Little Old Lady

In the 1950’s I worked in a Citizens’ Advice Bureau run by the local council. Many who called in to make enquiries came had the strangest problems.

One day, there was a tap on the office door and a head appeared around it. It was an elderly lady who said, “I’m 82,” she said, smiling, “is this Citizens’ Vice Burroo?”

“Come in,” I said, “take a seat”. Her bright blue eyes looked tired and she walked with a slight stoop.

She told me that her 83-year old husband had a short fuse and took out any frustrations on her. They had no children, but she had not decided to leave him until now.
“I won’t take it any more and I want a divorce,” she said in decided tones.

The noise of the traffic outside became deafening, so I got up and closed the window. I felt the stark, depressing room was so unwelcoming for those with troubles. I sat down again.

When I talked about marriage guidance, social services etc. her eyes darkened and she told me she wanted no truck with any of them, as she had made up her mind that a divorce was all that she wanted. She did not want to give me her name or any details.

I pulled out Legal Aid forms and explained all the procedures. She waved her worn, rheumy hands in excitement and stuffed the crackling papers into her large handbag. She grasped my hand quickly, then got up and vanished around the office door.

Some months later a head popped around the door again. Still the same headscarf and bright blue eyes. This time, however, the stoop was gone and she positively skipped across the floor towards me.

“I’m free!