Can you remember what you were doing eighty-five years ago?

Chances are, you weren’t even born. But I put that question to a remarkable lady named Gwen Tomlinson, who celebrated her 105th birthday this July at her home in Reading Court.

I didn’t want to intrude as Gwen tires easily these days. She sat in a large comfy armchair next to a bay window, with picture frames and ornaments. Sunlight wrapped around her in a warm glow. Gwen has an infectious smile and a classic, neatly styled head of white hair. A pale complexion with sunspots and focused eyes that conceal a sharp wit. She looks to be in her early nineties.

So, Gwen, what were you doing eighty-five years ago in 1940?

“That’s easy,” she smiled. “I was getting married to Bob. I was just twenty years old. Born in 1920, after the First World War, and married during the Second.”

“We have social media, smartphones, and instant messaging today. Back then, how did you stay in touch with friends and family?”

“We didn’t have much,” she said. “We wrote letters when we could, but we were always watching out for the telegram boy. He collected them from the post office and walked through the streets — we’d all watch to see where he stopped. Telegrams were expensive, so they were only used for big news. Usually, bad news… often from overseas. Bob was overseas a lot, but he came home safely.”

And what about Bob? How did you two meet?

“We were both nurses in the RAF. We were often posted to different hospitals, so we didn’t always serve together, but we always found our way back to each other.

After the war, we settled down. Bob became a Freemason. I remember many times when he escorted me to the Ladies’ nights and other glamorous events. We had a wonderful time. Sadly, he passed. Time moved on, and I came to live here. It can get lonely, but I just love sitting here by the window.  Looking out. It’s a lovely view.”

“I’m sure you’ve been asked this question, perhaps 105 times already. What’s your secret? I know you are fond of a Gin & tonic?”

Bread and dripping, it was delicious. You don’t get it anymore. Beef dripping that was left over from a Sunday roast. It was refrigerated and then usually spread on toast the following day.”

 Now I remember that. Her carer walked in to make a sandwich for her lunch. Gwen, still, I could see that she was tiring and her mind was distracted with loving memories. As her carer came in to make her lunch, her wit escaped with an accompanying smile..

“This is Alan, he’s come in to be nosey.” That was my signal to leave.

It would be a great comfort to Bob to know that Gwen and other Mason’s widows are safe and well in Reading Court.

When asked about the secret to a long life: It’s time to retire the old cliché about “something in the water,” and introduce a new one:

It’s the bread and dripping.

Gwen enjoying her birthday celebration at Reading Court, with residents, family and special guests, Dani Hunter, the Mayor of Stratford upon Avon.