The Name of the Game

Childhood memories and aspirations: Reflecting on relationships and living in the moment.

When I was 5 years old, my grandparents had a beautiful house called “The Grange” in the tiny village of Elmswell, tucked into a pocket of unspoilt Suffolk countryside. It was here that my brother, sister and I were lucky enough to enjoy free reign in what became our little kingdom during the Sundays we spent here; the grounds of the house included a huge lawn, a small brook, a walled apple orchard and a lovingly-attended rose garden. This was our magical “land”, away from grown-ups, rules and chores; a place of adventure, a place to let our imagination run wild, a place to dream.

 

And dream we did. At 5 years old, I was said to be a very sociable and somewhat “quirky” child, fond of music and dance, a teller of dozens of “knock-knock” jokes, but perhaps most importantly to me at the time, I was ABBA’s Number One Fan.

 

It was during one of those baking-hot, hazy, timeless summer Sundays when some friends of my grandparents were visiting, and whilst I sat with my siblings, perched on an old wooden fence taking a brief respite from the heat, pressing a cold bottle of lemonade to my lips and cheeks, that I was asked a very important question indeed. A very “grown-up” question; one that I had been waiting for.

 

“Jane, what would you like to be when you grow up?”

 

I recall I didn’t have to think even for a second and offered my response as quick as a flash.

 

“I am going to be the fifth member of ABBA!” I announced proudly.

 

I waited for gasps of approval and remember being, in fact, more than a little piqued that they didn’t come. More strangely, there seemed to be one or two badly-stifled giggles. It wasn’t really the earth-shatteringly proud moment I had hoped for, particularly as the decision to “unveil” my now-chosen career path had not been one I had taken lightly.

 

One of the grown-ups, in gentle, sugary-sweet tones, enquired as to how old I thought the other members of ABBA would be when I was eventually at an age when I could join them “properly”. I supposed she was thinking of the logistics of touring, promotions and so on.

 

Despite feeling the first flush of awkwardness, I soldiered on, and offered further explanation.

 

“The members of the band have agreed not to have any more birthdays, until I can catch up with them,” I confided. There!

 

More giggles, hardly even stifled this time. My brother and sister looked on with a kind of bored amusement having heard this kind of claim from me more than a few times before.

 

The colour rose in my cheeks, my eyes pricked with tears and I fled into the house in search of my Mum, a cuddle, some soothing words and perhaps one of the delicious “signature” meringues that I knew my grandmother had baked earlier.

 

Of course, more disappointment was to come. It was inevitable, in fact. ABBA thanked us for the music, they split up, the dream was over and, with it, so was their agreement with me.

 

Thirty years on, I sit here now aged 35, with a sore throat and my second terrible hangover of the week, having enjoyed more birthday celebrations yesterday, and having sung ABBA, karaoke-style, at the top of my voice until the early hours of the morning.

 

It has been a truly amazing few days. My boyfriend and I have birthdays within 8 days of each other and at a time of year that makes it almost rude not to have some kind of large party to celebrate them. Yesterday was no exception, and we set up camp on the beach with our family and friends, and enough food and drink to sustain a small third world country. The weather was perfect, sunny but beautifully breezy; the water was warm but uncharacteristically choppy, causing squeals of delight to rush forth from my two year old, who lounged in the shallows for hours with her cousins.

 

In amongst the drunken celebrations, I took a moment to myself, away from the crowd...

 

I sit on the wall looking out to the Lake, glass of wine in hand. Shouts of laughter and singing mingle with the sound of the waves and become one and provide a meditative soundtrack to my brief escape. I feel the wind against my face and close my eyes. God, what a year! Severe post-natal depression after having my son, trying to cope with the kids, feeling so isolated in our quiet village, pressures on us, relationship troubles, losing our connection. I felt so tired, too tired even to explain. I had so nearly given up...

 

I was so completely lost, I knew I couldn’t stay, but I had nowhere to go. Then, thank god, a tiny voice spoke to me. Get away from here!   Get moving! I begged Jason to move house. He put aside his ego and supported me.

 

It’s amazing how one tiny decisive moment in life can alter everything so completely. I had the support of the man I love to turn everything around, to cut out the “dead wood” and to change our horizons...

 

Did I deserve his support? Do I deserve his love now? Will I ever stop searching for something? What is it all about, anyway? 

 

“I was an impossible case
No-one ever could reach me
But I think I can see in your face
There’s a lot you can teach me
So I wanna know...

What’s the name of the game?
Does it mean anything to you?
What’s the name of the game?
Can you feel it the way I do?
Tell me please, cause I have to know
I’m a bashful child, beginning to grow

And you make me talk
And you make me feel
And you make me show
What I’m trying to conceal
If I trust in you, would you let me down?
Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you?
Could you feel the same way too?
I wanna know...

The name of the game...”

 

I open my eyes and the first person I see is him. I look at my boyfriend, the-love-of-my-life, beer in hand, unshaven, giggling, the sunlight in his eyes, holding onto our tired and teething son, who clutches at him in turn like a little orang-utan. I meet his eyes and he winks at me.

 

I shut my eyes again, wanting to hold onto this tiny moment, to freeze-frame it for eternity, to protect it with my hands as if it were a flickering flame in the wind.

 

The answer is, I don’t know what this is all about. I don’t know the name of the game. But maybe now I don’t have to, because at this very moment, with time stood still, I feel truly happy. I am home.

 

(LYRICS BY ABBA – “THE NAME OF THE GAME”)

Reviews

[frisco]

Jane, You've got a way of depicting special moments in your life and sharing your reflections on them in a way that I find interesting, funny, thought provoking and just plain enjoyable.