Soggy Camping, Newspaper Astrology and a Pink Slip of Paper: An Eclipse Love Story
More proof that the universe delivers as soon as you give up on it
This week’s solar eclipse (96% where I live) put me in mind of totality. And how my quest to observe it in 1999 ushered in the life I have now.
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At 4 am, the decree absolute offered its relief to the unlit kitchen table. The police-installed panic button’s glowing red eye reassured an empty bed, needlessly since Easter, when my ex was remanded in custody. Plushies, alone, populated the triple bunk of my four-, six- and eight-year-olds. The boys were one hundred and sixty miles away, sleepy and resistant, being shepherded out of a beaten-up Renault 19 at Cullompton Motorway Services.
By me, I hasten to add. The eighteen months where I feared their father would kidnap them (he refused to give up their passports) or kill them during an access visit for the ultimate revenge (something that didn’t seem beyond him) were more or less at an end. So I was ready to do something frivolous, hopeful: take the boys to Cornwall, just for two days, so they could witness a total eclipse of the sun.
Hopeful, because these were the last few months of the millennium. I was looking to the 21st century to wipe out a decade with a man I would rather forget. I was broke, and a little broken; I was lonely. But I still had hope that I could find someone to love me. Someone other than those three little boys. Lovely as they were. It felt momentous, that time, as we approached it. People were afraid that when the date ticked around, everything would shut down; planes would fall from the sky.
But I was a programmer. I knew how easy the fix was, in all those old systems, changing 2-digit years to 4-digit years. My ex had been on it since 1996, and made a mint. There wasn’t a company that didn’t have it covered. So for me, those last days of 99, as the death threat my ex had issued receded with his criminal troubles and my divorce came through, my attitude was, BRING IT ON. A total eclipse was a positive symbol marking my transition from darkness into light.
I thought I’d drive in the small hours to avoid the traffic. Sadly, ‘the traffic’ had the same idea and the coffee queue was long. I pointed the kids towards a table where I could keep an eye on them; promised them a snack. When I joined them with my coffee, I saw that a previous traveller had left a Daily Mail on the table. Its front page trailed a pull-out special: “Your eclipse horoscope!” Not the usual 12, but one per birthdate, 366 in total, from their astrologer, Jonathan Cainer.
I’m not a fan of the Mail and stopped paying attention to horoscopes back in my teens. But one per birthdate? In this transitional time of my life, where the whole of my future seemed up in the air? In a paper that I didn’t even have to buy? Of course, I went straight to my entry and read it.
Now here’s a small regret. I thought about keeping it. I wish I had. Torn it out, or even better, kept the whole section. But the paper wasn’t mine, and I felt I should leave it for the next eclipse pilgrim. So I can’t tell you the wording precisely. And yes, I’ve searched online, and maybe sometime I’ll go to the British Library newspaper section and look for it there. But the gist of the entry for my birthdate was this:
You are about to meet someone who will change the whole course of the rest of your life for the better.
Which was, of course, exactly what I wanted. I couldn’t believe it. You know what horoscopes are like: read every single one; any one could apply. So as I sipped my coffee, I read through the others. And no, there was nothing like this one. The rest were positively beige by comparison. None of them spoke of a life-changing encounter. So yes. I got seriously hopeful.
We got to the campsite at around six am. I set up the tent in the dawn. There was a breakfast marquee set up for the pilgrims, and we sat at long makeshift tables. All the time, I was looking around for this life-changing guy. Where is he? Is he here? But all the men were with their girlfriends or wives.
My eclipse was disappointing. A fair reflection of my life at that time. It was overcast and raining at totality. We didn’t need the cardboard glasses. The birds didn’t go silent; they were already quiet, sheltering from the rain. It got dark before evening, but there was nothing to see. No corona. No Baily’s beads. The kids were restless and bored, after a long time waiting for this thing that didn’t seem to be anything. I was chiefly concerned with making sure that the youngest of them didn’t, in the darkness, go toddling off the cliff. And then it got a little lighter. But only a little, being very overcast in the first place. The whole trip felt stupid: a lot of effort and expense to miss out on the celestial event of the century.
Apparently, five miles away at Mevagissey, there was a break in the clouds with perfect timing. Eclipse pilgrims there saw the whole show: the full transition of the moon’s shadow across the sun, with the seagulls squawking in alarm, then suddenly silent.
We stayed overnight. I kept scanning the campsite for the man who was about to change the course of my life. Pffft, Jonathan Cainer!
The next morning, I packed up the still-damp tent and made the long drive home. When I opened my front door, I noticed in the little wire basket that caught the mail for all the flats in the building, a pink slip of paper, folded over. Inside, scribbled on a business card, were the following words.
Dear Ros,
You don’t know me but I’ve been given your name by Justin Rhyme… who you may remember meeting in Seaford last month… He has recommended you as a lovely poetry performance artist! Could you, would you like to perform at Borders Bookshop.. next week! Please phone number over —>
Thanks, Paul Stones
Yes, this guy, who ensures I have hours to write by doing the food planning, shopping, laundry, and making me delicious, nutritious dinners every day.
Justin Rhyme was our best man.
We have just become double grandparents.
Jonathan Cainer, it turns out you were correct.
Or you can
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