic community with deeply embedded knowledge and experience of time and body as lived through the lens of the Sixties.

The present The long view I turn now to the present to explore the thoughts, descriptions, and insights of my research participants. The past informs the present. Memories, experience, and, sometimes, wisdom are some of what we bring to the present. We take all this forward to create our current reality – our life perspective. It is part of the continuum of time’s flow through our life span. As older people, interviewees discuss their lives through the perspective of relative time. I begin with this quote from Judith, who links the influence of the past to the present as she examines the influence of the Sixties on her as an ageing person. Naomi: And now, if you imagine going back to people who you knew, who were 58, and fast forwarding to yourself – is it different? Is it the same?

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Judith: It’s completely different – there’s just no – it’s completely different. Naomi: In what ways? Judith: 58. Well, when I was young, a teenager, 58 was an old person who kind of pootled about [laughter]. That was the impression that I had, even – yeah, my parents were really old. Even before they retired they were old people. I don’t know if every young person thinks that. Naomi: Old in what way? Judith: I think it, it kind of felt like there was a prescribed way of how people could kind of live their lives – you had your education and then you got married and then you stayed home and looked after the kids and dad went to work and then the kids grew up and then dad retired and they pootled about a bit together. You know, there seemed to be a pattern for people’s lives… Yeah, so I think that [the Sixties] had a really crucial, a profound effect on my life, of identity and – freedom, really. As I said, people’s lives were mapped out. Later in the interview: Naomi: Does that time, the Sixties, has it had an influence on your life? Judith: I feel my mother, my father that they were trapped and I think they were both very bitter when they died, about their life. And I think I had quite a strong sense that I didn’t want to die bitter – I wanted, I want to die thinking and feeling I’d had a good innings. A number of ideas are encompassed here. At the heart of it, Judith is acknowledging herself as an older person, but also, she is speaking about her other younger self. Judith sees herself through time in memory, but also through the aliveness and relevance of the memory to the now. Past and present become the juncture point in the now in her last statement – “I wanted, I want ….” Second, she is saying that the Sixties were “crucial,” had a “profound effect on my life.” Third, Judith delineates the difference between her parents’ ageing selves as she

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describes their lives as “mapped out” and her own sense of “freedom.” Fourth, as an older person, Judith is acknowledging the finitude of her life as an embodied being. Judith knows and acknowledges she is ageing and her determined voice, in the interview, informs the listener of what is important to her in this last segment of her life, stating how she wants to live. Judith explains how she wants to live her old age and the influence of the Sixties in her “life” and “identity.” This embodied identity is the interconnection of time/era and the values and ideas that grew out of the Sixties. Judith’s rich description covers many of the themes in the ‘Present’ section of this chapter. Being old With the exception of one participant, everyone acknowledged that they were ageing and experiencing bodily changes. Would they call themselves old? Some people did but others did not. It was not a denial of the years, but more a questioning of what ‘old’ means, what constitutes old. This quote from Suzanne exemplifies the clarity with which many of the interviewees acknowledge their chronological status: their ageing body is a reminder that they are getting old. You know, aches and pains when I was terribly stiff getting out of bed because I hadn’t taken [exercise] – of course one thinks about it. And then the milestones, 50, 60 – it’s pretty shocking. So, then, yes you realize – do I celebrate? do I have a party? Do I celebrate being 60 or do I quite honestly sweep it under the carpet? But then you think, well, there’s nothing you can do, you are 60 – go for it. In this quote from John, he discusses chronology and, from that perspective, what old may be: I think of myself as middle aged. And, yet, it’s debatable as to when middle age begins – middle age begins at 45, some people say middle age begins at 40. But I would say from 45 is middle aged now. It’s debatable if middle age runs from 45 to 65 now or 45 to 70. Both quotes discuss the chronology of ageing, one of the measurements that marks the passing of time in the course of a life. Although many participants made comments similar to those of John and Suzanne, it was the corporeal signals of ageing that represented a sure awareness that

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time is moving on and they are getting older. Embodied knowing of life course, of ageing, was seen as more potent than chronological age. Jack’s description of ageing expresses the reality of having arrived at the place of old in his life course. His quote reflects an underlying sense of the reality of becoming old that was contained in many of the interviews. It’s just the reality of it like all realities, the reality is the reality – the fact that you didn’t – like jumping in a pool – once you’re in it you’re in it – it’s kind of different than looking at it and thinking about it. Talking about age The women Many of the interviews were eloquent descriptions of the physicality of the embodied life course. Intimate details of the signs (or visual markers) of age were a prominent part of interviewees’ responses. That said, there were some notable gender differences. Women described their body changes in richer detail. The influence of the Sixties, with the advent of the women’s health movement, is a factor in the language and detail of body changes. Many women spoke about menopause being the moment they marked as their recognition of ageing. Judith: There is, obviously, there’s physical appearance. I think – I mean, not long ago, I was looking at photographs from a trip to New Zealand which was six years ago and I look 15 years older, if not more [laughter] – from then. I mean, I didn’t have my menopause ’til – my periods didn’t stop until two years ago and I think that was the point at which it really speeded up. So when I look at photographs from five or six years ago I look so much younger. And you know, my skin and all the rest of it – and as I say, it happened really quickly once my periods stopped. Perhaps women’s relationship to their bodies, as described in this quote from Maggie, is the key to at least some of the gender differences: Naomi: In what ways have you been surprised about the changes in your body? Maggie: I don’t think any of them have surprised me because, you know, as women we know how – the cycles of our body.

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Later in the interview, Maggie describes the early stages of menopause after she had her coil removed: … from that moment on I had flooding bleeding, which was a complete bore, and when they actually scanned me they said you’ve got a couple of fibroids, which they took out, no trouble. But I would say that is the only change in my body that I could have done without, because I had never had a general anesthetic, and I was only in hospital for a day and it caused me no other issues, at all [emphasis in the original], except I was doing a long-distance walk in New Zealand when I started flooding, and that was inconvenient because in the overnight lodges, I’d go and ask some friendly-looking housekeeper, do you have any Tampax? And they would come out with these tiny little, little things and it didn’t really, really help at all [laughter]. There are two aspects of body changes embedded in this quote. First, Maggie’s heightened awareness of body change has already gone through a major shift with the advent of menopause. Second, Maggie describes a gendered sense of knowingness about her body. Menopause was frequently mentioned as the first biological change of ageing. For some women it was perceived as a natural process, as in Maggie’s case, but for other women it was not easy. Again, there was a straightforward use of language – an unembarrassed description of physicality. Suzanne: My body? Oh Lord! [laughter]. You mean the menopause, that sort of thing? Naomi: Whatever. These are really open questions so I leave it up to you … Suzanne: Well, that was a nightmare! I was in my 30s when that happened so that was a bummer – so, I got through that quite early. Sarah: You know, since the menopause I really don’t care if I ever had sex again, and it’s something I feel really sad that it’s something I’ve just given in to – I’m not going to force myself to do something I don’t want to do. Something about sexuality and older people and – [pause] – it feels like it robs me of a certain aliveness. It feels like a deadness in me. Menopause came and then my dad got Alzheimer’s and then he died and my mum had a couple of good years and then she got ill and I just thought sex

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just – good physical closeness is important, but I’m sad sexuality seems so low on my agenda. Many women began descriptions of ageing body in the form of an inventory, listing hair, skin, eyes, and so on, changes in detail that were straightforward. Participants were direct in speaking about their bodies and ageing. Grace: My hearing has deteriorated to quite an alarming degree … so, eyes and ears, skin, brain memory. Geri: As I get old? Oh God [laughter], it’s more, I mean physically, I think it’s all the normal stuff. Am I surprised by anything? No, I don’t think I’m surprised. I knew my tits would droop and my bottom would get wider, so … Surprising things are that I appear to be getting bigger breasts as I get older, which is a bit weird … And I do appear to be suddenly the victim of middle-age spread. And that’s a surprise because I can’t avoid it and I, I’ve always been the one with a very flat stomach. And I think there are certain things that your body is just going to – is just going to change. Patricia: I suppose the easiness to put weight on [laughter] whereas I used to be able to eat anything and still stay slim. Um, but I’m [sharp intake of breath] … apart from that, the color of your hair, that’s all gone – it’s out of a bottle [laughter]. My nails are getting a bit brittle, they ain’t what they used to be. I used to have really, really long nails. Ah, apart from that really, apart, you know, I used to – what I never expected to end up with is, a bad hip, an arthritic hip. The men Many men displayed the same sense of comfort and embodied language when discussing their ageing bodies, but not all. Although the discourse was not, for the most part, as rich in detail, it was an unconstrained account of changing body. The use of straightforward language had the same discursive quality as the women’s accounts of body change. Nick: I don’t have any kind of condition that makes me sickly, that inhibits what I do but, there are certain physiological changes I think about. I’m a bit slower. My reactions are a bit slower, a

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bit of loss of hearing and eyesight and I think we all kind of go through those changes. I met with Arthur in a popular local pub. He is a working-class man who spent his early working life as a dockworker as did generations of men in his family before him. He is deeply political and our interview is peppered with references to politics. Here is a section from his account of body changes: In the Sixties, Seventies, sex was brilliant, but now if you – I don’t know how you would put it, but if you can – if you think of the Union Jack going up, it’s a big difference … I can’t get stimulated. That’s a big difference. Two men denied there had been any real or significant body change, while a small group of three shifted their position during the course of the interview from denial to an acknowledgement of ageing body changes. I suspect that this last group were able to reveal more information as they developed some trust and/or comfort with me during the course of the interview. Although I did not ask why some men might deny they were physically ageing, during the course of his interview, Jack hit on the subject. I meet people who choose to make different choices and it’s fine for them to do that – I don’t know why they do it and sometimes it feels like they do it because that’s what they’ve got to do – something has shaped them in a particular way so they have this little internal story … That’s a silly example, in a way, actually … I can think of a couple of people I’ve met like that – men – it tends to be men – it’s a way of – I’m sure it’s partly about a denial about being older and that kind of thing. This small number of men had not yet come to terms with their own embodied ageing and represented a kind of denial about growing older. Contradictions and complexity For many other participants, ageing bodies/selves brought up complex and contradictory feelings. In this quote from Grace, she calls this complex mix of feelings the paradox of ageing:

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It’s a paradox, it’s a paradox! Live with the paradox! And I think a lot of what I said is quite paradoxical about my body, you know. [Sharp intake of breath] There are things that are quite sad and painful and other things that are quite natural and unstoppable [laughter] – and so be it. Paul’s use of the Dorian Grey analogy was said with a mixture of irony and humor as he conveyed his paradoxical feelings about his ageing body. I suppose, by and large, I don’t sort of see it, that getting older is very negative – but – as I see it … [pause] … If you said to me, would you prefer it if you were Dorian Grey? [laughter] – I suppose, I would tend to say yes, actually [laughter]. Although he had other problems so I don’t want to carry that analogy too far [laughter]. If you say to me, you can stay at age 30 or something, you know it might be kind of nice [laughter]. Earlier in the interview, he had stated his acceptance of looking his age. I think, okay, I’m 63, it’s not as though I don’t look like I’m 63. I don’t think I look as though I’m 73. I don’t think I look as if I’m 53. Timing: pace Many participants discussed pace, an aspect of time that is closely associated with ageing. There was a dichotomy between what some participants described as their bodies slowing down, and the pace of their lives remaining the same. Embodied time through the element of pace is described here by Grace as she discusses the fast pace of her life but, also, an internal bodily slowing down: I certainly imagined 60 as a genteel sort of non-dynamic, passive, harvesting of life’s riches kind of age and it – the experience of it is very different. Plenty of harvesting of good things but almost an increase in complexity, in challenge, in pace and multifarious demands. You know, there’s something about … uh, allowing what is a natural evolution to be happening to oneself with all, you know,

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the whole bonfire of the vanities, this – it’s crazy to be wishing I was 40 or surprised that my body doesn’t run as fast as it did. The activity levels that Grace had assumed in her current life were similar to those of a number of other participants. There did not appear to be a tension between high activity pace and a bodily sense of slowing down. Suzanne described it this way: You know, you get old, mate! [Laughter] You know physically, I suppose it’s noticeable – I have noticed it – you take longer to do things. Perhaps, one’s not as quick as one used to be. [Pause] Because I think it’s a hell of a good thing to still be working and have a good job where I have to get on with it – [I] mean working for the media [name of the company]. You know, there’s pressure, it builds up and then it’s over. That sort of keeps one on the ball. I mean you just have to do it [laughter], you can’t really say, I’m sorry it’s not done. Yes, yes, so I think that’s a very good thing actually. Physicality, body ownership, and embodied habitation The above are examples of the nuanced approach to embodied ageing that came across in the interviews. Participants were comfortable with holding multiple positions and characterizations, rather than one definite construction of ageing embodiment. This is a more expansive, less confining way of defining ageing body. It represents a shift in a sense of self or living in a body – in other words, ageing embodiment. The Pill, and the loosening of the state’s control over the body, and even the transgressive acts of smoking pot and imbibing psychedelics, led to a greater sense of ownership of one’s body. This was expressed in many ways, but one example was through the feminist movement and the founding of women’s health collectives. The Pill and the politics of second wave feminism gave rise to ideas of body ownership and control. Choices regarding procreation were the bedrock of that ownership. In this quote from Val, she discusses the difference between her grandmother’s inability to resist her husband’s “claims” and women now. My mother said that her mother said that her father said that when my grandmother didn’t want more babies, he told her, “stock’s as good as money.” So, I think that’s changed – but, that would be

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part of it, part of getting older and not resisting your husband’s claims and stuff of that nature. [Emphasis added] A number of women related stories about their own parents’ or grandparents’ inability to accept the biological changes that ageing brings to body. They described a distancing from embodied ageing that was diametrically opposed to body ownership. In this quote from Grace, she describes how her mother was unable to fully inhabit or own her own ageing body. What she relates is at odds not only with Grace’s embodied ageing talk, but interviewees’ responses, in general. What she does – it’s just interesting – because I never – she would never say in her 50s or 60s, oh what happened to my good looks – never any comment like that but now she looks at her arms and her legs and says [Grace says the following in a small voice] “How did this happen? How has this happened?” – you know, as though she can’t reconcile it. Her – still her mental image of herself is of a much younger woman and she looks at it kind of in disbelief and a lot of – pain. “How did my legs, how did my arms get so thin? How did this happen?” She says it as if she were outside –. It was not just women who were affected by these notions of body ownership. Changing constructions of embodiment are reflected in the data in both genders. Rich has been diagnosed with a malignant tumor in his lung. He has chosen to limit treatment, since his doctors told him it would add only a small amount of time to his life but would significantly decrease the quality of his life. In this quote he describes the treatment choices he has made, how he has taken ownership of his body and control over his own treatment. Rich articulates a nuanced understanding of his body and its workings that is juxtaposed to that of the medical advice he has been given. And I’ll certainly not go down that route [taking pain killing drugs]. I determinedly and absolutely walked away from conventional treatment. I wouldn’t have anything to do with it because it was so drastic what was being suggested. And it’s to say – this is my body; I know what’s going on instinctively. This is my analysis of it and I’m going to work with it. And I’m not going to carve it up, cut bits out and discard that and say, oh, this is –’cause we’re not just simple machines. We’re profoundly sophisticated organisms in which everything has a role to play. [Emphasis in original]

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Rich’s statement, “this is my body” is a declaration of profound embodied knowing – “I know what’s going on instinctively.” Exercise An embodied sense of ownership is woven into the postwar cohort’s relationship to their bodies in large and small ways. For example, the construction of body habitation is critical to the cohort’s engagement in exercise. Much of the literature in ageing studies refers to the regime aspect, disciplining the body, as the central motivation for exercise. Neurobiological research since the mid-2000s has indicated the benefits of exercise in improved sleep, reduction of stress and anxiety, and relief from depression (Dishman et al, 2006; Josefsson et al, 2013; Anderson and Shivakumar, 2014). The relief afforded by exercise can be a strong motivator to continue the practice. As Suzanne states in her quote below, she simply felt better physically, when she began to exercise. There is some evidence that voluntary exercise produces a pleasurable mood change that may be extreme in some people, called a ‘runner’s high’ (Linden, 2011). There is also the question of cultural maladaptation – we may still be genetically programmed for an active lifestyle and our sedentary behavior is a maladaptation (Wadsworth et al, 2014). Whatever the neurobiological reasons, a sense of exercise as a regime was noticeably absent in my interviews. Instead, exercise was a kind of defining habitation of the body, a layer of relationship in the complex weave of embodiment. Exercise was discussed by almost every participant, whether it was a lack of exercise in their lives (two interviewees) or, in most cases, the importance of exercise. As already noted, what was curious was the lack of a sense of regime in the majority of descriptions. Jack: I’m not good at regimes so why try to build – cycling’s a habit, I like to cycle as a way for traveling. I like to do it – it works, it’s quick. And so, that’s just my choice of a way to travel – that just happens naturally. I mean, it’s about a 25-minute cycle to work so I just do it – plus, I go to meet people that sort of thing. Lisa: I bicycle all over London. I walk – I don’t like gyms but I do Pilates now and again. I’m not a natural exerciser, you know. I don’t like pounding away on machines or anything like that. I love my bicycle and I love walking! And I love being active every day. So, yes, I do exercise.

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Instead of regime, the meaning of fitness and exercise was connected to an embodied sense of health and well-being. Many people, from all class backgrounds, derived pleasure from physical activity, from a deeply perceived knowing of inhabiting the body. Jack describes it this way: There are people whose experience in the world doesn’t seem to rest very much on their physicality. I just feel that’s not me. I’ve always thought and I still think it – I imagine it will go on being so. It’s partly about my connection with the world. Walking out on the moors as I grew up in [name of the place] and all those sorts of ways of being aware of the world that I live in and really feeling it and connecting with it –all sorts of things. My physical presence in the world. Like Jack, some interviewees had been physical their entire lives. Exercise/physicality was an ongoing and central aspect to their lives. Others started exercising later in life. Suzanne: I still take a lot of exercise as I go to the gym and things like that. Naomi: Have you done that your whole life? Suzanne: Nope! Naomi: When did you start? Suzanne: I used to drive – when I worked at the [name of workplace] and the [name of workplace]. I used to drive to work and then, I suppose in my late 40s, I got terribly stiff getting out of bed and I know – actually I realized that it was because I didn’t take exercise everyday because, you know, into the car, into work – nightmare. But – I suppose it’s only in the last [pause] 10 years I’ve been going to the gym. Motivation Suzanne’s quote also brings up the issue of motivation. Why did interviewees choose to exercise? Like her, many people discussed the fact they felt better/healthier and wanted to stay fit for as long as possible. Again, this harks back to the shift toward a stronger sense of ownership or control.

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Naomi: I have one more question, if you don’t mind? It’s funny, because the questions that I’ve asked you were not about fitness; they were more about you and your relationship to your body and you expressed it in terms of fitness, which I think is a really important distinction for me. And how, that’s how you think about yourself? Roy: Yes! I do want to be fit for the reason I do want to get to 80! As opposed to where’s the Zimmer frame? Where’s the walking stick? Where’s the motorized wheelchair? [Laughter] Naomi: So, fitness is primary in terms of your relationship with your body? Yourself? Roy: Yes, keep yourself fit to live a happy life. [Emphasis in original] Others discussed their initial rationale for the introduction of exercise into their lives and how that had changed as they aged. Elaine had started a fitness program about 20 years prior. She continues an active life of cycling and walking, but she now describes some shift in her motivation. (Elaine had been discussing the previous generations in her family and how unhealthy and sedentary they were or had been. Below, she is referring back to her family.) Naomi: In what way has the ageing experience of people you have known in the past been useful to you? Elaine: I guess only in that I look around and think “I don’t want to look as old as them and get as old as them” – yeah. Naomi: So, say more about that. Elaine: Well, that would be down to a fitness thing. Keeping going – you know, you look at them and you think if they had kept going or done this or they had done that – maybe if they had been active they wouldn’t have had a heart problem or maybe –-. No, so I look at them and I think, “I don’t want to be like that, I don’t want to feel like that.”

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Paul expressed the meaning of exercise to him in this statement: which is to say that you are sort of maintaining your ability to fulfill your potential or something like that. It is important to note that health problems were not, for many people, a deterrent to exercise, within the limits their health allowed. The meaning of exercise was the same for people regardless of their health status. Patricia is a widow who had lost her husband approximately two years prior to our interview. She was diagnosed and treated for cancer the following year. She also had a visible limp as a result of osteoarthritis. Naomi: In your email you wrote you had a fitness class – Patricia: Yes, I been – I started going again – up until my husband was taken ill I used to go to the gym three times a week and do Pilates as well. But then when he died I, well I gave up because of nursing him. And then I just didn’t go back. Then, of course, the weight piled on and then, when I first moved here, my neighbor said she fancied going to water aerobics and I said, well, okay. That was fun but then I was taken ill so I had to stop that. Later in the interview she says the following But now I can just go up [the stairs]. I mean, yesterday it was really easy and I thought “I’ll be running up here soon.” And I said to Mary “I can’t do the exercises” – there’s one down on the floor and so I can probably get down but it’s awkward getting up. And she said, “Well, I’ll have you doing that soon.” Now, to light my fire I have to get down on the floor to – because it’s the ignition to – so I have to get down to do that and I can do it now with ease and I get up easily. Naomi: It sounds like a big incentive to keep going. Patricia: Yeah, yes, it is, ’cause, you know, I’m feeling so much better – in myself. Julia remained committed to exercise despite suffering from emphysema.

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Naomi: In what ways are the body changes you are experiencing – Julia: Oh ho – now I can talk! [laughter] Naomi: [laughter] – different than what you imagined? The same? Julia: Personally, I didn’t expect I’d have emphysema. I didn’t expect that, and that really limits what you can do. And, and, I’ll say exercise – I don’t mean exercise as in physical exercise, just walking, walking uphill. Now it winds me just getting up to the top of the lane there. Later in the interview: Naomi: I’d like to go back to a couple of things. First of all, do you walk regularly or is it more random? Julia: No [sigh]. We walk the dogs, we take them out and we just take them around the field because that’s easier for me – I go around the field three, four times. Body image, body change Embedded in many of the quotes, thus far, is the notion of body image or participants’ subjective perception of their bodies. These quotes are representative of some of the ways in which interviewees perceive themselves as embodied ageing people. That perception is a direct reflection of body image, but there was another layer of that reflection expressed through the interviews. Many people directly addressed their ideas about their ageing body image. In other words, interviewees consciously wanted to impart to me how they think about their ageing bodies. In this quote, the topics of experience and body image are interwoven. Gill: So, my body, to be honest, it’s just the fat I can’t get rid of. The aches and pains I – it’s all part of the, the parcel, you know – and I have to learn to work with that, you know, work with that. But I think it’s the wisdom. You know, I really feel I’ve gained a lot of wisdom over the years and I mustn’t be embarrassed to talk about it, to talk about what I know, talk about what I feel. Before, I was always worried that people would think, “she’s

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really big-headed. She says too much and who are you to say these things?” The fact is that I know and I want to honor that – I don’t want to hide it anymore and I think that getting old – you know, I’ve got experience. And I want to say, “Actually, I do know what I am talking about.” So that way is different, yeah. And I know – I see other women my age and they look beautiful in their clothes, beautiful in their bodies so I know also, it’s a possibility. So, I don’t worry about getting old and looking frumpy because I know it doesn’t have to be like that. So, that’s good for me. The quote from Charles is almost a conversation with himself, discussing wide-ranging perceptions of his ageing body and there is a strong sense of self-awareness and a consciousness in describing his body image. Again, this quote imparts a multi-layered definition of his embodied self. Naomi: In what way have you been surprised about the changes in your body? Charles: [Laughter] Well, it’s really subtle and then sometimes it’s not, you know. So, I think even more so because I have a particular genetic – I’m fortunate genetically my body is the way it is. Over time you get used to living a certain kind of way and you have a certain kind of lifestyle or I have a certain kind of lifestyle but its subtly changing, subtly changing. There are certain habits that I have developed that I needed to monitor those things and I haven’t. And so, for example, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve been less physically active, yeah? And it’s not like I’ve decided not to do anything but as a younger person I did those things and so gradually, gradually those things faded out. So, I haven’t altered my lifestyle to take into account those things – like, I’ve been eating the same portion sizes. And, so what am I talking about? I’m not as physically active so my body shape has changed. So there’s that, also gradually slowing down and I can still feel physically fit – for a while. And around maybe 10 years ago, I remember saying to myself “Well, you know what? I’m not 20 anymore” [laughter]. My body is not the body of a 20-year-old. But still having the expectation that I could do the things that I could do when I was much younger. So those are – I don’t feel physically different, externally. But, I think that there are some massive changes that have gone on. [Charles went on to discuss the

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shift in his exercise and fitness pattern from playing hard sports to walking.] It is reported in some gerontological literature that grey hair, wrinkles, and the like have been labelled as negative physical characteristics (Krekula, 2007). Many interviewees held contradictory feelings about the outward signs of ageing. Those outward signs hold multiple meanings. They are not simply a signal of oppressive ‘othering’ by the society, but also a signifier of age, experience, and self-confidence. Lisa: I suppose, you find your first grey hair, your first wrinkle, things sag and, [laughter] what do you do? You have to just take it as part of growing older. A few lines later in the interview: By the time you get to our sort of age you’ve earned a few lines and I think it keeps, it gives us – a little bit more character. Sixties in the present The music and Sixties talk The postwar cohort observe not only their own ageing and that of their friends and family, but also the bodily changes of iconic musicians from the Sixties, some of whom continue to perform. Their performances exhibit a very public kind of ageing. Many interviewees discussed their deep connection to the music of the Sixties, which continues to this day. The primacy of the music, and the men and women who made that music, lives in time, present and past. The music continues to resonate with meaning, as do the music makers. In this quote from John, he discusses the Beatles song “When I’m sixty-four” and Paul McCartney: Well, I suppose – it’s a very clever thing, “When I’m 64” because when the Beatles wrote that, which I presume they did in 1965 … 47 years ago, the Beatles thought that the age of 64 was … Darby and Joan, not quite geriatric but very nearly geriatric, so it shows how in 47 years, since that song was written, the parameters have moved …. Because to a 27-year-old a 60-year-old is grotesque, great grannies – the Beatles must have thought that when they wrote “When I’m 64.” And, interestingly, old Lord McCartney, Paul McCartney, what did you think when you wrote those words?

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What did you think? Because look at him now prancing about on stage and playing his guitar. The music, its driving, danceable rhythms, continues to be a part of life. Some participants discussed listening to music, and in some cases dancing, as a significant part of their present, as past and present blur the boundaries of now and memory. This quote from Arthur exemplifies the postwar cohort’s relationship to music: Oh, I still love the music. I sit in there, I lay on the bed or in the shade or in the shower or the bath and all my Sixties music comes onto my DVD which is the big difference because in the Sixties it was all around. Mind/body connection: acceptance Expression of an entwined mind/body connection was a theme in many of the interviews. In this quote from Charles, he makes a body/ mind connection evident in his comments. There is an imperative that his body is speaking so he must listen because his body holds a kind of intelligence or knowledge. Phrases like “my body is speaking to me” or “telling me something” are very much part of the Sixties lexicon. Inherent in that language is the notion that one’s body speaks; it is something to be listened to rather than denied. This notion, embedded in the cultural wisdom of the Sixties, is summed up here. Charles: I never imagined what it would be like [ageing]. It’s not where my head has gone – well, ageing is not important – but then faced with something my body is telling me, I have to face it. With a strong connection to their own physicality, the generation’s collective construction of embodiment is demonstrated by attitudes toward ageing. In the current social discourse and ageing studies literature, much has been made of youth culture and its effect on the postwar generation. According to this narrative, the postwar generation has difficulty believing or accepting the reality of death or even the reality of ageing. Within the interview the group, there was little to no evidence that there was an inability to accept ageing. In the next quote, Bruce makes a clear distinction between Sixties icons chasing eternal youth and the way the rest of us approach our ageing bodies. Perhaps, in part, the visibility of Sixties icons continues to fuel the discourse.

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Bruce: I think equanimity is a better idea than the idea of embracing [age] because I don’t think anybody would embrace the changes that advancing years bring – that would be a rather odd position to be in but being even-tempered about it and accepting of it is fine. I think – what I find difficult to think of is whether people from the Sixties, if the Sixties experience makes it better or worse. You see, I think there was a very strong sort of youth element of the Sixties culture and some of the most eminent – particularly in fashion and the music and so on – people from that time started the idea of never ageing. This sort of Keith Richard syndrome. But if you’re rich enough and famous enough you might think you can be forever young. Appearance and fashion Interventions That discourse of eternal youth, and/or the look of youth, made possible through invasive and non-invasive medical procedures, was introduced by many participants, both men and women. Many people stated that they would not have those kinds of procedures and no one discussed a desire to have plastic surgery or non-invasive interventions. Hair dying was mentioned in passing by a few women but was not identified as a non-invasive intervention. Among the women who participated in the research there was a mix of those who dyed their hair and those who did not, with some women covering all the grey but others leaving grey. It is the connection to embodiment and, as Bruce says, “equanimity” about ageing that is perhaps a strong deterrent to radical changes in appearance. I suppose these days men, some men, particularly if they’re in the media or big business, tend to, sort of take various cosmetic steps to maintain a more youthful appearance. I mean, I haven’t done anything like that, as you can see [laughter]. I’m not in that situation, I don’t need to do it. I don’t feel any obligation to do it. I don’t want to do it. Presentation and clothing choices Presentation, dressing, fashion, and clothing as costume, as discussed in the Sixties section above, continues to be part of interviewees’ embodied experience. Both men and women, across the class spectrum, expressed an interest, a caring about how their clothing presented them

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to the world, and also about dress as a construction of identity for the wearer’s pleasure and sense of self. Clothing had taken on a particular significance in their youth, and continues to do so today, as the cohort ages. In this quote from Paul, he discusses the differences between his fashion choices and those of his father. He does not stop with a comparison but goes on to state that there are not any real parameters about fashion for older people. Paul uses the word “experimental” in this quote, which was echoed by many other participants. I remember reading in the paper that a man, not a woman but a man, that when you reached age 60, probably when you stopped working, that you started wearing the same sort of clothes that your father would have worn and you wore them for the rest of your life – [laughter]. My father, I’m sure he never had a pair of jeans in his life [laughter], yeah. So, that’s the difference, and perhaps not everyone dresses in the same way but I think that’s a big difference between the two generations – the way people dressed and you’re prepared to be [pause] – sort of experimental in a way, in terms of the way you dress and that sort of thing. Jeans are emblematic for the generation and were mentioned by a number of people. Paul: Here I am, typical Soho advertising boy, it’s Friday and I’m wearing jeans and a casual shirt. In fact, I’m no different than I am on a Monday. So, you know, I don’t dress like an old man, if I didn’t wear jeans and a decent shirt or whatever, I think, I possibly would look a little bit older but I like dressing like this. Suzanne: I don’t buy hugely expensive clothes, as you can see – I wear blue jeans. Comfort was important for a number of people, but not at the expense of being stylish. In this quote from Geri, she discusses comfort and how she is less worried about monitoring the size of her clothing. Geri is also clear that she is maintaining a sense of style – her sense of style. I’m less bothered about getting into a size 10. I suppose the way I dress, if anything, I mean is slightly more for comfort. For the first time ever, I went through my wardrobe and threw out everything I couldn’t fit into. Normally, I keep it and go – “I’ll get into it.” And I actually thought “but don’t be stupid, it’s uncomfortable,

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why bother.” So, I think that’s a big acceptance. Yes, so I feel, I’m not that – [pause] – that it’s whatever I’m transitioning to, that’s my body to the next phase – So – I still dress as, the way I dress, the way I portray myself is no different. I think I’m less svelte than I used to be and therefore I’m a little more careful about how figure-hugging anything fits around my stomach. [Emphasis in original] Gill: I want to feel comfortable. I don’t feel comfortable when my tummy feels bloated, or I don’t like my clothes being too tight telling me so. A number of women talked about the changes in their bodies and, subsequently, their choice of dress. Stomachs or tummies were mentioned frequently. Strategies to maintain a sense of style, and camouflage their more rounded tummies were mentioned by a number of women. Lisa: Of course, you have to cover certain areas which aren’t as good as they used to be [laughter] – like my tummy and I think you have to be a little bit more resourceful in your shopping. I find there are places but it’s not like when you were 20 or 30, you just went in – there was so much choice. Your choices are narrowed down because your body is not quite the same as it was and when you’re buying things you have to look for certain things that disguise your – that’s what I think [laughter]. There is an underlying theme, in both Paul’s and Lisa’s quotes about the question of age and presentation. ‘Mutton dressed as lamb,’ is an oft-repeated theme in some of the fashion and gerontological literature. I was struck that only two participants used the phrase. Instead, many others discussed a flexibility about age-determined clothing and a desire to choose how they wanted to present themselves to the world. Margaret: It used to be that when you got to a certain age this is how you were supposed to behave and this was how you were supposed to dress and this is what you did through the ages. I’ve been discussing, with one of my colleagues, this morning about leggings, for instance and it’s “Yeah, I’ve got to a certain age where I wouldn’t dream of wearing some of those.” But that’s the type of thing, some people still wear them. We’ve got the freedom to do what we think is right for us.

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Later in the conversation: I would still love to wear the younger fashions. I think they’re absolutely lovely but you need to, have to be sensible, don’t you? I feel I have to be sensible. I don’t want to be mutton done up as lamb which is to try and appear a lot younger. I want to stay fashionable and smart for my age and not for the next generation or the previous one, but relevant to my age, now. The underlying theme of clothing as a form of self-expression, as part of her embodied identity, is present Margaret’s quote. She is struggling with conflict between how she feels she needs to present herself to the world and her taste and sense of style. A number of women discussed their frustration with the unavailability of clothing that fits their sense of style and the way they would like to present themselves to the world. Lisa: I think, I’ve become, I do find – obviously, you can’t wear the things you wore when you were 30 – like a little mini, the little mini dresses and I do find when I go shopping now it’s not so easy ’cause I still want to look, you know, I don’t want to look like an old bag – it’s – you’ve got to find things that are a bit quirky and nice and sort of youthful without – it’s hard to get actually, I think. Elaine discusses similar frustration. She has a rural lifestyle so wears “casual” clothing all the time with the exception of dressing for a more formal event. It’s an awkward one, that is. I think you have to dress how you feel comfortable because some older ladies can look like tarts, really. So, I think, you need to be – well, people don’t dress quite as smart as they used to – not unless they’re going out. I mean casual wear is quite, casual wear is easier to wear. To dress trendier, like with jeans is easier – casual wear – than going out. I find going out, that age I am, perhaps you were going to something very, very – like a ball or dance – that would be very difficult to dress in – that age that you are because they are either half there [touches cleavage] or half there [points to a very short hemline] or something, so that’s more difficult. The casual wear you can be trendy in wearing that but when it comes to actually an evening-type thing, it’s more difficult.

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Quirky, kitschy, or unconventional are words that were used to describe a desirable look. In this quote from Candice, she describes a friend of hers whose clothing made her feel uncomfortable in the past, but now it is almost as if she has grown into her friend’s sense of style. I’d seen this article in the Sunday Times about these glamorous women in their 90s and think and I just think, yeah! I’ve got, I have a friend, a close friend, she’s older than me, but she’s – she dresses in quite an unconventional way and sometimes I think “Why are you wearing that? That’s really kitsch.” I think that’s fine, now. I wouldn’t – I don’t – that’s just her style. There was a widespread range of ideas about style, from glamor to jeans. In this quote Judith maintains her expression of self: I’ve always dressed casually, comfortably, as I do now. Friendships and alliances I return now, briefly, to the subject of generation. An acceptance of ageing was a substantive element in almost all the interviews. There is a generational aspect to this acceptance, which comes from strong sense of cohort or generation that evolved within the postwar period. Throughout the interviews there was a collective awareness that this is happening not just to me, but to us, the postwar generation, my cohort. Body knowledge and awareness as a generational discourse has been ever present throughout the life of this cohort. The openness and a willingness to discuss body change was not limited to these interviews. Many participants described conversations they had had with friends about their bodies. Friendship, and a shift in the meaning of extended family, is something that has developed over the life history of the generation. Both genders used friendships (in many cases, long-term friendships) to compare notes about ageing body and gain knowledge or reflections of their own body changes. For some working-class women, it was family (siblings) with whom they discussed ageing body. The two men who denied that their bodies were ageing were the only ones who perceived ageing competitively or as a matter of comparison. There was a distinct absence of comparative comments, or even comments about not looking one’s age, despite its being a common theme in ageing studies literature. This lack of competitive or comparative ageing cut across both genders (with the exception noted above). The quote below exemplifies the ageing discourse between

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friends or cohorts. In some cases, these conversations happened in a formal group setting, as Sarah describes here. For the last two years I’ve been a member of [group name] – which is how I heard about you – which is a consciousness-raising group for those of us who are actually in the second wave – that’s how I got your email. So, that group’s been good for me. I didn’t know the women because they were in [different group name] and I was in [group name]. It’s been good – it’s not easy – we meet once a month and pick a subject that’s pertinent to ageing and look at it from a feminist perspective. For most people, it was an informal part of their friendships. Nick describes some time he spent with a friend recently: We were talking and sharing some old photographs, which, of course, is the worst thing you could do [laughter] [pause] there’s a usefulness – certainly, it’s very comforting to know that other people are ageing, as well. I think you can get quite isolated with it. In this quote from Candice she describes part of an intimate conversation with a friend: One of my friends talked about knees and I hadn’t ever thought about the fact that your knees sag. And I suddenly realized, oh yes, your knees sag. Intergenerationality Friendship is not just an alliance between members of the postwar cohort. Many women and some men discussed their friendships with much younger people. The flow of time, as manifest through intergenerational relationships, was discussed with a kind of surprise, since it was a departure from the cohort’s own experiences as young people. Sarah: It seems exciting to be with younger women. And I really, now – I have to be, to do more work on myself – the part that feels old and stodgy and how wonderful it is when younger women want to be with me. Candice: I feel pleased I have younger friends.

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Many women also identified adult friendships with their children that they did not experience with their own mothers. Geri puts it this way: I think a lot of the moral framework was good and sound and we should hang on to relationships and family and respect. We should really hang on to it because if they [adult children] get lost that’s where the fabric of society is falling apart. But the good bits that we added on are the openness, the ability to say to Jane, “hey, I’m passing through, let’s go for a drink on Sunday night” – where you are friends and equals – which is another good change. These quotes imply reciprocity and interdependence which are central to intergenerational connections. Intergenerational relationships are a way we look to the future. Through these relationships older people influence the future in a myriad of ways, from expressions of being old, to the fact that these events will be long remembered after the older generation is gone. They exemplify for us how embodied/body time and identity are important as we create meaning in our lives as we age. We also may facilitate meaning making in the lives of others through intergenerationality.

Conclusion Throughout this chapter, we have seen that past and present live side by side within people in multiple forms, from individual memory and mnemonic community to shared histories and ongoing activities. The lines of time are blurred and interwoven, with multiple selves populating our internal lives. During the interviews, some people referred to themselves as “a child of the Sixties” or a “child of that time.” Music and dance, the Cold War and Earthrise, fashion, the Pill were some of the elements that shaped experience/memories of the past and created fertile soil for the present. In the present, many elements of that era continue to resonate as the embodied experience of ageing looms large in their lives. That experience is shared through friendships, through the aches and pains, continued active physicality, and a pace of life that maintains vitality. There were some marked gender differences in the acknowledgment and description of the changes wrought by ageing. Women, by and large, spoke in great detail, while one man did not even allow that his body had changed. Both women and men described intimate body changes with humor or irony or both. Class did not appear to be a significant factor in most of the findings. The significance of friendships emerged across class lines, except in the

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cases of a few working-class women where family provided the most significant friendships. Interviewees directly addressed the visual reality of ageing body as a paradox of sadness and surprise, with many other mixed emotions, including acceptance and equanimity. The past lives within the present, as well as in future/anticipation, not as strictly circumscribed units, but as a free-flowing continuance. The participants experience the past within the present rather than living in the past. We can be more than one thing, one identity, at any given time. This chapter has covered a wide range of topics to create a picture of the past and present. There is an interrelationship between the past and present times in our lives and who we are becoming. In the next chapter we look to the future. Notes 1 2

Interview questions can be found in Appendix B. A confrontation between the US and the Soviet Union which played out on television worldwide. It was the closest the Cold War came to escalating into a full-scale nuclear war. The world was ‘minutes away from nuclear catastrophe’ (Butler, 2000, p 21).

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The future The future dimension is one that all humanity imagines and inhabits. Without the ability to imagine the future there would be no action – in the immediate, mid term, or long range. In the most immediate sense, the future is the present. We arrive at each new moment, our future, and it is our present. The past, present, and future are entwined. The seeds of the future are embedded in every moment of embodied time. On the most basic corporeal level, our possible longevity is, in part, rooted in childhood nutrition. Thus the duration of our lives is affected by the beginnings of life, interknitting past and future in our basic physicality. Yet the past and the present are only an influence on the future. The past and present are involved in making a future but they do not determine the future (Coleman, 2008). Thus, the future is not predetermined but laden with possibility and surprise. In each moment of old age there is an imagined future – a becoming. This becoming is contained even in the sure knowledge of finitude as we move from life to death. It is only death that looms as the inevitable and unflinching future moment. This chapter explores the future through the eyes of the research participants – older people who perceive their futures through the lens of relative time. The possibility of a long life was a central feature of many participants’ imagining of the future. Like relative time, longevity has shaped their perception of the future. In this chapter the concept of ‘deep time’ is introduced. Deep time means that the postwar generation has been witness to a shift in duration in the lives of the previous generation. That shift has now been integrated into their own sense of life span. The previous generation have viewed their longevity with surprise, while the postwar generation view their own longevity with expectation. Deep time is explored in this chapter along with worries and fears, generativity, and leaving a legacy. As with every expression in our life span, we are becoming, as we look to the future.

Imagining the future I start with different interviewees’ diverse ideas about imagining the future. Like all of us, participants could, in one breath, speak of never envisaging a future or an inability to make future plans and, in the next

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breath discuss possible future imaginings. Those future imaginings are discussed later in this chapter. John: Who I imagine I will become? I never really think about it, in all honesty, I never really think about future very much. I never actually think to myself, “Gosh, what am I going to be like at 75?” I just don’t – I never have done really, ever. And when I was 27 I was living being 27 and when I was 37 I still thought I was 27 and when I was 47 I still thought I was 37. So I always thought I was about 10 years behind where I am and now that I’m 61 I vaguely, I still think of myself as 41. And I certainly don’t think about myself as to what it might be like in the future. I don’t think, “Oh my God one day I’ll have a Zimmer frame and a wheelchair. I won’t be able to get up and down stairs.” Of course, one’s probably shutting it out and one probably should be looking to the future but I never really have done. I’ve never really been someone who’s planned and plotted too far in advance. Personally, I might plan on and plot a little bit for travel plans for the year hence or something. But I don’t think in terms of, “What will I be like when I’m 73?” That doesn’t even enter my head – never think of it. Julia: We’ve nothing to worry about – actually if I thought about the future I’d probably have – I’m a bit of an ostrich, aren’t I? Don’t want to think about the future. Maggie: I’ve been too busy living every year as it comes to think too far forward about it [laughter] – the future ones in the sense of how will one be different – I mean, one knows that the future is over there, somewhere. Jack: I’m not a great future person anyway and I haven’t – for those reasons [earlier in the interview, Jack had said he thought he was going to die young] – I haven’t particularly invested much in thinking about what I would be like when I was older… I kind of see how it was when I got there. Of course, I work with older people all the time so there’s some things that people tell you all the time – so you kind of take it for granted – a commonly held view, once you reach that point.

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Sally: Well, I know were not rolling in it but we’re not penniless and I’ve always thought, I’m ready for the future, I’ve paid for my funeral. Because, I’ve made up my mind, I want my wishes carried out – um … I always feel guilty – although I tried – as I saw my dad’s health going downhill, I used to try and ask him different questions. And, and I remember one Sunday, in the afternoon – we had all the old photos out and I said to him, “Tell me who they are, Dad, because if you weren’t here we don’t know who all these people are and I started writing the names on the back. And I started asking about funerals and he said, “Oh, don’t be so morbid, I don’t want to know.” But I have always felt guilty – we decided to have him cremated but because he was Irish they always seem to – not that I’ve been there – but, from what I can gather, they always seemed to march down the road and have a burial. And I just think, did we do the wrong thing? And, in a way it bothers me – not that we can change it now, anyway, it bothers me. I don’t want my family going through that slow drive, following the coffin and loads and loads of money with lots of flowers. I never ever forgot when my mom died, what the flowers were like and we went up, the day after Boxing Day, to see the flowers and because there was a flu epidemic at the same time there were so many flowers at [name of the cemetery] they were in a big mountain all thrown – everybody’s flowers – ’cause they –. It always stuck in my mind. I would hate for people to spend a lot of money – I would rather see a bunch of flowers now while I’m living. I treat myself, I got some carnations down there [laughter]. So, yeah, a few years ago I thought, I’m going to go when I’m going to sort my own funeral out [laughter]. I’m shocked how much they are now [laughter]. Like other aspects of ageing, many participants discussed how their old age might be different from that of their parents. In this quote from Roy, he ponders the sedentary life he had witnessed in the old age of family members. He calls it a “docile life,” and Roy imagines a different future for himself. Naomi: In what ways has the ageing experience of people you’ve known been useful to you?

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Roy: Ah, living a docile life has definitely taught me you die early [laughter]. The well-known joke is you retire, this is for men mainly but it will be applying to women in the near future. Ah, you retire, you good wife brings you tea halfway through the day brings you lunch midday so activity is within quotes zero and within quotes you’re dead within two years. So, yes I do want to be fit for the reason I do want to get to 80! As opposed to where’s the Zimmer frame? Where’s the walking stick? Where’s the motorized wheelchair? [Laughter]

Deep time: imagining, wondering, expecting the future There has been a shift in life expectancy; the likelihood of living a longer life than in the past is real. Age-standardized mortality rates were the lowest ever recorded in England in 2011 (ONS, 2012). This has been a trend throughout the lifetime of the postwar generation (Wilson, 2000; Bytheway, 2011). This cohort has lived an entire lifetime in which they have witnessed this shift in the possible duration of their lives. Deep time is the melding of the postwar generation’s witness to longevity within their own psyches. Deep time is the embodied knowing that death may not be imminent, and that there are more years to be lived – longevity, not as a faraway wish but a real possibility. It is an embodied cognizance of extended years – a body/mind knowledge of deep time. It is posited in embodied knowledge/imagining of possible futures. In most of the interviews, for participants with and without health issues, there was an underlying assumption of possible longevity, which was expressed both directly and indirectly. For a few people with health issues, there was an acceptance that finitude was probably closer, rather than farther away. The one participant who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer expressed clarity about death. Changing numbers I start with this quote from Jack. He makes a distinction between himself and older people he has known or worked with in the past, and their sense of chronological embodied duration. It seems to me that as older people, we have a new set of – [pause] – it appears to me that each generation has new challenges. Like for some of the earlier ones [he worked with] it was the very surprise of being old. People would say, “I’m 70, you know”

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[said in a very proud tone] as if being 70 was like running the hundred meters or something. There was a group of interviewees who had already lived to a greater age than their parents and grandparents. Many, but not all of this group, came from working-class families. Sally: Once I realized that I was looking at people [photographs] and I’m older than they were before they died, I realized just what happened. Some people discussed their experience of the changing demographic. Here Julia recounts her current experience as a volunteer at Age UK: A lot of people now – we’re short of members because – when I was younger you were a pensioner and you were an old pensioner at 70. So at Age UK events and the luncheon clubs that we have, there were a lot of people because they were in their 70s but now people in their 70s don’t want to be considered old and going to a lunch club for old people. So, a lot of our members are now in their 80s and 90s. Questioning the meaning of numbers We have limited language to directly express knowledge of expanded life spans. Perhaps, because of the linguistic constraints, many people used chronological reckoning to express longevity. In the following quote, Mary discusses longevity within her childhood memory as well as her surprise at feeling young at her age. Mary is an energetic expressive woman. During our interview, she brought up a wide-range of topics, expressing strong opinions on all of them. She also includes the duration of her domestic partnership in her reckoning of time and her feelings about her life. Mary compares her possible life span to that of her grandmother. Naomi: Did you ever imagine that turning 61 would be the way it is now? Mary: I didn’t imagine that I would feel young, actually for starters. Well, I didn’t imagine that I would have to keep working because of the recession. I don’t really know – I mean, I’m perfectly happy

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at this stage. I didn’t imagine I’d be this happy – I mean, I’ve been with my other half 30 years or so. Naomi: Wow, that’s wonderful. You didn’t imagine you would feel this young? Mary: No, because when I was young, a person who was 60 was heading down to the graveyard. You know my Nan lived until she was 78 and everybody thought, goahhh, that was a really a good age [small laugh]. Of course, now, well, I fully expect to live for a long, long time. Later in the interview, Mary discussed the possibility that she may live for many more years. She began by referring to a very late night out celebrating the Queens’ golden jubilee, and feeling tired and “grumpy” the next day: It just irritates me. You know it’s going to happen. I’m just irritated by it but I’ve got another 30 – well, maybe 20 – maybe 30 odd years to go and getting tired that’s, that’s the part of ageing I don’t like. Mary’s understanding is that her life may well be much longer. She knows that 61 (her current age), although considered old in the past, is now not very old. She does, in fact, feel young. In this quote from Bill, he discusses duration in terms of looking into the past, bringing the subject of life span into the present, and considering the future. Bill has also outlived both his parents. I remember my parents – that sort of 60, in their day – I remember that they thought when you get into your 60s you were getting quite old. Nowadays, I think, you have to be in your 80s before you really start thinking you really are old. Well, I think 50s, 60s – well, certainly 50s, you could easily be middle aged. You could go on into a hundred. [Emphasis in original] In this quote from Paul, he discusses numbers, what is chronologically possible within his life span. Towards the end of the quote, he connects how he feels physically, his embodied sense of life, with his chronological reckoning.

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And actually, whatever is true, the precise numbers – When you think, now, that people who reached 60 – 65 – you know – someone I knew quite well died at the age of 65, quite recently but that’s not considered anything normal – that’s considered quite regrettable. You know, when you’re 85 that’s what you might expect but not when you’re 65. That’s a big change in say, 100 years, isn’t it? Expecting not to be alive at 68 – now, I’m 63, I’m feeling fine and it’s sort of gone to 90 – I’ve got 30 years or something. Embedded in the chronological reckoning of longevity there is a marking of where one is in the life span. The possible number of years that lie ahead is expressed in this quote from Margaret. Again, as in many of the quotes, past, present, and future bleed together in the imaging of long-lived futures. We used to have a touring caravan and going off in the caravan and having holidays and having fun and feeling that there was a lot of time in front of you. That was a nice feeling. I still feel I could live for another 40 years. It’s very feasible in this day and age but I want to live a healthy 40 years. I don’t want to be a creaking gate for 40 years so I’m doing as much as I can now to remain as healthy as I can.

Longevity and difference Pace and expectation Some interviewees came from families with a history of longevity. Stephan describes the connection between his sense of longevity and how he has lived his life to this point. It is important to note that Stephan discusses his pace of life within the context of longevity. Naomi: In what ways has that [long-lived family] influenced your ideas about ageing? Stephan: I think it has in this way, Naomi, that – I never factored into my life plan, not that I have a life plan – I never factored in, in so far as it was subliminal, the issue that when I was 60 or 65 or 70 I won’t be able to do that. I’m ssslightly [elongates], at this stage now, I’m starting to think that some of the things, some of the really physical things I did when I was young – I’m doing a little more of that – I’d like to – I’d like to do them once more before I can’t [laughter]. So, I’m doing a little bit more of that.

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That doesn’t mean driving sports cars, it means sporting things. But, no, I think I’ve been, perhaps, rather complacent. I never said to myself as a result of seeing other people falling off the perch, “God, you must hurry up and live life for the day,” absolutely, you know, live life in a hurry. I think I’ve taken life pretty much at a canter rather than a gallop. The pace of life was introduced in the previous chapter through the lens of present time, but the pace of life is also influenced by expectation. Expectation is an aspect of future time. Expectations live in time, in a knowing and reckoning of future time. The expectations of longevity are embedded in Stephan’s quote. Many other participants, both people with a family history of longevity and not, held expectations of long life spans. Like Stephan, there was little mention of a change of pace except when health issues forced participants to take things more slowly. Much of what Stephan has described are aspects of time, longevity/duration, finitude, generation (previous family history), and pace. Within embodied knowing of longevity, future time stretches before us and the pace of life appears to remain similar, if not the same. In the following quote from Julia, she directly addresses the notion of expectations. Naomi: Do you imagine any of the ideas from the Sixties affects how you feel about yourself as an older person? Julia: Yes, I think it does because I don’t think we age as quickly as that generation did and we’ve got a lot more things to do – a lot more expectations and for that generation it was totally different. People dying at 70 – now we’re still working, we’ve got lots of things to do, lots of hobbies and we’re a totally different generation. Naomi: You mentioned expectations, what do you mean exactly by that? Julia: Probably the expectation of living longer and being able to do a lot more than that generation could. Do you want me to compare the two generations? Naomi: You said quite a bit already. Do you want to compare them a bit?

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Julia: I just thought, when I was 10 in 1957 – older people, they worked until they were 65 and were lucky if they lived until they were 70 and they didn’t, have really, didn’t have a lot to do in between. Generation and difference The last section of Julia’s quote brings out a generational comparison, which was a point of discussion in almost every interview, despite the fact that there were no specific questions on the subject in any of the interviews. Throughout this analysis, there have been quotes that mention generational differences. The flow of time is embedded in much of the data. Looking back to the past, beyond their own time, some participants recognized what was bequeathed to the postwar cohort by previous generations. The generational comparisons also look to the future, addressing ideas of what ageing may look like as compared to previous generations or the past. Jack discusses his parents and the choice they made to live in Spain in the last 20 years of their lives. It is of note that interviewees did not appear interested in moving to the seaside or warmer climes (with two exceptions). Here’s how Jack explains it: My parents moved to Spain for the last 20 years of their life and I kind of begged them to keep a home in England – they had a wonderful wide circle of friends whom they lost and were quite miserable at that loss. And I could kind of see that – it seemed inevitable that’s what would happen. And it was entirely avoidable if they had just sold their house and bought a little flat then they would’ve made coming to and fro entirely manageable and they would’ve retained their friendships and that would have meant that they – that would have helped them with some of the heartache in old age – I’m sure a pleasure to them and to their friends. In this quote from Geri, she describes the difference between her parents’ old age and the importance of friendships for the postwar cohort. She imagines a future where her friendships continue to be primary. I think the future has to have something in it that is what our generation is all about. We are all about friendships – communities of friendships. That is what makes us. It’s not about putting the slippers on and smoking the metaphorical pipe in front of the

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fireside, the two of you until one of you pops their clogs and then there’s just one of you left and the cat. Participants discussed their present and future of “being old” in relation to previous generations in a variety of areas such as decorum, routine, and exercise. In terms of decorum – the presentation of oneself as one ages – the participants were critical of previous generations for holding far too rigid and limited views of acceptable behavior. In the comparison of differences, it was implied that this generation would not live within these previously prescribed ways of being old. Gill: My parents’ generation and her parents before, there were very, very set roles – women were expected to dress a certain way, to behave a certain way. It was almost as if you had to fit inside this box. Bruce: My father at 46 looked older than I do now in terms of his appearance, his dress, he looked old. And I think that people who got to middle age, people in their 50s and earlier, who were middle aged, behaved a certain way. There was a certain sort of physical decorum that was expected of people who had reached middle age. Some people described an adherence to daily routine in their parents’ and grandparents’ old age. It was described within the context of retirement and, also, as part of decorum or the “right way” to act as an older person. In these quotes from Arthur and Lisa, they describe their vehement commitment to living differently from their parents. In their choice to live differently, they are describing another embodied rhythm to life, a syncopation that is different from the metronomic beat of routine. Arthur: He had his life [his father] – he come out of his house, go up the lane, go to Avonmouth, go up the road to the pub [pub name], every day, every night. And I thought to meself, I ain’t going to have all that. I ain’t having that – not the rest of me life. Lisa: Our mothers were old at 50. You know, their clothes, the way they liked routine. I mean, I hate routine – I hate doing anything – if somebody said you’ve got to live like that I couldn’t bear it, you know.[Emphasis in original]

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Exercise in old age was another area that was much discussed. The need to stay physically active in the future was seen not only as important, but also a major departure from their parents’ activity levels and physicality. The following describes two barriers to exercise faced by past generations of women. Candice: I sort of think about my mother and what she didn’t do or couldn’t do and also she didn’t do any physical activity really except for cleaning the house. I have thought that I must do more than she did, but I think it was partly because of – I know this sounds ridiculous – because women’s shoes. I don’t think she could, she had very large feet and she couldn’t – I don’t think there was the variety of shoes that enable you to walk easily. Candice describes not only the lack of desire to be physically active, but women’s shoes as an actual impediment to being active. She went on to describe how limited the choices were and her mother’s unwillingness to wear “big clodhoppers.” In the quote below, Suzanne combines the themes of expectations of being old and physicality. Suzanne: It’s quite interesting looking back at 30, what I was doing and where she was – she would no more have dreamed of doing something like going to a gym than fly to the moon. I mean, I think her life was completely different. I think the expectation was once you were over 60 you retired and you just led a less hectic life. I think that was the expectation whereas now you don’t have that expectation, you do what you can whereas then when you were a certain age, life wound down. [Emphasis in original] The differences described above are indicative of what, in some ways, were and are the generation gap. Rather than the emotional and over-the-top reporting from the Sixties media, the generation gap is indicative of the changes wrought through the social rupture or cultural revolution of the Sixties and subsequent history. Continuity, compression, and the interiority of time Although there are differences between the generations, there is the abiding and all-encompassing human condition of ageing that is described by Grace:

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On the continuum of life, I can see my daughters, my mother and hear my, you know, transitioning – having been that and will become this – I, you can see the map of the territory more at this age. Grace describes the outward manifestation of life’s continuum in her statement describing intergenerationality and her own experience of ageing. There is also the interior experience of time’s continuum, the interrelationship between past, present, and future within us. Sitting with the research participants, I watched interviewees’ faces as they recounted times with friends and family, moments of true relived history, but still they were very much in the present. Other times, what I saw in people’s faces was a recounting of memory and a return to the past, erasing the present. Still other moments were filled with nostalgia, but in the next moment I saw people facing the future. Our past, present, and even future selves can and do live together at any given moment. Through chronology, many participants expressed this side-by-side phenomenon of multiple moments of time compressed into a pantheon of identities that live inside each of us. We can and are more than one age and more than one identity at any given time. Bruce: I think what’s strange is that I don’t feel, in my head – really any different than from when I was 25. I mean, it’s very difficult to say that, because you don’t know what 25 felt like. I don’t feel any awareness of my consciousness being any different – but – well, I do feel wiser and more tolerant than I did 40 years ago. Bruce encapsulates that compression of time. He looks back and a part of him is 25 and, yet, how can he really say what “25 felt like?” Yet, he knows he is different than 40 years ago and that will continue into the future. Maggie puts it this way: Maggie is still about 25–26 years old, you know, sometimes. When I am 90, part of Maggie will still be somewhere around that age. Inside, you know – it’s all life. As Maggie says as she looks to an imagined future as a 90-year-old, “it’s all life.” In this conversation with Nick, he succinctly describes his interior sense of time through past, present, and future. The “baggage” and “filing cabinet” he describes are not material but memories – the past.

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Nick: You don’t have all the baggage of later on and I mean by that you just accumulate some stuff as you get older on. I feel like I’ve got such a big filing cabinet of stuff [laughter]. Rusting, as we speak. It kind of creaks open. But, but then you kind of – well, you know, you’re younger physiologically and psychologically and there’s something very different – those kind of things touch you in a very different kind of way, I think, when you’re younger. And they still do, I almost want to latch on and say “Oh yeah, that was a great feeling.” I want to recapture that in almost a kind of nostalgic – well, it is a nostalgic way kind of, I could, I suppose, kind of live in the past but I don’t do that. [Emphasis in original] Naomi: No, I don’t get that sense. Nick: No, I don’t do that. I don’t like that, but, I do really like that connection with that past, as well – with the past, and future, and all that. In Nick’s description of his internal relationship to time, he is describing his “connection” to the various parts of himself through the lens of time. Next we turn to another kind of connection – intergenerational.

Connections Over the years, relationships mellow, edges soften but, more importantly, the generation has matured. Although there may be deep differences between the generations, there are the profound commitments of familial ties. Some people discussed caring for ageing parents. Sally: My dad was able to live in his own home by me doing everything there for him. So, he stayed there, right there, to the end. Geri and her sister have supported their mother through a move into a sheltered flat, which has been good for her and has also enhanced Geri’s perception of ageing and her relationship with her mother. It’s evident that she is happy – she has never stopped thanking me and my sister for suggesting the move. She’s so happy – which is brilliant. So, I think then so, so, so you take from it – you get enormous help if you are left on your own – you have no partner and you need to be somewhere – you need help – you can still

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make it a really pleasurable and fulfilling experience even though you’re that age and that’s heartening to see. Other interviewees, mostly women, continued to have important relationships with aunts, grandparents, or family friends. Lisa describes her godmother: My godmother is 96, I mean she still is incredible. She’s full of life. I go and see her – she still lives in London – yeah, she moans a bit – she says getting older is not much fun. She still looks incredible. Candice describes a relationship she developed as an older adult with a friend of her parents: There was a woman that I knew as I was growing up. She was in my parents’ circle of friends. I used to go and talk to her – she was in there [the same home as her father]. We got on very well together – I enjoyed her company. So, that was different – so she saw me, she probably got to know me in a different way. We had interesting conversations about all manner of different things. She might say that I was, she might think that I was a bit like her daughter. Cross-generational relationships were the source of information or inspiration for some people. Gill talks about her relationship with two elderly women who she finds admirable: These women I can talk to about things and they still are independent women living on their own. They dress good, they look after themselves, they always make sure they look well and they don’t speak bad about anybody. They haven’t lost their sense of humor, their sense of well-being. Judith describes an “elder” whose organizing work has been an inspiration to her: Judith: There was one guy I knew who – he passed away a number of years ago – he was someone who kind of became, he really became this elder of wisdom and kindness. He was the person who was always at the door to welcome people.

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Naomi: What was it about his way of ageing? What makes his way of being useful to you now? Judith: I suppose first of all he was someone who was, who emanated – is that the right word? – who emanated peace and happiness. He was always smiling. He had this aura of being peaceful and happy within himself. But also, having this knack – it seemed unlimited – attention to key into people. He was able to really engage with people.

Looking forward All of the interviewees discussed future activities that included being physically active. Physical activity in the form of exercise assumes an immediate meaning in the present, but was also perceived by participants as important to a generative, active future. Work was an often-discussed topic – whether to continue one’s present work into the future or even to start new work. The difference in the meaning of work between this cohort and previous generations was a frequent topic of conversation. Retirement, interestingly, was touched on by only a small number of people and not discussed in much detail. Those few interviewees who did mention it did not discuss it as a fun time in their lives, but more in terms of respite. Respondents discussed embodied generativity1 through a myriad of avenues. Their notions of generativity are not through the lens of middle age but through that of old age. Living through the perspective of deep time allows for an imagined old age of active familial, cultural, and social engagement that leaves a mark on the world or a ‘dynamic legacy.’ Many interviewees described what they were currently doing while others expressed future plans or both. Leaving a dynamic legacy was an important notion in the present activities and future imaginings of this group. In this quote from Stephan, he talks about the business he has recently launched. He is careful to make clear that it is a “green” business, operating on ethical principles and values. He launched the business for a several reasons, including the fact that it supplies a sustainable product, but also because it addresses his money worries. Here he describes how he has taken this path. I’ve been very fortunate that perhaps because of that active mind and curiosity, and always inquiring and asking and wondering and worrying, to a certain extent throughout this opportunity,

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and through a couple of very fortunate occurrences I met someone with whom I could develop the idea and turn it into a business, which is now looking like the timing is perfect. It’s already spawned another business – it’s – we’re doing this thing that most bright people do in their 20s or early 30s. It hasn’t come to me until my post-60 – but that doesn’t worry me, at all [laughter]. Stephan was not the only interviewee to have recently started a new business, one that was forward- thinking in terms of its values and the needs it fulfilled. Some people continue to work, in part because of money worries and, in part, because they like what they are doing, and they are doing something of lasting value. The data showed a multitude of wide-ranging activities that were future oriented. Interviewees related informal community work, like befriending a single mother in the neighborhood, providing free childcare, and acting as a surrogate grandmother. A number of participants were committed grandparents, an activity that certainly is future oriented. Grandparenting is a traditional later-life activity but interviewees described a commitment to providing childcare and other material needs for their grandchildren. In this quote from Elaine, she describes her commitment to her grandchildren: It’s everything to me – I can’t think – these people who say about posh holidays and where they’ve been and all that, that’s nothing to me. I can’t think of anything better than us [grandchildren] being together. It is important to me – and I think I’m very lucky. Margaret left work and, after a year, returned to work in a new, more responsible position. In her case, money was not the motivator although she loves her job. The following from Margaret describes her commitment to supporting her grandchildren: I love being a granny. I love that. My daughter, she needs me because she and her husband are divorced so I support them both physically and in every other way to make sure that the children are okay. Lisa does not have children but she has formed a bond with a younger family, helping out with the children and being a sounding board and advisor to their mother:

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… and there is a very sweet 35-year-old – she’s got two children and I help out, take the children sometimes and she’s been going through difficulties like people do at that age – money and husband and children. And, you know, she comes to me and chats about things. And I say, “Don’t worry, things will change. Things will get better; life doesn’t stay the same,” because I know my life – you know, you are sort of drawing from your own experiences to hopefully help people younger than you, you know, sort of … And that’s quite an interesting thing as you get older. In this quote from Judith, a lifelong activist, she relays her thoughts about taking on a new project and continuing her commitment to making a better world: I have been thinking about my role and where I should be putting my energy with an awareness of the limited time –. Sarah talks about a current project that has just been funded and her passion for continuing that work into the future. It is of note that although she saw this work as her future, she worried that the funders would frame it differently. I just got £6,000 from the [name of the foundation] – I’m going to the States for eight weeks to research things that I love and I was worried about putting in for it – I’m too old, they want people who they can invest in the future. And then, I was thinking that that is absolutely ridiculous, that’s buying into what the oppression says. So, when I talk about a hunger, it means I’m determined not to stop. For some interviewees volunteering within traditional charities and non-governmental organizations (NGOs) was part of their future expectations. One interviewee was making plans to found an NGO. Mike talks about a charity he has worked for, but wants to make a bigger commitment in the future: I want to do something – I don’t know how big, I don’t know how grand but we support this children’s charity. So, I want to step up and do more work – also come up with something out of the ordinary to do with that.

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Nick discusses a continuation of the satisfying lifelong work he has done: I’m going to see a friend tonight who plays music and he’s just, he’s going to be 70 this year and I was kind of thinking, I wonder if I’ll still be playing when I’m full version 70 or 80 – that kind of thing. And I thought, well yeah, sure, anything’s possible [laughter]. [Later in the interview, continues that theme] Feeling like I can still do that [music] and will continue to do that until it’s really, for various reasons, impossible – and also, my interest in writing, music and writing in the main. Charles discusses just having quit his job, and his excitement at starting on a new career path doing what he has put off for years: I feel like I want to say that nobody’s really seen me yet. Yeah? A few people have had little glimpses. My partner is probably the one who knows me the most and she’s probably got the best sense of it but I think I’m yet to emerge. So, as I’m telling people about the way my life is about to change and I’m telling them what my plans are – “You do that? You do that? I never knew you did that.” I say, “Yeah, I studied that.” So something like surprises – you know, there’s lots to come. Becoming Embedded in looking forward into the future is the ongoing belief in becoming. The notion of becoming is contained in Charles’ quote above – he is in process of becoming. Becoming, and/or developing, were words peppered throughout the data from the interviews. Naomi: Who out of your past would be the least surprised at how you look now? Candice: … Ah, I think they would say – they see me as a woman developing. Gill: I’m still very much becoming. This is quite an exciting time for me – it can be stressful but I do feel like I’m becoming.

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This sense of development or becoming, as seen in the quotes above, is posited in the future, a future that is not laid out in the “set roles” of the previous generation. As Margaret stated: I am plotting my own course. Fun One might read earnestness into the tone of the above group of quotes. Earnestness could not be farther from the reality of sitting through these interviews. There was lots of laughter – at themselves, at their pasts, at the sagging and bagging that was happening to their bodies. This echoed a Sixties attitude toward life. There was an atmosphere in the Sixties of celebration and fun. That sense of fun continues now in the present, and was a pervasive undercurrent in talk about the future; not fun in the sense of previous generations’ notion of retirement as a party, but as integral to life. Jack describes the previous generation like this: Then there was a sort of hedonist period, “we all deserve a rest” – raving on about how much fun we’re having. A sense of balance was demonstrated in much of the data. Fun, for want of a better word, is a balance to the rest of life’s activity and worries, not the central focus of old age. Bruce puts it well in this quote: I feel like people – feel like the Sixties ethos – that people have a right to continue to enjoy themselves and have fun. Worries Fun has always been part of the generation’s ethos, but, the postwar cohort also carry deep worries – personal worries about health, finances, and their futures in general. Worries about health are reflective of generations prior to theirs. Fear of financial problems was evident across class lines, and also echoes earlier generations. In this quote from Candice, she states succinctly what many people discussed with me. And … I mean, I have enjoyed every age that I’ve been, but I have this feeling that I might not be saying that in – at some point in the future.

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Almost everyone discussed their worries about the future of the world. There was a decided lack of complaint about younger people, but, instead, expression of deep concern about the next generations and the state of the world. Bruce, like many people I interviewed, described his worries about the world. The understanding that we are never one thing, never hold only one lens on our world, is personified in his statements both about fun (above) and here about future worries. Bruce: I’m a glass half-full person myself, but anything political I’m now so cynical about, I find it so depressing. I listened to the news this morning and the directors of the FTSE 100 companies have awarded themselves 49% increases in remuneration in the last 12 months. I find that sort of news deeply shocking and so desperately unfair that when there are so many people who are struggling and this winter there are so many people who will have to choose between eating properly and heating their homes. Maggie states her worries through the historical lens of her lifetime: Yes, I think we all thought about when the Berlin Wall came down and the Cold War was apparently over that this big specter that had been so much the politics of Western Europe for 40 years, now we’d be in the sunny uplands and we find we’re in much choppier waters – that raises all kinds of questions for all of us and society here on this little island of ours. We don’t quite know what that’s going to mean in 50 to 100 years’ time. Arthur discusses his worries about young people: I feel sorry for the youngsters because the standard of living for their mum and dad – some people have not had a pay raise for almost three years and I honestly believe whatever money they are getting is now being taken off them so that mum and dad can survive. Because if you haven’t got a roof over your head, you’ve got nowhere to go, and it’s getting worse. I will end this section with a quote from Rich. It is a perspective on the world from a man who continues his own life’s work regardless of his very limited energy levels and small window on the future. We all have to accept human life, any life is transient. We are not going to live eternally, so what? Doesn’t matter that we don’t

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individually live eternally because the world lives on – so, preserving the world is the crucial thing and celebrating the world. That’s the view which I have come to.

Facing finitude Death is the last point in the future, the final embodied experience. Organ systems work together to maintain an internal stability, so as functioning shifts in one system another takes up the slack to maintain homeostasis. Eventually, these changes are no longer correctable and we face finitude. Why and how this happens is still a mystery although there are a number of theories. Part of our common humanity is the consciousness of death. Dying is the ‘oldest and commonest form of human endeavour’ (Elias, 1985, p 1). It is when embodied time stops. The interwoven warp and weft of body and mind cease to be, together, in concert with each other. Whatever the knowing of deep time, the duration/longevity of life, dis-embodiment lies at the end. No questions were asked about death during the interviews, although finitude was touched on by virtually every interviewee. Many people spoke about death directly, or implied that this segment of their lives was the last part of life. Others brought up the death of a colleague, family member, or friend. Death was on the minds of my participants. The interviews, with ageing body at their center, triggered thoughts of finitude. Overall, the language used in discussions about death was unmediated, without the use of euphemisms. It had a straightforward quality that was neither morbid nor uncomfortable. This is not to say that the meaning of the finitude of body has changed, but that the expression, the relationship of the participants to their bodies, is one of acceptance of the physicality of life. It is worth noting that is there was little mention of God or religion in any of the comments regarding death. A few people spoke about fears of death that were triggered by the death of someone close to them. Even in discussing their anxieties, the unmediated language of the body was apparent. Suzanne: I suppose one’s more aware of one’s own mortality. I’m terrified of dying – not the pain or anything – it’s my God, what’s going to happen after? So, I suppose, that gets more and more imminent. So, that’s something – one’s more aware of death, I suppose, obviously, when one’s parents die – it sort of brings it home.

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Suzanne identifies perhaps the most defining feature of age: an awareness of mortality. It is not necessarily an abiding thought, but it is an awakening to the surety of finitude. The look of our own wrinkles and sags, the physical shifts we experience, and the reflection of ourselves as we watch friends age, along with the actuality of death as evidenced through the passing of friends, family members, or colleagues, remind us of the last life initiation. Sarah: I think I’ve always been scared of dying and stuff, but something about that is kind of ratcheting up a little when your own friends are dying. And they both had horrible end-of-life so that was – that’s kind of left me feeling vulnerable in my body. In some of the interviews there was a more spiritual or, in the case of a couple of people, a Western Buddhist perspective, but that was more implicit than explicit. This quote from Rich, who had explained to me earlier in our interview that he is a Buddhist, is a multi-layered description of how he is dealing with his illness. And I think I can bring ease and comfort and strength to my body through serenity and concentration of mind which is what I’ve continued to do – partly to do with mediating the effects of grief and partly to overcome the illness which is a manifestation of that. And, in a sense, that is an exciting aspect of experience. That is what I’m given – this is the hand I have to play – well, I’ll play it, you know – what else can I do? I’ll play it to the best of my abilities and the best of my abilities will lead me to try and understand what’s going on. And how best to work with it. How best to play the hand. And, I would say – it’s very easy to take up stances on this and to posture around it but I would say that I’m really not concerned about what’s happening to my body. It’s just another contingency in life which you, which you cope with as best you can – as you learn to cope with dozens of other contingencies over the decades which brought you to this point. Dilemmas, choices, and connections In this quote from Jack, he discusses how a recent health scare has triggered thoughts of mortality and an inward contemplation of the “human dilemma.”

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I just had a little health scare and that’s been quite sobering and affected me … [pause]… I haven’t fully processed it yet – what that has meant to me. It clearly affected me a lot, you know, at some deeper level. And I don’t have a lot to say about it. I was – my partner commented on how quiet and preoccupied I was. And clearly something’s going on in my tectonic plates, you know … around … [pause]. Some of that’s just existential things – about mortality and that kind of stuff … [pause] ... it’s the human dilemma. I don’t expect great answers now or in the future about that. No one else has them and I don’t see why I would … I’m not the exception – it is what it is, you know. There’s only so much you can say about it, and so on. In many of the discussions about death, there was a weighing-out quality, like Rich’s statement: “How best to play the hand,” or Jack’s: “There’s only so much you can say.” Some participants considered the place of diet, fitness, and exercise as keys to a longer life or a healthier life span. While they might be seen as a hedge against an early death, instead there is a measuring, a weighing out or a philosophical stance in regard to a “healthy life style.” In this quote from Elaine, she knows that exercise and fitness are no guarantee for a prolonged life, but she questions what longevity, in the end, could mean; what the possible consequences are of living a long time and remaining fit. Her statement looks to an uncertain future with the knowledge of death, sometime, somehow, at the end. Elaine: [referring to fitness and health] I can’t say it will prolong my life but I could be struck down with cancer tomorrow or gone next week. And there’s nothing you can do about that one. And then, there’s the other side of the coin of keeping yourself too fit and getting too old and not dying and being, perhaps, in a home and just sitting about. Whereas if you don’t keep fit you may die of a heart attack just like that. So, there’s lots of – you think to yourself, well maybe – the ones that don’t do it may go off quicker than the ones who do do it – ’cause I don’t know that I want to get to 90 and in a home. Some people, perhaps, think of exercise as a kind of insurance against health problems in the future. Bruce, whose partner has had recent health problems, describes his partner’s attitude toward exercise:

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Since giving up full time work for [former workplace] he’s going to the gym, he’s gotten into his training and whatnot and I think, probably has created this, this mental image of This is the insurance policy, this is keeping me fit. This is keeping me well. And I think that this, this experience that he’s just had or he’s just having has been a very serious blow because obviously that insurance isn’t worth anything because here’s something that was completely unexpected. It was clear throughout the interviews that mortality was a subject that people had acknowledged and considered, whether it was fear of death or, as Margaret discusses below, the option of taking control of one’s death. Control of one’s own body, body ownership, as discussed early in this book, is the central theme in the quote below. Margaret has contemplated the circumstance under which she would end her life. She very much perceives that her embodiedness is hers, and she holds the ultimate responsibility for its ending. Naomi: I’m curious, has your sense of your body, the changes in your body, been influenced by caring for older people your whole life? Margaret: [Referring to controlling her own death] I’m very aware to look in case dementia is starting within me because it is such a sad – dementia’s such a sad illness and I wouldn’t wish to impose any caring on my daughter. Later in the interview: Margaret: I hope I have the courage to make sure that my daughter does not have to take care of me. I hope – the trouble with dementia and Alzheimer’s – by the time you may need to be able to do something about it, you’ve passed the point where you may be able to do something it. And so, I, you, you need a lot of courage for that. In a simple but direct way, Arthur states the profound knowing of the reality of dis-embodiment. He imagines reuniting with his family and friends when he dies. I can walk around the city docks now where my dad used to work, many years ago and I can think to myself, “What a wonderful life.” I know one day, I shan’t be, not appear at all, because one

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day me number will be up. They’ll pull out the bingo number and I’ll go up with them. In this quote from Nick, he describes the recent death of a friend, and the “circle of friends” (a phrase used later in the interview) who had cared for him. Friendship was a theme that emerged strongly from the interviews. This quote exemplifies the expanded boundaries of friendship that developed for many of the postwar cohort. Taking care of each other in old age, and through death, was discussed in a number of the interviews. Nick describes caring for his friend like this: He died of cancer – a group of us saw him quite a lot and cared for him and all that, and in the end we were responsible when he died for taking care of his flat, his belongings. His parents were no longer alive and there was all that of trying to support him, really, during that period [sharp intake of breath]. Bruce discusses how his partner’s recent health problem has reminded him that death is a certainty in life. He describes living in the present because there is clarity about the future: So it’s brought home that time is not on our side. I’ve always been a bit carpe diem-ish in terms of you’ve got to make the best of what you can make while you’ve got it. In essence, Bruce is able to hold the reality of both life and death together in the same breath. Life … carries death within itself. (Jonas, 2005, p 56)

Conclusion In the previous two chapters, we followed the flow of embodied time, from memories of the past, to the experience of the present, to future imaginings. Individual and collective identities come through the voices of participants in small stories and revealing moments. Those narratives have allowed a window for participants ‘themselves to interpret and discern what it is like to grow old and be older in today’s world’ (Gubrium and Holstein, 2000, p 3). Through the lens of relative time, interviewees imagine their futures, breathing life into notions of becoming. They address the future, this last phase of their lives, with both fears and plans for generative

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possibilities. Deep time, the embodied knowing that we may have many more years in front of us, allows this generation to look toward a dynamic legacy that, in many cases, is a way to address their concerns about the future of the world once they are gone. A dynamic legacy means both the hope of bequeathing something to the future and enacting fulfilling activities in an extended older age. The future is marked by the finitude of death. Death is not hidden away and spoken of in hushed euphemisms, but addressed as it is, the end of embodied life or, for some, finitude of the self. In the next chapter, chiasm or profound interweaving of ageing bodies, temporality, and identity will be further explored. Note 1

‘Generativity’ is a term that was coined by Eric Ericson and originally meant ‘concern and guiding the next generation.’ He used the term in reference to his stages of development theory. It refers to the seventh or middle adult period when people strive to create or nurture things that will outlast themselves. Kotre (2000) expanded the definition to include the agentive self, both in the care of others and as an extension of self by engagement in the culture.

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Chiasm, the intersection of time, embodiment, and identity We have explored time, body/embodiment, and identity as separate categories through the postwar cohort’s experience, in the context of the Sixties, up to the present and looking forward to the future. In reality, embodiment, time, and identity are inseparable. We could have chosen any slice of time, for instance the previous generation, to dig deeper into those categories. The choice of the Sixties is illustrative of the relationships of time, embodiment, and identity within the postwar generation. These relationships are not unique to the Sixties, but a close look at the postwar cohort provides a window into the seamless interaction between temporality, ageing embodiment, and identity. In this chapter, aspects of time, embodiment and identity are sometimes discussed separately, yet it is important to remember that they are in constant interaction with each other, creating a whole. From the neurobiological dimension (body) of identity production, to the simple fact that without a body we are only someone else’s memory of our identities, time, embodiment, and identity are in unbroken interaction with each other. Yet, it is difficult to grab onto and maintain a hold on the constant interconnections – they are slippery. A lack of subtlety in the English language makes it difficult to express the interknitting of these elements of our being. One word that does express this interconnection is the Greek term ‘chiasm.’ Figure 2: Chiasm

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A chiasm is an x-shaped configuration. Lefebvre (1992/2004) argues that the point of intersection is of foremost importance to this shape. The chiasm is useful as a visual representation of two elements profoundly connected. In this case the arms of the chiasm represent time and embodiment. Identity, time, and embodiment come together at the nexus. Identity is inseparable from embodiment and time. It is useful to imagine identity energized at the point where time and embodiment meet in the chiasm. This chapter is a discussion of the chiasm.

Nexus It is in the chiasm that culture and nature meet. There may be no moment in our lives when we become more aware of our bodies living within temporality than when we perceive the length of time lived within our changing/ageing bodies. The biological body, within the temporal dimension, is undeniable – a seamless yet visible reality. Longevity/duration is the most obvious aspect of time throughout our lives, especially as we observe the reflection of our changing bodies in the mirror. So it is through our perception of bodily changes that the manifestation of ageing is recognized. It is through the oscillation between body and mind that we come to know the world and perceive aliveness. Body and mind/self are entwined through sensation (or lack thereof), physical function, perception, and imagination. All those aspects and more ping around us and within us. Modern narratives of ageing body are associated with the story of decline. Western industrial society has defined old age through the boundaries of disease and death. Because Western industrial society links the physiological changes associated with ageing with disease, we connect age with decline. In some societies (for example, China, Iceland and among many indigenous peoples), age is perceived as a life process. As we travel through life there are a myriad of life processes, from learning to walk, to the onset of puberty, to changes in our visual acuity. Of course, the meanings that different cultures ascribe to these processes are varied, but nevertheless, these developments occur as part of the life course. People age in a multitude of ways; bodies become frail or they can retain vigor, although changes within every organ system are inevitable. Of course, this does not start at pension age or some given moment when society names its citizens ‘old.’ Changes in our sensory abilities begin at around the age of 20 (Vaillant and Mukamal, 2001). There are a variety of factors that affect the ageing process: alcohol abuse, smoking, exercise, body mass index,

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work environment, nutrition, and familial longevity are but a few elements in the complex stew that influences the changes our bodies go through as we get older. A 40-year-old’s body can be, biologically, far older than their years and an 80-year-old’s far younger. There is not necessarily a match between chronological and biological ages (Robnett and Chop, 2010). This is the physicality of ageing, but, within each person, this corporeal description of ageing is perceived, and in the elegant continuity of mind and body, we know we are ageing. Ageing is a meeting place of time and body within the interrelations at the nexus of the chiasm. Ageing is an aspect of body time, as are bio-rhythms, sleep/dream cycles, and the differing rhythms of each of our organs. The totality of our embodied lives exists in time and beyond, through memory and artifact. Time is key to making sense out of the chaos; it is structural. We create temporal structures to impart meaning and order to our lives. Whether that structure is light and dark cycles, markers, like birthdays and anniversaries, or the moment when we feel hungry and check our watches, we live within temporal structures. Social time places the activities of human society, and people themselves, within this larger category of time. Identities develop through the blending of embodied experience, in memory, the present, and through future imaginings. The interviewees’ descriptions and understanding of time provide context to the material and the meaning they attribute to it. A panoply of temporal facets – chronology, individual memory, mnemonic community, duration, rhythm, pace, expectation, futurity, history, generation, intergenerationality, continuity and flow, relative time, deep time, past and present, and the interpenetration of past, present, and future – are described in relationship to body and embodiment. Peppered throughout the research were interviewees’ references to time as they discussed their lives, their relationships, the physicality of ageing, and all the rest. In the end, identity is, yet, another aspect of embodiment. Embodiment is the whole of who we are. The participants’ identities, their sense of self, are filters to their descriptions and understandings. The manifestations of embodiment through a sense of body ownership and control or deep body habitation – exercise, music and dance, clothing and fashion, and agency and generativity – meet at the nexus where body, time, and identity intermingle. This is a cultural construction that shapes, and is shaped by, the postwar generation. Through this interplay participants define their ageing embodiment. There is also a meshing between the universal experience of ageing body, the realization of the certainty of death, and the cultural

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construction of ageing. This was eloquently stated as interviewees gave voice to their embodied experience.

Chronology and contextual time Chronology is embedded in our cultural narratives of ageing. Chronology had multiple meanings in the lives of the interviewees, but it was the symbolic/representational and structural power of the numbers, how chronological age was embedded in their stories, that was striking. The cultural story is strongly influenced by ideas of age and decline and, perhaps, more importantly, creates a myth that an old person has one identity. Instead, we continue to be our multistoried selves. In the research interviews, there was an evident tension between the chronological and cultural narratives of old age and the lived experience of participants. As one interviewee stated, “Maggie is still about 25–26 years old, you know, sometimes. When I am 90, part of Maggie will still be somewhere around that age.” That tension raises issues of preferred self-narratives1 versus cultural narratives, the changing realities of ageing versus the cultural story, and the power of numbers/chronology. There is an interrelationship between chronology and the context of our lives. That interrelationship, in turn, interacts within the interior reckoning of time; there is a continual interpenetration of past, present, and future. Simply by dint of number of years lived, packed with daily or routine, and sometimes extraordinary, events, our pasts become richly laden with what has come before. This is by no means necessarily an indicator of living in the past but, instead, the lens through which we experience the world. The meaning we attribute to embodied experience depends on context. The Sixties held a different meaning for the postwar cohort than it did for their parents or grandparents. Contextual time and embodied experience interact to create meaning within people’s lives. For example, Rich’s experience of the Sixties as a hippie LSD imbiber, and Roy’s experience of the Sixties through television, have shaped their sense of themselves. Yet, they both came of age in the Sixties. The contextual time had an influence in their lives.

Time and body – history and generation The whole temporal dimension lives within the notion of timescape. Timescape, like landscape, provides us with perspective depending on our surroundings or context. In this metaphor we scan our surroundings through the filters of time – be they memory, future imaginings, or

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the present moment. We are always surrounded by, or live in, time but how we define what we are perceiving depends on what aspect of time we see in the foreground. The question becomes what is in the foreground? The background? History and generation are aspects of temporality and, as such, shift our perception depending on which of these aspects is in the foreground of our consciousness. Within the metaphor of timescape they can be viewed separately and, also how they interact with each other as a whole. History and generation are entangled with each other, and with culture and society. Our notions of the constitution of body and time, how we frame them, and how we experience embodiment and temporality, are born out of this entanglement (Elias, 1939/1978). In this section generation moves into the foreground. The term ‘baby boomer,’ a moniker applied to the postwar generation, is a collective identifier. There is no consensus within the literature as to what it signifies precisely. The term has been used to define a cohort, a common cultural experience, and a specific group of values. For the participant group, it was an identifier and an identity. The cohort’s lifetime identity as baby boomers is the construction of an interactive process of a media/social/cultural designation and the development or shaping of that identity by the group itself. Intergenerational exchange was essential to the development of the generation that came of age during the Sixties, as it is with every generation. The postwar generation was bequeathed a number of historical innovations and changes during its childhood and adolescence. As with all generations, there was an intergenerational exchange – what gathered from the past and what given in the present. That exchange was a blending of historic events, ideas, and choices. The notion of choice has been a constant for this generation; the ideas of choice as seen through the advent of consumer culture have been important both to the baby boomers and to the society, in general. Consumer culture looms large in the narrative of history and generation of the baby boomers from birth to the present moment. As an integral part of Sixties history, consumer culture has had an influence in shaping the identity of the children of the Sixties. The popularization of the term ‘teenager’ is linked to the growth of advertising in the postwar period. The postwar cohort was the first to experience growing up within the knowledge of a teenage peer culture and being targeted as a marketing group. This was to influence their teen years significantly. Aspects of consumer culture were liberating, opening new avenues of choice and self-expression but, also oppressive as the dictates of consumerism are filtered through corporate interests whose primary

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motives are growth and profit. The influence, both negative and positive, of consumer culture is interwoven through the story of the postwar period. This can be seen through the generation’s presentation of the self but it is not the only influence. Presentation of the self is a complex stew with a plethora of influences. Throughout this book, the impacts on the postwar cohort’s sense of embodiment have been delineated; consumerism sits side by side the many other events of the Sixties. There is a permeable membrane between the embodied sense of self and the influences of culture/society and generation/history. They influence each other in an interior/exterior game of table tennis. Liberalizing legislation, or loosening state control over the bodies of its citizens, the Bomb and the Cold War, Earthrise, the advent of the Pill, rock music and dance, the liberation movements, the founding of the NHS, and even our notions of self-expression through dress and fashion were all to have a profound effect on this and subsequent generations’ ideas about their bodies. At the core of each one of these changes or events, identity, body, and time were intertwined or created a chiasm with each of the elements melding at the nexus. Us Both the interviewees and the interviewer were born between 1945 and 1955, in the bulge of the postwar demographic wave. This generation matured in tandem with the rise of mass media and a new energy in the marketing and advertising sector. At the same time, the reality of relative economic affluence, regardless of class status, was part of their coming of age. It was this, and the other factors named above, that wove together a collective sense of generation. That collective identity has been carried forward because of constant media references to ‘baby boomers’ and the reminders everywhere of the Sixties, from the music to second wave feminist references. The participants in my research stated, in a variety of ways, that this generation both made its mark on, and was marked by, an interplay of history and generation. It is their experiences and perceptions of their time in the Sixties that has set the stage for the trajectory of their lives and, at this point, their older selves. Of course, there is a range of experience in terms of class, economic status, rural versus urban life, gender, and other diverse factors, but generation is an important part of that mix. It was a point of membership or a commonality regardless of experience. The Sixties was the cauldron at a seminal point in their lives. That experience was defined and played out in different ways, but it was all under the big umbrella of the Sixties. Could the same not be said for any generation?

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Or, perhaps, is that notion more important in some generations than in others? (Timonen, 2015a). There is that interplay or entanglement of history and generation, culture and society that provides the vessel for our lives. For the previous generation, there was the experience of bombs being dropped in their home country, the sense of danger and insecurity; death loomed large. That experience played out after the war, in a need for security and the comforts of home. Moving forward to generations after the Sixties, how will the social discourse of global climate change and the extinction of animals and habitats influence who those generations become and how they construct and live their old age?

Embodied ageing identities I turn now to the subject of identity. Self-presentation, body image, chronology, generation, intergenerationality, reflection, the interpenetration of personal and public, past, present, and future, and cultural and personal mythologies are some of the elements in the complex stew of the self. In many of the life ‘tellings’ participants conveyed to me, there was a certainty that they held multiple identities. The notion of multiple identities is not a new one in systemic psychological thinking (White and Epston, 1990; Freedman and Combs, 1996). Gullette discusses the notion of age identities, which she aptly names ‘aged by culture’ (also the title of her book on the cultural construction of ageing, 2004). The idea of multiple identities does run counter to the popular idea of a consistent core identity that is stable and sometimes referred to as the ‘sovereign self ’ (Biggs, 1999, 2004; Hall, 2000). In Featherstone and Hepworth’s Mask of Ageing (1991), they describe a younger self living in an old body. Instead, our interior selves can be described as a map of identities – young and older, public and private, professional and personal – that all live inside us and move back and forth from foreground to background. These integrated and shifting identities are not a measure of instability, but, instead, of the flexibility and agency of our humanness. Participants described their younger selves not just in memory but in materiality, as well as in their identity as older selves. Many participants self-identified as ageing or old. Their experiences of ageing body – the appearance of wrinkles, grey hair and the like, the sense of feeling slowed down, or aches and pains, all perceived as signifiers of ageing – were discussed as part of the identification with ageing, the development of an ageing identity. Although participants identified themselves as old, they also articulated a redefining of the meaning of ageing as compared with

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previous generations. Their acceptance of the course of life and time as their bodies changed, and the realization that they had, indeed, lived more years than they had left to live, were clearly constitutive forces, shaping the development of an ageing identity. There are both cultural and embodied aspects to the description of multi-identitied beings. Again, we see the idea that culture is a powerful force in shaping our identities, but our embodied selves also have a hand in the creation of that ‘me-ness’ through memory, ageing body, and the many other aspects described in these pages. It is the nature of our changing bodies throughout our lifetimes, within the temporal dimension, that integrates with cultural and personal experiences to form identity. When Bruce states, “I think what’s strange is that I don’t feel, in my head, really any different than from when I was 25. I mean, it’s very difficult to say that, because you don’t know what 25 felt like,” he is contemplating the movement of time, embodiment, and identity. How can we possibly know who or what that 25-year-old self was in the context of a 60-year-old self, and all the life in between those two ages? Age is only one factor in storied identities. Identity production is a reflexive and reflective process. Ultimately, we do not stand alone in the development of our identities. Through their stories, participants identified themselves as part of a mnemonic community through music, the liberation movements, the Pill, and the NHS, among a myriad of shared experiences and history. Of course, each person I interviewed had their own identities and stories that exemplified who they were. But what of the collective experiences and commonality of stories? This too influenced identity and left its mark on who they were becoming as older people. Many of stories I heard in the interviews were ‘counter-stories’ to the cultural mythology of ageing. This is not about a collective resistance to oldness, but part of the collective embodied experience of time and the times that have influenced the meaning of ageing and who the participant group were in their childhood, youth, and middle age and are becoming as old people. Us, them, and reflections It is striking the many comparisons interviewees made between ‘us’, this generation, and previous generations in terms of ageing embodied identities. There were many personal stories of family members, godparents, or older family friends. The stories were, in many ways, consistent with the predominant culture story of ageing and decline. The question loomed: was this simply a matter of internalized

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ageism?2 The research group did not want to become that old person who lived in their memory. It is not possible to say definitively that internalized ageism was not in the mix of the discourse. What can be stated clearly and definitively is that the myriad of aspects discussed in this and previous chapters point to a shift in the embodied sense of self experienced by the participant group. That shift is a point of departure from previous generations. There is a tension between those old cultural narratives and the lived experience of the participant group. I emphasize here the notion of lived experience rather than resistance to past ideas or ways of ageing. We all live with current cultural narratives of beauty or gender or athleticism that reflect back to us who we are in relationship to those narratives. At the same time that interviewees experienced evidence of their own biological ageing, they bore witness to the body changes of their peers. What was noteworthy within the interview group was the shift away from those reflections and the noncompetitive generational stance taken by participants. There was almost no talk of “that is other people but not me” or “people tell me I don’t look my age” or “staying young at heart,” as discussed in some literature. Instead, there was the opposite stance: “I look my years.” Ageing is part of becoming. Becoming is, perhaps, the only constant in our lives. Becoming can hold a multitude of meanings, from becoming older to the very small daily changes that add up to something new or different in our lives. Many of those changes we have no control over. For example, we may become a widow and experience the grief or relief implied in that change. Becoming old is an unfolding or evolving – taking on another layer of embodied identity. This becoming cannot be understood in ‘predictive ways’ (Jullien, 2011): it is not movement from this to that but instead, quietly, over the years, it becomes an essential fact of our identity. That said, that is not all of who we are but instead our ageing identity is another nuanced lens we see our world through and how we are perceived.

Care of body – ownership and control The term ‘boomer,’ in itself, denotes a demographic moment in time, and places that demographic within the historical context of the postwar period. There are a number of pathways to enter this historical time; it certainly does not start with the Sixties. Perhaps, a core starting point is what was bequeathed to the postwar cohort. Unions and guilds, reformers of all political stripes, and revolutionaries had been working for decades to improve the lives of ordinary citizens. The upper-class generation’s experiences of the world wars challenged

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their preconceived assumptions of class and privilege and this was the final ingredient in the production of significant reforms (Thane, 1996). Theirs were the power to legislate change and the impulses that led to the founding of the NHS and subsequent nutrition programs. Of course, the NHS and nutrition programs bolstered the health of the general population, but there was another effect which was to reshape the postwar cohort’s construction of body and embodied experience. The underlying message of the founding of the NHS and open access to healthcare for all is and was that care of the body is an inalienable right, not a privilege. The postwar generation never knew a time when care of body was not a right. Some participants stated that they were a “child of the NHS,” or discussed memories of the school milk program, or described the importance of good nutritional standards as they were growing up. The belief that healthcare services were accessible for every citizen was an article of faith within the postwar generation (McHale, 2013), shaping their construction of embodied life. Care of the body as a universal right, and universal access to the Pill (at the critical juncture of, or around, the onset of sexual activity), worked in tandem to create a shift in narrative in regard to the construction of body. The uncoupling of sexuality and procreation invited a new mastery of bodily functioning. The ability to control procreation through the advent of the Pill and the decriminalization of abortion affected not only women’s but also men’s construction of their bodies. While many women spoke explicitly about the effects of the Pill on their lives, interviewees of both genders spoke about body ownership/control. References to changing ideas about gender were stated directly and indirectly by participants, both male and female. Participants discussed the changes wrought by second wave feminism and the material and perceptual changes that feminism had wrought in the embodied performance of life, work, and leisure. The liberation movements, the construction of sexuality, and the elimination of prohibitions have altered our notions of how bodies may be sexual. Constructions of body, as seen through social rituals, sexual behavior, and work and leisure activities, to name just a few embodied practices, changed as a result of these liberation movements. Whatever valuation the participants gave to these movements, they were part of the collective memory of the time, and there was agreement that changes had resulted from these liberation struggles. Embodied agency was at the core of both feminism and gay/lesbian liberation movements. ‘Coming out,’ self-disclosure, and more public relationships, among other activities that took gay and lesbian people out of the shadows, were enacted through these movements. For women, equal rights and

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a whole raft of concerns and issues were initiated in the Sixties and continue to be part of the ongoing transitions in society. There is no going back.

Deep body habitation Participants expressed a conscious sense of fully living in their bodies. Of course, a consciousness, to one degree or another, of living within one’s body is a fact of embodiment3 but it was marked throughout the interviews in a number of ways. Interviewees discussed a range of emotions about the physicality of ageing, from sadness to a sense of equanimity. Despite the emotions attached to ageing or, perhaps, because of them, there was an acceptance of ageing body. There was an openness to discussing the biological body changes with this interviewer, and, more tellingly, with peers. There was a decided lack of shame or embarrassment in the intimacy of the descriptions of biological body changes. This ease or comfort in discussing the physicality of ageing body was a demonstration of an emphatic sense of body habitation, an ease with the bodiliness of life. It is of note that participants expressed their relationship to embodiment through phrases that had developed as part of the Sixties lexicon. The language of embodiment that came out of the Sixties, with phrases like “my body is speaking to me,” describes an acceptance of embodied physical intelligence. This perspective of our bodies developed through the Sixties cohort, and the concepts behind the language are now integrated into our lexicon and cultural understandings. This corporeal intelligence is the sum of the many embodied facets of the Sixties. Body intelligence, again, speaks of agency, control or ownership, and a heightened sense of relationship with one’s body – deep body habitation. A deepened sense of body habitation, or a more conscious awareness of embodiment, was demonstrated through participants’ interest in exercise and fitness. As noted in the data, participants did not approach exercise as a regime or duty as it is described by some authors (Gilleard and Higgs, 2000), but, instead, as a pleasurable activity. Most interviewees clearly enjoyed the physicality of using their bodies in active ways. This pleasurable activity can be framed as part of a fuller awareness of the life of the body. Lifelong or more recent engagement with selfmotivated fitness and exercise was an abiding feature within the data. Again, this underlined the identification with embodied life that comes with a sense of body ownership and control. Interviewees described bodily activity as enjoyable and a means to an end; that end was a

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more comfortable habitation in their bodies rather than ‘successful ageing.’ They liked the feeling of more flexibility, stamina, vitality, and the like. Although there were a number of gardeners, golfers, cyclists, and walkers in the group, there were also many people who engaged in running or gym routines/classes, which are activities that have become prominent during their lifetimes. It is important to note that the participant group had engaged in a range of new and old ways of using their bodies throughout their life spans. A focus on exercise and fitness is not new but, rather, woven into the fabric of their embodied lives. Many participants expressed a sentiment that, as Gill stated, “I want to feel good in my body ….” Paradox Identity and body, the stuff of embodiment, are entangled. Participants discussed their feelings about the body they saw in the mirror. Feeling good about one’s ageing body was expressed as part of the paradox of ageing. Yes, some people expressed a sadness about the bodily changes inherent in ageing, but also a determination to accept those changes and live “the next phase” of their lives. One interviewee, Margaret, stated, “I’m mapping my own course”: that included a strongly defined sense of embodied identity – an acceptance of ageing body, a wistfulness or sadness for the body of her youth, and a sense of ageing selfhood. The steady, ongoing movement of time that carries us all forward was discussed both directly and indirectly throughout the interviews. Participants discussed their sense of physicality with a dual vision – that of control and ownership, and the feeling of their embodied selves caught within time. There was recognition that the movement of time was marking their bodies with age. As Grace stated, “It is a paradox, it’s a paradox. Live with the paradox.” Despite the paradox of ageing body, there was no sense that the changes were, in a psychological sense, at odds with their self-identities. Many participants had adopted a philosophical stance – they were comfortably living with the paradox. Yet, living within the paradox did not mean just one emotional pitch. Interviewees described a sadness in one breath, and in the next, some rich aspect of their lives that was a result of getting older. The acceptance of body changes was aligned with a positive perception of self: identity and body were in sync. That participants were able and very willing to share with friends and family members intimate conversations about their changing corporeal ageing selves is an expression of a lack of shame. This lack of shame speaks to a more open stance toward the physicality of life. Celebration of the physicality

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of life was part of the Sixties social rupture. It is no wonder historians have called it the end of the Victorian era. The generation that would not trust anyone over 30 is now about twice that age. The paradox of ageing for the Sixties cohort is a multi-layered interlacing of time and embodiment as the generation develop and manifest ageing identities.

Deep time and dynamic legacy The possibility of an extended life span is folded into participants’ sense of ageing identity. Again and again media reports tell us we are ‘living longer, living healthier.’ Longevity is one of the most, if not the most, important factors that allow the postwar cohort to imagine a different kind of ageing. The notion of deep time was a theme that ran throughout the interviews and, indeed, shapes this generation’s notions of ageing. This generation stand witness to a changing demographic of mortality that has profoundly shaped their definitions of ageing. Through this witnessing, they have developed a sense of deep time, the internalized, embodied knowledge that they may live to be around for a century or, at least, an extended period of time well beyond the traditional three score and ten. That sense of longevity is a conscious embodied awareness of time span. Participants discussed it in their chronological reckonings and in their sense of the future. The temporal aspect of expectation was embedded in their future imaginings. ‘Expectation’ is a loaded word in this context. Participants did expect that they would continue to experience the biological body changes that are associated with the ageing process. They expressed fears as to where those changes would lead, such as to a lack of mobility, frailty, and death. However, there were also other kinds of expectations as to what life ahead could accommodate. As Julia stated, referring to previous generations, “we have a lot more expectations.” An extended period of embodied agency is an aspect of those expectations. Worries and plans The expectation of a longer life span cut across the class spectrum. Many people had, already, lived longer than their parents. Interviewees discussed what they planned to do, or were already doing, in this ‘last phase of their lives.’ For many, creating a dynamic legacy was, in part, an expression of their concerns about the state of the world. Regardless of where research participants sat on the political spectrum, the majority of people I spoke with expressed a concern for the state of the world. They spoke of worries about the world as it would exist after their

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death, for their children, grandchildren, and future generations, in general. Their worries spanned the economy, climate change, the great disparity of wealth distribution, corporate and banking sectors exerting inordinate societal influence, and other issues. Interviewees, across the political, class, and economic spectrum, discussed spending the last phase of their lives doing generative work or undertaking a dynamic legacy that addressed their disquietude. The impulse to engage in forward-thinking businesses, volunteerism, and civic engagement4 is not, what has been called, ‘productive ageing’ or ‘successful ageing.’ These terms imply a drive to achieve that uses a language that has a distinctly corporatist flavour. Instead, this impulse harks back to the Sixties. Many of the most popular song lyrics of the Sixties describe social and political problems, war and the Bomb, and are a call for a better world (Szatmary, 1987; Breen, 2004). Trends in popular culture reflect public sentiment (Tucker, 2010). In this case, there was an interchange between musicians and their public as they reflected each other’s desires for social change. The rhetoric and, in some cases, actions that were predicated on the notion of social change were part of the Sixties cultural landscape. They came in the form of liberation movements, anti-war organizing and the CND, and the like. While only a minority of young people were directly involved in these movements, the concerns of the day and a focus on a better world were part of the Sixties and were reflected in the music. The integration of the possibility of an extended life span – deep time – lives deep within the psyche of the postwar cohort. This knowledge, coupled with the utopian rumblings of the Sixties, was evident in the participants’ current and future planning. Some people discussed larger projects, like a sustainable business or NGO; others articulated a more personal focus on volunteer work for a cause that was meaningful to them and reflected their values; or a dedication to making sure that their grandchildren were loved, sustained, and infused with values that they believed to be important. Postwar generation: the meaning of deep time Dynamic legacy is one of the implications of deep time. The knowledge of deep time and the acceptance of the ageing process have led the postwar cohort to imagine a generative future. It is important to consider the psychological aspects of deep time. There has been some discourse within gerontology that there is a segment of the ageing population that is behaving inappropriately – younger and/or hipper (Andrews, 1999; Gilleard and Higgs, 2000, 2005). Within the context

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of an extended number of years or deep time, this is not a faux-play at youth, but instead a psychological shift to account for deep time. The vast majority of interviewees could be put in that category. Their sense of futurity, coupled with their acknowledgement and acceptance of the ongoing process of body changes, was psychologically aligned with the possibility of a longer life span. Consider that 20 years ago, one would retire at 65 with the expectation that there were a limited number of years left. Now, at 65, it is realistic to consider a future of, at least, another 20 years. The shift is not just chronological; it has deep psychological implications. In the interviews, there was much discussion of chronological reckoning and a strong sense of agency when discussing the future. The sense of life extension was not a taken-for-granted concept, but more one that interviewees viewed with a sense of gratitude and appreciation. The internal development of deep time has enabled people to imagine and plan for a future that is both productive and satisfying. Life and death Participants understood and discussed the limits of future imaginings. There did not appear to be a tension between the possibilities of extended longevity and their ageing bodies. Instead, there was an acceptance of biological ageing that included “aches and pains,” “a change of pace or slowing down,” and/or changes in short-term memory, and the like. Paradoxically, even though many people discussed extended life spans, they also openly discussed death and their fears about possible futures that included physical infirmity and frailty. Acknowledgement of the physicality of ageing was not limited to a vision of the ‘third age’ or an active period of ageing, but extended forward into reflections of deep old age. That is not to say that participants drew a straight line from ageing-body changes to their own mortality. For many interviewees, it was the deaths of family members, colleagues, or acquaintances that were reminders of life’s transience. A number of interviews contained descriptions of healthy people who had died suddenly or more slowly of diseases like cancer. Death, the end of their time, was on the minds of participants. It is only in more recent times that death is thought of as so singularly associated with old age. In the past, death came at any time during the life cycle. Infant and childhood mortality were common occurrences. Death was a public event witnessed by people of all ages rather than the private affair it is perceived as today. But is it? Today, images and descriptions of death, in the most graphic forms, abound through every

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form of media. We witness death in plain sight through extinction, war, famine, murder, and old age. We live or visit places where birds, animals, and plants were once plentiful and diverse. That variety has now been vastly diminished. There is silence where there was birdsong, and nettles where there was abundant plant life. We continue to live side by side with death in its myriad forms; it is part of the fabric of our daily lives. The sure knowledge of mortality is profoundly encoded into our fundamental awareness of life. Yet, through the ages, we have played a cat-and-mouse game, concealing the sureness of death from ourselves. We manage our fears, our questions, our sense of the unknown; but inevitably, as we age, the recognition of death becomes keener. The loss of parents, family members, and friends, along with the realization of our own ageing body changes, brings our own sense of mortality closer. During my interviews a number of participants brought up the passing of those around them as a reminder of their own mortality. There was a matter-of-fact quality to the discussions, as if to say “this is what happens, it happens to all of us and it will happen to me.” The knowledge of finitude was present as an undercurrent in the participants’ discussions about dynamic legacy. These discussions sparked intergenerational comparisons. In many cases, interviewees’ future imaginings were a counterpoint to many of the ways of ageing that they had witnessed in older family members and family friends. Of course, there are inspiring older people from preceding generations. Research participants discussed older people they had known as the inspiration of their own future plans and imaginings. Will the postwar cohort inspire emulation of their old age? Will their concerns about the future play out in the creation of a lasting dynamic legacy? Embedded in these questions are, of course, time and the meaning of leaving a legacy, a bit of yourself on earth that remains when you are gone. It is the transience of embodiment, the not-hereness, that underlies many of the questions and concerns posed by the research participants. The duration of a lifetime is indeed extended. With those years, that extension of life, what does the postwar cohort want to leave behind? Native American activist and US Green Party vice-presidential candidate, Winona Laduke, states it eloquently as she looks back on her life/times, the good and the bad of the fossil-fuel era. She looks forward to her work in the next phase of her life: We’ve lived our entire lives in the fossil fuel era. It’s been a grand one, and I really have enjoyed myself. I think we all have. Now what we need is a graceful transition from this

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era. At present, corporations and governments are proposing and acting in a way, which is not a graceful transition. They are insuring that we will crash our way out of this era, ecologically, socially and economically. We want a graceful transition to a sustainable, durable world, based on a way of life within which we can live. (Laduke, 2014) The last sentence in Laduke’s statement resonates with the sentiments of many of the participants as they spoke about the present and their future imaginings. Interviewees held a double vision: they were consciously aware of finitude but, at the same time, they discussed beginning a new phase of their lives, which they described in generative terms. This was not the same idea as ‘living everyday as if it were your last.’ It is a full engagement with life and a wider definition of the acceptance of life’s transience that is part of ageing embodiment.

Universality and difference Finitude is time’s most defining feature (Elias, 1985). The sure knowing of death structures our society and individual lives. There are an untold number of examples in literature and song that exemplify the universality of age. The lyrics to Bob Dylan’s ‘Highlands’ (1997) might have been written, in a pensive moment, by an ageing person from any time, but they were written by the troubadour of the postwar generation. In its essence, there is something universal about ageing. It is the physicality of ageing and the embodied sense that death is closer rather than something in the far distant future that structures the universality of getting older or old. Ageing does not necessarily mean corporeal decline, but instead, change. It is time marked in body. That said, the experience of embodied ageing is universal in its physicality and, also, culturally constructed. The interplay of time and embodiment is part of the human experience of ageing. No matter how interviewees described the previous generations there was a strong sense of the flow of embodied time, of intergenerationality. Perhaps, there is a human need to connect ourselves with the universal; to place ourselves within the continuum of life acknowledging those who have come before us. The discussion of generational difference in so many of the interviews exemplified the profound understanding that the postwar cohort was but one small group in the long embodied continuum of humanity within the temporal dimension. On the individual level, it was the stories that described family genes, longevity, hair color, or some material mark that was passed on from previous

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generations, and passed on again to participants’ children. There were descriptions from some interviewees about what had been bequeathed to them as a generation. The depth of concern about what the postwar cohort were preparing to bequeath to those after them was an emotional topic for many interviewees. Many people were concerned about the future and where the world is headed, despite the fact they would not be around to see that future and regardless of whether or not they had children. Connecting to younger generations, and not just through family ties, was an important value for many participants. All of this amounted to a conscious intergenerationality. So what of the universality of ageing? For the participants in my research, they had arrived at a moment of understanding that ageing, getting older, is part of the human condition in the most profound sense. The research participants, like all older people, had witnessed the events that fill a life of 57+ years, which included the deaths of grandparents or other family members, friends, colleagues, and beloved animal companions. Regardless of the personal meaning one may attribute to death, for those left behind there is an absence of vital full-bodied presence. This absence has been the human experience since the beginning of time and has been carried through the winds of history, culture, and society. The context of life’s journey through old age holds differences determined by culture, society, and the times, to name but a few of the many factors, but there are also the similarities that spring from the very nature of our humanness. It is the inevitability of death and its many faces that contains the ultimate universality: Death the friend, Death the enemy; violent Death, gentle death, Deathly warnings; deaths To contemplate and Deaths to commemorate … (The Wellcome Library, 2012)

Chiasm revisited Time, body, and identity intertwine at the nexus of the chiasm. This metaphor invites us to perceive these aspects as a more unified whole, developing in concert with each other throughout the life span. We are constantly in the process of becoming as time interlaces with body and identity as part of the rich mélange of our embodied selves. Bodies, specifically ageing bodies, are not entirely natural, nor are they entirely a product of culture and society. Bodies live within the

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temporal dimension and temporality lives very much within the body. Time and embodiment inhabit both the natural and the constructed. Together they are an integrated whole, playing off each other and completing each other. Bodies age in a long continuum of ways that are an entanglement of culture, society, and biology. By the addition of temporality to the continuum, we begin to see how the old formulas, the fixed ways that age has been conceived of, are fraying or, perhaps, are more fluid than they have been imagined in the past. In some academic and public policy spheres, as well as in our cultural mythologies, ageing, for the most part, has been assumed to be a constant predictable process. In the past, there have been societal moral strictures, appropriate ways of being an ageing person. Participants described dress, behaviors, attitudes, or what some called “decorum” that, as ageing people, they have transgressed and expect to continue to transgress. The postwar generation, in defining who they are and how they want to construct their own ageing, stated that those strictures were no longer applicable. Gerontology has described stepping outside those boundaries as either resistance or denial but it is neither. If ageing embodiment is, in part, a construction then, at this point in time, there is a changing construction of ageing embodiment and that embodiment includes a sense of self. It is not the proverbial ‘you are only as old as you feel’ or ‘young at heart.’ The lived experience of ageing embodiment is so profoundly intertwined with time, and the times, that it is not a fixed construction. Yet the reality is that bodies age and die, and that this is fixed and immutable. This understanding is not straddling an ill-defined place, but is, instead, acknowledging our mortality while knowing that those corporeal events happen within a rich and varied context. That context includes the whole of temporality, culture, and society. This is not successful ageing, or ageing disgracefully, or a change in the definition of ageing gracefully, but a need to review the parameters of ageing itself. The concept of ageing is not a fixed state, and yet it is. This is the paradox.

Conclusion The confluence of events, the Sixties, constituted a social rupture that was both an intertwining and a collision of time and culture. It has been described as the end of the Victorian era, a time that was marked by its moral proscriptions. Many of those societal binders were loosened during the Sixties, and this loosening continued throughout the lives of the postwar generation, who were at the center of that rupture. Now that this same group are ageing, they are continuing on

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the path that was initiated around the time of their birth: loosening the moral bindings that had been part of the cultural construction of ageing. Like the Sixties, some of this is of their own making and some a result of what was bequeathed to them. Longevity is, in part, a gift from previous generations, being the result of the NHS, higher nutritional standards, labor-saving devices at home and at work, and a relative affluence. The lived experience of coming of age in the Sixties created a sense of a common bond – an “us.” Interviewees’ shared talk of ageing body, whether through formal groups or informal friendships, was a core feature in the interview data. This sharing or comparing of notes is a marked shift from past accounts in the literature, which describe competitive ageing talk. The intimacy with which participants discussed their bodies, lives, and times was notable. Participants defined their ageing embodiment as different from that of previous generations they had witnessed, although they were aware of their place in the flow or continuum of time. This is not resistance or an inability to accept ageing bodies – ageing lives. It is an embodied redefining of the process of ageing. Through redefining the process they are adding new layers to their embodied identities. Their sense of time moves more quickly as their inner pace seems to slow, but there is still so much left to do and the awareness of finitude lives in the shadows of their consciousness. Notes 1

2

3 4

The stories we know about ourselves that, in part, constitute our identity. Sometimes these stories may be marginalized or pushed away in favor of cultural narrative. Internalized ageism refers to the extent to which older adults take on the social norms that devalue or marginalize older persons (Ageism: concepts and theories, Law Commission of Ontario, 2009, http://www.lco-cdo.org/en/older-adultslco-funded-papers-charmaine-spencer-sectionII). For an in-depth discussion of conscious embodiment see Taliaferro (2001). In Martinson and Minkler’s 2006 article they expand the phrase volunteerism and civic engagement to include political activities such as community organizing, care of parents, friends, grandchildren and so on.

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Time will tell There is a scene in the film Take This Waltz (Polley, 2011): three young women are in a swimming-pool shower room and one of them says, “Sometimes, I just want something new, you know.” The camera pans to a group of naked old women as one of that group says, “New things get old just like the old things do.” All of us who are fortunate enough to live a full life span will get old. Age shifts our perspective to one that is able to imagine and contemplate the feel, the look, the knowing of oldness. For many young and middle-aged people, contemplating or imagining themselves as ageing is an impossibility. It appears that, in Western industrial culture, it is easy to compartmentalize older people into groups of descriptors like ‘dear but doddering,’ ‘old bag,’ ‘old codger,’ dementia, care homes, decline, selfish generation, Jurassic, worn out, senile, wise, slow, independent, and so on. Each of these words or phrases brings to mind strong images as they signify meanings and stereotypes of old people in our culture. In part, this book is an attempt to create a layered understanding of ageing that reflects the complexity of the people who participated in the research. Their lives are multi-dimensional, and I hope that this book does justice to that and their most intimate narratives, as they were relayed to me.

The prismatic lens I have argued in this book that time, ageing, embodiment, and identity are profoundly interwoven. I have also looked at the specificity and universality of ageing. Together these ideas call on us to revise the way we analyze old age, from a singular state to looking at the subtleties and differences in ageing people, in general, and ageing cohorts, in particular. We currently engage only with the larger differences between ageing persons. On the one hand, there is a good deal of emphasis on dementia, and, on the other, a focus on healthy ageing, but within those two poles, and all the space in between, there is still a notion that ageing is ageing, is ageing, is ageing. This book presents a new framework for understanding that time, body, and identity are defining aspects of ageing. By interweaving these aspects we discover another lens through which to interpret ageing – one that is prismatic, rather than looking at a single point. This prismatic reading of ageing

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is possible only by erasing some of our bounded notions of time. I have argued that the notion of periodicity is a cultural convenience and that, in reality, time is in constant flow. It is not possible to know where one idea, event, or action first began and what the ripples of those things will generate in due course. By taking a small slice of time, a microcosm, and examining it, we can begin to see that it exists within a macrocosm. By holding both the large and small, specific and universal, bounded lifetimes and flow of generations, we can create a more sophisticated understanding of what this ‘last phase of life’ is all about. It is through the interknitting of ageing body and identity, embedded and embodied in time, that a door is opened and a more layered view of ageing is able to emerge.

Bone deep The research has demonstrated that in this last phase of life, as experienced by the postwar generation, the chiasm of time and ageing body influences the development of ageing identities. This connection between temporality and embodiment is not specific to the postwar cohort, but instead is equally applicable to all other cohorts. The postwar cohort was a particularly rich group to explore because of the timing of their childhood and adolescence, but the intertwining of body, time, and identity is ubiquitous. Although there is a universality in the experience of ageing embodiment, there is also a specificity that is manifested by the interplay between time and embodiment. The influences of the many aspects of time interact in our lives to subtly (or in some generations not so subtly) generate differences in our construction and meaning of old age. This book has explored some of the differences in the shape and significance of old age for the postwar cohort. For the postwar cohort and other generations, the configuration of temporality, embodiment, and identity is situated in tandem with the universality of ageing. A heightened sense of body habitation or deep body habitation and a recognition of embodied self-possession, or body ownership, are evidenced within the interview group, and are indicative of the experience of the larger postwar mnemonic community. Ageing body is intensely intertwined with the knowledge that one is ageing. That said, an understanding, a framing of what it means to be old, is not a fixed notion. It is fluid and that fluidity is time dependent. Flow is central to the temporal dimension. Pace, duration, rhythm, anticipation, and chronology are just a few examples of the flow of time. The movement of time, as experienced through chronology, is not just a statement of numbers; it becomes a linguistic

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symbol for meaning making, especially when it is coupled with relative time. The concepts of relative time and deep time have emerged as crucial concepts in the research presented in this book. Relative time influences the postwar cohort’s understanding of time in universal and specific ways. Bearing witness to previous generations’ longevity triggers a shift in an internal sense of duration or lifetime. Deep time is the expanded sense of longevity that colors life expectations and experiences of ageing. Deep time is an essential ingredient in the postwar cohort’s sense of self. This aspect of the temporal dimension, duration – an awareness that there may be a long period of continuance in one’s life or an extended life span – opens up new possibilities. As large numbers of people are living longer, our sense of lifetime/life span has shifted. It is important to acknowledge here that there are differences in life span that are correlated with socio-economic factors (Vallejo-Torres and Morris, 2013). That said, people of all backgrounds are experiencing the possibility of longer lives (Jagger et al, 2009). The majority of working-class people in the research group stated that they had now lived longer than most of the family members of previous generations. The meaning of the possibility of an extended life span was discussed in similar ways across the classes represented in the research group.

Becoming ‘Becoming’ was a word, an idea, that ran through much of my research. Becoming old was not a mask or a cloak to be worn but instead an identity of constant, sometimes silent, sometimes ferocious – becoming. Instead, [I]t is life transition, in which each moment is uncovered and counts in its own right. (Jullien, 2011, p 53, emphasis in original) Becoming old opens up new possibilities, new ways of being in the world. In the planning, imaginings, and current lives of the interview group there was a shift in the meaning of a long life. The majority of people described this time in terms of agency or forging a dynamic legacy. In some cases, it was a conscious statement of contribution in the ‘last phase’ of life. For others, it was just what they saw themselves doing next. In the end, it makes little difference; it is the acknowledgment that this is the last part of life and the doing, the creation of a dynamic legacy, that is the central point. As several interviewees pointed out, there is

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a shift away from “fun, fun, fun” with this generation. Underpinning this shift are the politics and its expression through the music of the Sixties, the force of liberation movements, the experience of the brutality of the H-bomb, and the collective wholeness of Earthrise, among the other aspects discussed in this book. In the Sixties, there was a belief that change was possible and this was demonstrated through the very notion of the social rupture of that time. As Maggie stated in her interview, as the “post-war generation we were born in the sun and we’ve lived our lives in the sun, there’s no doubt about it.” It was a time of hopefulness and change. The postwar generation has lived through transitions from hope to crash – indeed the Sixties ended with a major recession and oil crisis. Yet, for this generation there was a seminal formation around notions of change. Many research participants worry about the state of the planet – whether within their family sphere or in the larger world – what that might mean to future generations, and how they, the postwar cohort, can contribute in this last part of their lives.

Music and public ageing I would be remiss to focus only on the seriousness with which the interviewees discussed their lives. Fun, a celebration of life, has been described in these pages as an important life value for the postwar generation. Music conveyed the values and concerns of the generation but is also central to their notions of fun. Music bound together the generation; it was an ‘almost universal interest’ (Frith, 2007). Music was at the centre of the Sixties and, for many of the postwar generation, the music of the time lives in their bodies, in their personal memories, and is part of their present-day lives. The music makers of the time continue to be embedded in our cultural life. Participants discussed bearing witness to the ageing of Sixties musicians with a mix of poignancy and exhilaration. Their ageing and the continuation of their careers as performers and public figures are a reminder of the postwar generation’s continued cultural presence. The ageing and agency of such public figures is also a reflection of the generation’s own ageing and sense of agency. These musicians have a place in the mnemonic community of the generation and a role to play in the definition of ageing for the cohort. Many of the musicians are older than their postwar-generation fans, and their ageing faces and bodies (those that have not gone under the knife) are a presage of things to come. Many of them still tour and make new music, continuing to be generative and creative, while others play the nostalgia card. It is as if the musicians of

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the Sixties carry an encoded embodied message about what ageing is and what it looks like. Theirs is a very public display of ageing and, for the musicians and many of the postwar cohort it is a demonstration of becoming old. The physicality of musicianship is an affirmation of the life and vitality of the body, which these iconic figures of the Sixties demonstrate as they publicly age.

Future memories Sixties music, like much of the culture that developed out of the social rupture, was a combination of homemade culture and consumer culture. Descriptions of culture also abound in this book but, as the reader may have noticed, the term ‘consumer culture’ is discussed in ambivalent terms. This commonly used sociological term is found in ageing studies literature. Consumer culture has been described as the context of an ageing population and an important driver and rationale for various aspects of ageing. Of course, time, context, history, and so forth are all central aspects to this work, and the lens through which they are addressed is laid out in the ‘Presentism’ section of Chapter One. This is not to say that there has not been a sea-change in the cultural landscape of many cultures throughout the world, the UK included. I would like now to introduce a more accurate characterization of the current/now time: corporate culture. By corporate culture I mean not the culture within any particular corporation or organization, but the significant impact of the corporate/financial sectors in shaping culture/ society and, in turn, our daily lives. This renaming from consumer culture to corporate culture is best described in this quote from Morin: ‘a whirling movement that shifts from phenomenal experience to the paradigms that organize experience’ (as translated and quoted by Maffesoli, 1998, p 110). Although Morin is describing revolution, his statement is a pertinent summation of the current time. The phenomenon is consumption, but the organizing paradigm is corporatism. This lays the responsibility for the shift at the feet of the engineers of corporatism, rather than citizens, ageing or otherwise. The impact of the corporate sector is everywhere, from names on our clothing to control of our climate and environment (Ackroyd, 2012; Klein, 2014). In the long view of history, how will this time be remembered, and whose narratives will shape the memories of future generations? Much of the content of this book looks at memory and its influence in shaping our notions of the present and the future. As we have seen, the collective memory of the Sixties was shaped by a societal interplay between the media, the

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participants in the doings of that time, the business sector, and other forces. The postwar cohort were not ciphers, they had an active hand in creating the time that we call the Sixties. They were bequeathed much from the previous generations and, through their own agency, played their own role in time. And so it is now: the forces that shape the cultural and societal history of this time are solidifying as are the questions that accompany this shift. The surprising twists and turns of the ‘what-happens-next-moment’ are always upon us. This history, modern history, is built on extraction and use of fossil fuels and is long and convoluted. Perhaps, it dates to the Industrial Revolution, fueled as it was by carbon extraction or, even, far earlier, to when Alexander the Great extracted petroleum products and used them in torches to scare his enemies. Will the prevailing historical narrative focus on the architects of climate change, on the corporate and financial sectors, or on consumers? What will be the effect of all this on the old age of the current generation of young people and those generations to come? How will their sense of time, body, and identity be constructed? It is clear that these questions can be answered only at another, more distant point in time, but they are important ones, and bear serious consideration.

Enmeshment There is a tension, for the Sixties generation, between the liberating aspects of modernity – that is the emphasis on individual choice and freedoms– and the oppressive changes wrought by corporate culture. While the shift to individuality began with the ancient Greeks, it has come to fruition in modernity (Wagner, 2008). There is also the tension between choice and freedom and power.1 In other words, how free is free? The power of corporate culture is, indeed, an influence in our choices and sense of freedom. This is a tension but not a fait accompli. It is well to remember that we are not ciphers, but instead, we negotiate a stew of influences that create the rich patterns of our lives. These individual choices, these freedoms – decoupling of sex and procreation, a renewed kind of physicality in the lives of the postwar cohort through dance, exercise, and the general pleasure in the life of the body – have resulted in a deep body habitation. Perhaps it is this deep body habitation that allowed for the frank discussions of death initiated by interviewees. In the end, the universality of the interplay between life shaping and death making has forged this postwar generation. This is, of course, the way with all generations, but it is the moments, the specificity of life shaping and death making, that create

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the container of the chiasm between body, time, and identity. This is, as always, the enmeshment of life and death. Framing the specificity of old age will continue as the cohorts slip-slide through time, new ideas appear, disappear, and reappear in a new guise – but we can never return. No moment can ever be repeated in exactitude. If I could find the spot where truth echoes I would stand there and whisper memories of my children’s future I would let their future dwell in my past So that I might live a brighter now Now is the essence of my domain and it contains All that was and will be. (Williams, 1997 p 36) Note 1

Frederick Barth (1981) argues that choice is ‘not synonymous with freedom’ (p 89). He states that power creates a disadvantage. Power is certainly a strong mitigating factor.

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On the research Key to research participants Arthur grew up in a working-class family. The men in his family had worked on the docks in Bristol for generations. Arthur proudly followed the family tradition until the docks closed under the Thatcher government. After that he worked in several menial jobs but is now retired. He is married with grown children. Bill grew up in an upper-class family. He settled in rural Somerset, where he could maintain his passion for horses. He is self-employed as an equestrian advisor. Until recently, he did much of the heavy work of building the courses himself. He now primarily works as a designer and advisor. He is married ,with adolescent children. Bruce’s family are middle class. He has worked in education for 30+ years and is now retired. He now volunteers in the education sector. He lives in London with his long-term partner. They have no children. Candice comes from a middle-class background. She lives in the London area and works as an educational psychologist. She is married with grown children. Charles stated that his family were “below working class.” He worked in London as a counselor and a teacher. He has been a part of the cocounseling community for many years and acts as a mentor. He lives with his long-term partner and they have no children. Elaine’s family are working class. She and her husband ran their own business for many years. She lives in a small village in Somerset and now works as a domestic cleaner. She is married with grown children. George grew up in an upper-class family. He is titled but like his father before him has chosen not to use his title. He is a retired engineer who currently works part time. He is actively involved in union politics. George lives in Manchester with his wife and adolescent child.

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Geri comes from a middle-class family. She lives in London and works as a marketing and engagement director. She is part of an alternative community. Geri is single with two grown children. Gill’s family are working class. She moved to the UK when she was a very young child and spent most of her childhood living with her aunt. She lives in Bristol and works as a trainer and is actively engaged in community work. She is separated and lives with her two children who attend university. Grace grew up in a middle-class family. She lives in rural Hampshire where she is co-owner and company director of a thriving business. She is single with grown children. Gregory comes from an upper-class family. He is the company director in an investment firm. He lives in London but spends his weekends at his country home. Gregory is single with no children. He has a wide circle of friends who act as extended family. Jack’s family are middle class. He lives in London where he is the manager of a charity that works with older and disabled people. He and his wife have an adult child. John grew up in an upper-class family. He is a retired auctioneer who currently works part time as a tennis coach. He lives in London with his wife. They have no children. Judith’s parents were working-class immigrants. She is a full-time activist, working both as a volunteer and in paid employment. She is single, with a grown child. She lives in Bristol. Julia comes from a working-class family. She is retired from her job as a legal secretary. She lives in rural West Yorkshire. She and her husband have grown children. Lisa’s family are middle class. She and her husband have their own business buying and selling antiques. They live in London and have no children. Maggie’s family is upper class. She works as a wife and mother/ grandmother and runs a large house. Additionally, she stated that she

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worked in the voluntary sector. She and her husband live in a small village in Gloucestershire. Margaret comes from a working-class family. She is the first woman in her family to have not worked in the textile mills in many generations. She currently works in the care service sector. She lives with her husband in Halifax. They have grown children. Mary grew up in a working-class family. She is a retired university senior lecturer. She works as a test marker. She is active in her community as well as engaging in the voluntary sector. She and her long-term partner live in a town in West Yorkshire. They have no children. Mike’s family are working class. He was mostly raised by his sister. He lives in London and works as a media director. He lives with his partner in London. He does not have any children. Nick comes from a working-class family. He works as a community social worker and he is also a professional musician. He and his wife have one grown child. Patricia grew up in a working-class family. She has worked in shops on and off since her children have left home. She says she is retired now and acts as a surrogate grandmother to a young family in her neighborhood. She lives in a village in Somerset and is a widow with grown children. Paul’s family are middle class. He was working as an executive in an international company when he was offered a generous early retirement package. He is currently completing a PhD. He is single, living in London with no children. Rich grew up in a working-class family. He is a well-established nonfiction author and journalist. He lives alone in Wales. Roy comes from a lower middle-class family. He is currently a university research fellow but had worked in the corporate sector until recently. He lives in a village outside of Bristol with his wife. They have adult children.

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Sally’s family were working class. She took over raising her siblings after the death of her mother. She has always worked as a domestic cleaner. She is active in her community and the voluntary sector. She and her husband have a grown child. Sarah’s family were working-class refugees but during her preadolescence they moved into the middle class. She is a poet and spoken-word artist and has side businesses to support her work in the arts. She is actively engaged in political activism. She lives with her long-term partner in London. They have no children. Stephan comes from an upper-class family. He is the company director of a business in the forestry sector. Stephan is engaged in politics and does informal mentoring. He divides his time between London and his home in Scotland. He and his wife have grown children. Suzanne grew up in an upper-class family. She is a well-established journalist who currently works for a news magazine. She is single with no children. Val comes from a working-class family. She has retired from her career as a head teacher. She is very active in her church and is in training to take a lay position. Val lives in a town in Somerset. She is single with no children.

On the research It was surprisingly easy to recruit participants; people want to talk about ageing. Many more people contacted me as potential interviewees than I was able to use. People were chosen based on their diverse backgrounds and locations. I recruited interviewees through formal and informal email networks, colleagues, friends and acquaintances (asking within their circle), snowballing, Stonewall newsletter, Bristol Scooter Club, Bristol Older People’s Forum, and Age UK. Interviews were conducted in a variety of venues: participants’ homes or places of work, pubs, restaurants, a hotel lobby, and the Southbank Members Bar in London. The choice of interview site was based on participants’ preferences. I thoroughly enjoy interviewing. There is something about the process of the co-construction of meaning that excites me. Research interviews invite an engagement between the researcher and the

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interviewee, in which meaning is co-created in a kind of momentary intimacy between the researcher and the interviewee. Geertz calls it entering ‘the conceptual world of interviewees’ (1993). The interviews were informed by a systemic methodology, Coordinated Management of Meaning (CMM) (Pearce and Cronen, 1980). The work of Karl Tomm (1987), who further refined CMM, was a strong influence in the research. Each interview lasted approximately an hour and participants were asked most of the same questions. Not every participant was necessarily asked all the questions because some people had embedded an answer to one question in the answer to another. In addition to the crafted questions, I asked questions that clarified or developed meaning further. A number of participants commented on the process. The following are indicative of the comments: Bruce: Some of these questions are funny. Naomi: Yes. Bruce: They make funny clicks in your head. [Laughter] Lisa: Is that right …? Naomi: There is absolutely no right answer. It’s just the way you feel. Lisa: These are really open-ended questions, terribly open-ended. Jack: Many years ago I earned some money when I was at university, when I was very short because I didn’t like to go home and I did psychology and philosophy – I did experiments and I became so good at knowing what they wanted that I just had to stop doing it – but I couldn’t figure out what you wanted [laughter].

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Interview questions Did you ever imagine turning [age] would be the way it is now? When you think about that time, the Sixties and who you were – that whole period of your life – has it an influence in your life? In what ways have you been surprised about changes in your body? In what ways are the body changes you are experiencing different than you imagined? The same? (This question was asked if people discussed any body changes in the question above.) Who out of your past would be the least surprised at how you look now? What do you imagine them knowing about you? In what way has the ageing experience of people you have known been useful to you? What would you like people to know about who you are now? Who you might be in the future? What is most satisfying about who you are now and in what ways? Is there something I should have asked you that I didn’t ask you? In the past, have you ever put together the thought and ideas you are expressing to me today or is this a new experience of thinking about ageing and your body altogether?

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Index

Index Note: Page numbers followed by n refer to end-of-chapter notes and page numbers followed by App refer to the appendices.

A acceptance 132–133, 137 activity levels 122–123 see also exercise Adam, Barbara clock time, multiplicity of time, and disjuncture 42–43 living world 40, 42, 50n return, past, present, future 40–41 rhythm and duration 39–40 timescape 38–39 advertising 22, 23, 171–172 ageing chronology of 117–118 and embodiment 132, 133 and the future 72–73 historical context 9 and identity 2–3, 90 monolithic perspective of 2 paradox of 178–179 prismatic reading of 187–188 productive 180 public 131–132, 190–191 as silent transformation 46–47 stereotypes of 1–2 and time 2–3, 37, 48–49, 54–55 universality of 183–184 ageing bodies 85–88, 118–121, 168–169 and clothing 84 feeling about 121–122, 124 and time 2–3, 54–55 ageing discourse 137–138 ageing embodiment 81, 123, 185 ageing identities 93–95, 96–98, 173–174 ageing time 48–49 ageism 1, 174–175, 186n agency 94–95 agentive self 93 Alice in Wonderland 88–89 amphetamines 25

anniversaries 59–60 anti-nuclear movement 20 appearance 133–137 Aristotle 88 art 23 Arthur 121, 150, 160, 164–165, 195App astrofuturism 22 atomic bomb 18–20, 80, 114 audience time 42–43

B baby boomers 2–3, 16–17, 113, 171 Baker, Ginger 42, 50n Bateson, Gregory 6, 7, 8, 90 Battersby, C. 98 Beatles 22, 34, 131–132 becoming 158–159, 175, 189–190 beginning 56–58, 59 Bill 66, 109, 146, 195App birth control 31–32, 105–108, 123, 176 birthdays 59 birth-death arc 41 see also life spans Black British liberation 30 black youth 28 Blues 33 body 79–80 Elias 85 feminists 83–84 Foucault, M. 81–83 history of 87–88 and identity 98, 178–179 and music 33 ownership and control 175–177 phenomenological 93 Turner, B.S. 84–85 Twigg, Julia 85–87 see also ageing body; embodiment Body and Society, The (Turner) 84–85 body changes 118–122, 124, 168

217

Baby boomers body clocks 40 body habitation 177–178 body image 129–131 body intelligence 177 body ownership 123–125 Bomb Culture (Nuttall) 18–19 Borman, Frank 21 Britain 15 British Black Panther movement 30 British R & B 33 Bruce 108, 132–133, 160, 163–164, 165, 195App Buddhism 162 Butler, Robert 88 Bytheway, B. 49, 50

C calendar time 50, 55 Campaign Against Racial Discrimination (CARD) 30 Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) 20 cancer 52, 57, 75–76, 124 Candice 195App becoming 158 chronology 55 clothing 137 friendships 138, 154 future imaginings 73, 159 physicality 64–65 the Pill 106 care 86 caricatured modernity 10 Carstensen, L.L. 48–49 Cartesian dualism 80, 86, 101n categorization 94, 96 certainty 75 change 40–41, 60–62, 81, 190 see also becoming; transition charitable work 157 Charles 195App ageing identities 94–95 time flow 63 future imaginings 158 imagining old age 72 mind/body connection 132 chiasm 167–170, 184–185 childcare 156–157 Chinese culture 46–47 Chinese philosophy 91 choice 171, 192, 193n chronological time 55 chronology 49, 57, 117–118, 170 Church of England 18

civic engagement 157, 180, 186n Civilizing Process, The (Elias) 85 clock time 42 clothing 25, 84, 87, 108–110, 133–137 Cold War 18–20, 80, 114 collective experience 68, 174 see also mnemonic communities collective identity 96, 172 see also social identity collective memory see mnemonic communities comfort 134–135 Commonwealth Immigrants Act 1962 30 commune movement 27 composting 99 compression 67–68, 152–153 connection 65 consciousness 81 constructed body 86 consumer culture 86–87, 171–172, 191 consumption 22 continuity 41, 46–47, 66, 70, 151–152 continuum 64 contraception 31–32, 105–108, 123, 176 control 73, 82, 164 corporate culture 191 cosmetic surgery 133–137 Cream 34 Creative Revolution 23 Cuban Missile Crisis 114, 140n cultural construction 85, 101n cultural maladaptation 125 cultural narratives 170 cultural revolution 22–24 culture 46–47, 191

D Dagenham 31 dance 33, 111–112 death 58–59, 75–77, 161–165, 181–183 decades 60 decorum 150 deep body habitation 177–178, 192 deep time 144–147, 155, 179–183, 189 demographic change 144–145 Descartes, R. 101n development 38 see also becoming Dialectics of the Mind conferences 26–27 discontinuity 66–67

218

Index discourse 82, 101n dis-embodiment 164–165 disjunctures 43 divided memory 48 drugs 25, 26 dualism 80, 86, 101n duration and rhythm 39–40 Dylan, Bob 22, 34 dynamic legacy 179–183

E Earthrise 21, 114–115 Elaine 195App clothing 136 family 65, 156 fitness 127, 163 future imaginings 74 starting life 56–57 wedding anniversary 60 Elias, N. 85 embodied ageing 81 embodied agency 175–177 embodied experience 81 embodied generativity 155 embodied habitation 123–125 embodied memory 48 embodied perception 81 embodied practice 93 embodiment and ageing 132, 133 and identity 95–98, 169 intersection with time and identity 167. see also chiasm language of 177 Merleau-Ponty, M. 80–81 and time 103, 188–189 Turner, B.S. 84 Twigg, Julia 86 ending 58–59 see also death environmentalism 21 Epston, David 91–93 eras 38, 60 Ericson, Eric 166n eugeria 88 evolution 41 exercise 125–129, 151, 155, 163–164, 177–178 expectations 147–149 expert knowledge 82

F family 64–65, 76, 110–111, 139, 143–144, 164–165 see also intergenerationality; parents fashion 25, 84, 87, 108–110, 133–137 fathers 134 see also intergenerationality fears 74–75 Feminine Mystique, The (Friedan) 31 feminism 31, 83–84, 123, 176 finitude 58–59, 73, 75–77, 161–165, 181–183 fitness 151, 163–164, 177–178 see also exercise flow of time 62–63, 68, 112–113 folk knowledge 82 Foucault, M. 10, 81–83 influence and legacy 83–85 Fracture: Adventures of a Broken Body (Oakley) 84 free love 10 freedom 192 friendships 65–66, 68–69, 70–71, 76, 137–139, 149–150, 164–165 frustration 33 fun 111–112, 159 future 41, 67–68, 74–75, 158–161 future certainty 75 future imaginings 141–144, 182–183, 189–190 future memories 191–192 future plans 155–158, 179–180 futurity 72–77

G Gay Liberation Front (GLF) 29 gay people 108 generations 37, 47–48, 64–65, 112–113, 137–139, 171 generation gap 35, 110–111 generational connections see intergenerationality generational continuity 66 generational differences 149–151 generational memory 48 generativity 155, 166n George 59, 75, 112, 114, 195App Geri 196App ageing 120 clothing 134 family 58–59, 153–154 friendships 139, 149 future imaginings 67

219

Baby boomers lifespans 54–55 the Sixties 61–62 gerontology 86, 87–88 Giesen, Bernhard 47–48 Gill 196App becoming 158 clothes 135 future imaginings 56 generational differences 150 the Mods 109 punctuation 63–64 relationships 65, 154 global village 23 Goodfield, J. 45 Grace 196App ageing bodies 120, 121–122, 124 family 151–152 fashion 109–110 pace 122–123 time flow 62 grandparenting 156–157 Gregory 60–61, 76, 90, 196App Grey Panthers 1 Gullette, M.M. 93–95, 173

H hair 25, 28, 110, 131, 133 hand metaphor 6–8 H-bomb 19, 80, 114 head subcultures 26, 36n health problems 128–129, 163–164, 165 see also illness healthcare 176 see also National Health Service (NHS) hindsight 38 hippies 25–27 historical context 9, 36 historicized body 85 history shared 68–71 as time 45 of body 87–88, 171 History of Sexuality, The (Foucault) 10 Hockey, J. 96–98 Holocaust 66 Hood, B. 91, 99 household technologies 107–108 human dilemma 162–163 human history 45 human time 39–40 hybridization 47

I identity 88–89, 169 and ageing 2–3, 90 and body 98, 178–179 construction 89–90, 174 and embodiment 95–98, 169 intersection with time and embodiment 167. see also chiasm and memory 98–99 multi-storied 90–95, 152, 170, 173–174 Identity (Walker and Leedham-Green) 88 illness 52, 57, 75–76, 124 immigration 28, 30 India 15 industrial time 37, 42, 50n instants 63 intentional communities 27 interconnections see chiasm; systems thinking intergenerational exchange 171 intergenerationality 138–139, 152, 153–155, 183–184 interiority of time 152–153 internal time 52 internal world 40 internalized ageism 174–175, 186n interview questions 201App interviews 77, 198–199App

J Jack 196App Cold War 114 compression 67 deep time 144–145 exercise 125, 126 family 66–67, 149 future imaginings 142 identity 89 mortality 162–163 physical ageing 121 Sixties 14 time flow 112 James, A. 96–98 jeans 134 Jenkins, Richard 95–97 Jenkins, Roy 17–18 John 37, 110, 117, 142, 196App Judith 196App ageing 115–117, 118 clothes 137 Cold War 114

220

Index future imaginings 58, 157 relationships 154–155 Julia 106, 111–112, 128–129, 142, 148–149, 196App Jullien, François 46–47

K knowledge 82, 92, 95 Kuhn, Maggie 1–2, 3

L labor market 27–28 Lady Chatterly’s Lover (Lawrence) 17–18 language 46–47, 54, 177 Leedham-Green, E. 88 legacy 179–183 legal changes 17–18 lesbian movements 29 lesbians 108 liberalization 17–18 liberation movements 28–31, 108, 176 life course 168 life expectancy 75, 144–149, 180–181 life spans 41, 54–55, 62–63, 76–77, 145–147, 180–181 lifetime 76–77 Lisa 196App clothing 135, 136 exercise 125 family 154 freedom 106–107 future imaginings 73 generational differences 150 imagining old age 72 relationships 156–157 time flow 62 lived body experience see embodiment lived experience 51 living world 40, 42, 50n local knowledge 82 longevity 144–149, 168, 179, 180–181 LSD 26

M Maggie 76–77, 91, 118–119, 142, 152, 160, 196–197App Manhattan Project 18 Margaret 105, 135–136, 147, 156, 164, 197App marginalization 33 marijuana 25, 26 marketing see advertising

Mary 145–146, 197App mass media 15, 22–23, 172 McCartney, Paul 131–132 medical gaze 82 memories 37–38, 45, 48, 68–71, 98–99 menopause 46, 118–119 mental acceptance 59 Merleau-Ponty, M. 80–81 metaphors 6–8, 92 migration 28, 30 Mike 60, 63, 68, 75, 157–158, 197App mind/body connection 132 mind/body split 80–81 mnemonic communities 48, 71, 75, 113 see also collective identity modernity 9–11, 192 Mods 24–25, 109 moments 63–64 morality 35, 84, 87 Moran, Chuck 43–44 mortality 58–59, 75–77, 161–165, 181–183 mothers 65, 66, 106, 123–124, 151 see also intergenerationality motivation 126–129 movement of time 61–62 Muggeridge, Malcolm 35, 40 multiplicity of time 42–43 multi-storied identities 90–95, 152, 170, 173–174 music 22, 25, 32–34, 111–112, 131–132, 190–191 musician time 42–43 mutual implication 43

N Narrative Therapy 92–93, 101n National Health Service (NHS) 17, 113, 176 natural dress 84 natural history 45 natural time 39–40, 42, 44, 49 new 9 New York City (NYC) 23 nexus 168–170 Nick 197App family 65 friendships 138, 165 future imaginings 74, 158 interior time 152–153 physical ageing 120–121 relationships 69

221

Baby boomers Sixties 14 wedding anniversary 59–60 nuclear weapons 18–20, 80, 114

O Oakley, Ann 84 objects 70 Obscene Publications Act 1959 17–18 old age 72–73, 117–118, 155 older person’s time 46, 49 open mindedness 111 organization 42 otherness 98

P pace 122–123, 147–149 paradox of ageing 178–179 parents 36, 116, 149–150, 153–154 see also intergenerationality; mothers Paris-Sorbonne University 81, 101n Parsons, Talcott 17 passage of time 56, 77 past 41, 67–68, 104–115 Patricia 197App freedom 107 friendships 68–69 music 111 physical ageing 120 physical fitness 128 Sixties 14 starting life 57 patterns 59–60 Paul 197App clothing 134 exercise 128 life expectancy 146–147 physical ageing 122 Sixties 14, 61, 104, 111 perception 81 periodicity 188 periodization 10, 45 periods 38, 60 phenomenological body 93 phenomenology 80, 101n Phenomenology of Perception (MerleauPonty) 80, 81 physical activity 125–126, 155 see also exercise physical changes 81, 118–121, 168 feelings about 121–122, 124, 178–179 see also ageing bodies physicality 64–65, 126, 151

Pill (contraceptive) 31–32, 105–108, 123, 176 pirate radio stations 34 plans for the future 155–158, 179–180 plastic surgery 133–137 politics 25–26, 27, 29 popular culture 22–23 postmodernity 9–10 power 82, 92, 192, 193n present 41, 67–68, 115–139 presentation 133–137 presentism 9–11 prismatic reading of ageing 187–188 procreation 176 productive ageing 180 psychotherapy 92 public ageing 131–132, 190–191 punctuation 63–64

R racism 30 radio 33–34 Radio Caroline 34 real bodies 86 recording technology 34 regret 66 relationships 51, 64–66, 68–71, 110–111 see also intergenerationality; systems thinking relative time 53–54, 189 research methodology 198–199App research participants 8–9, 195–198n interviews 77, 198–199App personal experience of the Sixties 13–14, 104–115 recruitment 198App see also individual participants resistance 94, 96 return 40–41 reunions 70–71 rhythm 39–40, 62–63 Rich 197App body ownership 124–125 friendships 65–66 future imaginings 73, 160–161 illness 162 passage of time 77 perception of time 52–54 Swinging London 105 role models 3 Roy 104, 127, 143–144, 197App rudies 27–28

222

Index

S Sacks, O. 99 Sally 198App family 153 freedom 107–108 future imaginings 143 life expectancy 145 mortality 75–76 multi-storied identities 91 relationships 71 starting life 57–58 Sarah 198App becoming 99 discontinuity 66 friendships 138 future imaginings 157 menopause 119–120 mortality 162 relationships 69–70, 138 Savage, M. 9 science fiction 22 secret identity 93–94 self 91–92, 93 see also identity Self Illusion, The (Hood) 91 self-determination 29 self-knowledge 95 self-narratives 170, 186n sexual orientation 108 sexual revolution 10 Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band 34 shared history 68–71 Sixties astrofuturism 22 body and 79 Bomb and Cold War 18–20 chronological period 16 critical voices 35 cultural narratives 15–16 cultural revolution 22–24 Earthrise 21 influence of 104–105 liberation movements 28–31, 108, 176 music 32–34 personal experiences 13–14, 104–115 societal changes 17–18, 31–32 subcultures 24–28, 109 Sixties-talk 54 social care 86 social identity 94, 95, 96 see also collective identity social rupture 11, 23–24, 33, 35, 185–186, 190

social time 39, 43–44, 169 societal changes 17 socioemotional selectivity theory 48–49 Sorbonne University 81, 101n sovereign self 173 special occasions 59–60 spirituality 162 Stagg, Paul 24–25 starting life 56–57 Stephan 63, 64, 147–148, 155–156, 198App stories 92, 93 structure of time 55–56 style 134–137 subcultures 24–28, 109 see also liberation movements successful ageing 180 Suzanne 198App activity levels 123 exercise 125, 126 friendships 70–71 future imaginings 73 menopause 119 mortality 161–162 old age 72, 117 physicality 151 Sixties 14 Swinging London 13, 23, 62, 105 systems thinking 6–8

T Take This Waltz 187 technology 22, 34, 44, 107–108 see also recording technology teen culture 22, 171 teenagers 8, 17, 22 terminal cancer 52, 124 theory of bits 95 time 15, 169 and ageing 2–3, 37, 48–49, 54–55 anticipation 41 audience time 42–43 calendar time 50, 55 chronological time 55 clock time 42 contextual time 170 continuity, compression and interiority 151–153 as a continuum 64 control over 73 culture and 46–47 deep time 144–147, 155, 179–183, 189

223

Baby boomers and embodiment 103, 188–189 flow of 62–63, 68, 112–113 historical context 9, 36 history as 45 human time 39–40 industrial time 37, 42, 50n internal time 52 internalized sense of 48–49 intersection with embodiment and identity 167. see also chiasm movement of 61–62 multiplicity of 42–43 musician time 42–43 natural time 39–40, 42, 44, 49 notions of 37–38, 46 older person’s time 46, 49 passage of 56, 77 regulation of 42 relative 53–54 social time 39, 43–44, 169 structure of 55–56 unity of 38–39 variance in 46 time frames 41 timescape 38–39, 170–172 Toulmin, S. 45 traditional values 35 transience 73 transformation 46–47 transition 112–113 trauma 66 Turner, B.S. 84–85 Twigg, Julia 85–87

V Val 123–124, 198App variance in time 46 volunteerism 157, 180, 186n

W Walker, G. 88 Warren, Marjory 88 wedding anniversaries 59–60 weekend hippies 26 welfare state 17 West Indies 28 Western society 168, 187 “When I’m sixty-four” 131–132 White, Michael 91–93 Whitehouse, Mary 35, 40 Wilson, E. 84 Wilson, Harold 22 women 105–108 women’s bodies 83–84, 118–120 Women’s Liberation Movement (WLM) 31 women’s time 46 work 155–156, 157–158 worries 74–75, 159–161, 179–180

Y youth culture 17

U unity of time 38–39 universality of ageing 183–184 US 15

224

“Naomi Woodspring, a Boomer herself, rethinks the meanings and contexts of time and embodiment in later years. This book offered me fresh perspectives.” W. Andrew Achenbaum, University of Houston, USA “Draws upon an impressive body of scholarship and explores some fascinating links between the Baby Boomer experience in the 1960s and the shaping of attitudes and identity in later life.” Chris Phillipson, University of Manchester, UK

Naomi Woodspring completed her PhD in 2014 and is now a Research Fellow at the University of the West of England as part of the Bristol Ageing Better project. Prior to returning to university as a late life learner, she had her own consulting firm providing sustainable solutions to organisational and community challenges. She also worked as a psychotherapist in a wide variety of settings from a managing a community prison project to Native American communities.

AGEING / SOCIOLOGY ISBN 978-1-4473-1877-4

NAOMI WOODSPRING

Naomi Woodspring

This ground-breaking study of the baby boomer generation, who are now entering old age, breaks new ground in ageing research. This post-war cohort has experienced a range of social, cultural, and medical changes in regard to their notions of body, from the introduction of the Pill and the decoupling of sex and procreation to the H-Bomb and Earthrise. Yet, paradoxically, ageing is also universal. This exciting book reflects the intersection of time, ageing, body and identity to give a more nuanced and enlightened understanding of the ageing process.

BABY BOOMERS 

"The baby boomers revolutionized being young and are destined to change what it means to grow older. This is a fascinating perspective on what that might look like." Jan Baars, University for Humanistic Studies, The Netherlands

Time and ageing bodies

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