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Ravenna Road
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Ravenna Road  When I left France and moved back to England, I found a garret flat in Putney, water, bath and toilet down one flight, heated by feeding shillings into an old brass ornate puffer of a machine that smoked nearly as much as I did. The house, was an aging grey lady of a Victorian on Ravenna Road, set back behind a wrought iron gate. But the magic inside was the woman who held the keys. Magnificent with long billowing hair to her waist, white as snow, sometimes pinned high on her head, wisps desperately seeking escape, dressed always in flowing richly colored kimonos, her toes brightly painted, peeking out below. Her rooms were on the first floor left: a sitting room with a fireplace, a dining room with a table heaped so high with treasures that you daren’t breathe lest they topple, and beyond that, no one knew…. On the first of every month, I would knock and gain entrance to this remarkable place, with the intent of paying my rent. The first month, I learned that entering was easy, leaving was significantly more difficult. The first time, after knocking, thinking no one to home, I slid my envelope under the door which flew open at once though still without a person in sight. I peeked in, calling her name. Her hand, grasped mine, pulled, et voila, I was in, door shut. She was sipping orange squash. It wasn’t until later that I realized the gin content. I sat in a chair. She reclined, on a swooning couch. I became her minion. She had been one of the decontent of Paris, a wild thing and then having survived the war, made a living by restoring the paintings the Nazis had stolen and nearly destroyed by storing them in caves, cellars, etc. She had lived in sin, borne two with the love of her life but whom she could not ever marry legally because he was black. Did I mention she was in her 80’s? She knew artists, poets, musicians. She was a very naughty woman. A grande dame if ever there was one I listened, enraptured, wondering if she was mad. Shrugs, I fell in love with her madness. One day she leaned over whilst discussing art and pulled an original Pissarro from under the couch, blowing dust bunnies from it. She dismissively stated, “It’s not one of his best.” I sat with it in my hand, thinking why the hell is this woman renting rooms? This painting is worth millions. Her , later gave me the reason. We all fall in love with her. We watch over her. We invite her to meals. He comes on the weekends but during the week, the renters are her family. And yes, he waters down her gin. And she gets to live as she wants to live…surrounded by people. But he did rescue the Pissarro. This house, those afternoons, were like living inside a book, yanno? When I left to move back to the states, another person took my place. I was jealous of what they would have. I never did get to say goodbye. The last day I knocked, she didn’t answer. It was somehow fitting. You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
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funny how some people become mythical in your mind. while I am sure Mrs. M is long gone, I can't imagine Ravenna Road without her and the people who lived there with me. I must tell you about the grave digger sometime...... You cannot conceive the many without the one.
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oops = meant to mention the pic is not the Pissarro she had - just a similar type. as she said, her's was not is best work......lmao You cannot conceive the many without the one.
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This is a wonderful story. I would so love to have met her....and you, back then. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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I love opening your posts just imagining what decade I'm entering! I think this may be late 1950s or early 1960s!  
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Beautiful story.. A truly wonderful person hugssssssssss V Become a blog watcher sweet_vm
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It's the characters you meet that create those memories worth remembering. Vive La Difference
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I was there with you, leaning over you, sitting beside you. Wow, that is priceless. I want people to remember me like that. kk The observant make the best lovers, I may not do right, but I do write, I have bliss, joy, and happiness in my life, Kitkat Come check out my blog KItkat1415 check out this post by me Adventures In Body Grooming #39 April Topic Link: What Lies Beneath If April Showers Oh Bloody Hell What Kind Of Weather Turns Me On Bloggers Symposium 40
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Some people are just unforgettable ! 
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