Captain Tom’s inspiring last message to us all
There’s not enough time in this life to waste it on anger and hatred CAPT TOM IN HIS BOOK LIFE LESSONS
Every night when I go to bed, I perform all my morning tasks in reverse order before saying a little prayer and sliding under the duvet.
Closing my eyes, I assess how my body feels after a day of activity, holding my head in my hands and allowing my gnarled fingers to follow the contours of my skull.
The thought occurs to me that this lump of bone is 100 years old.
If it was a vase or a bowl, it might even be valuable.
Being this old probably explains why my hearing has diminished over the years. After all, I am listening through century-old ears.
Without my aids, I’m plunged into a world of silence much like my father’s. I’ve had two new knees to stop them complaining, but I lost my teeth a long time ago, probably due to my childhood habit of crunching sugar lumps. Having always been five feet ten inches, I have shrunk quite a bit in recent years, curled over as I am like a human question mark.
This has changed my shape so that I now need to tighten my belt to stop my trousers falling down.
Two things I haven’t lost yet are my sight and my marbles.
I’ve worn glasses for many a year and can still see perfectly well through them, which is a blessing – although when I look in the mirror these days I barely recognise the face staring back at me. As for my mind, well it gets a bit forgetful sometimes, but people assure me that I’m still sharp for my age.
Being so dreadfully old, I expected some physical limitations along with the normal deterioration of my bodywork, but I didn’t bank on being quite so tired.
This is something the younger generation doesn’t always allow for. I am constantly surprised by how even the slightest exertion requires a nap or three to compensate.
There is nevertheless something almost reassuring about accepting the decline that I cannot prevent.
A kind of calmness overcomes you when you realise that the end might come at any time. Death becomes somehow easier to think about and not something to be afraid of.
It’s not that I’m giving up; it’s more
a case of throttling back and quietly cruising along towards the inevitable.
Just like when my 85-year-old father gently told my sister: “This will be my last meal” before taking to his bed, never to rise again.
There are nights I lie in my bed and wonder if I’ll ever get up again, as I never thought I’d live this long. Logic and science tell me that I shan’t be around for many more years, but my competitive streak keeps me going.
None of us know when our time will come, but knowing that it will likely be sooner rather than later does make every day precious.
People say we should live each day as if it’s our last, but we can’t be happy all the time. That would be bad for us.
Life isn’t perfect and we have to feel sorrow sometimes to know what happiness is. But we can at least choose to find some joy in each and every day. My advice would be not to assume that you’ll live as long as me and don’t put off anything important.
Forgiveness is a good place to start because it isn’t healthy to keep carrying bitterness in your heart.
Nobody is perfect. Accept that and move on. There’s not enough time in this life to waste it on anger and hatred. People often ask me what the secret to old age is, but I really don’t have one other than to keep breathing.
I’ve never paid much attention to health advice and have eaten whatever I liked. The good news is that when you get to my age everyone treats you with kindness and respect.
You can’t put a foot wrong because no one dares argue with you.
I am also often asked if I have a “bucket list” and although there are a few places I have said I might hope to visit, I’ve done almost all that I want to do and, in any event, I’m afraid to mention anything.
On one TV appearance I said it would be fun to travel across America on Route 66 – riding my motorbike.
I’m not sure I’m up to all that time on a motorbike now, so I joked that I’d settle for a Bentley. But I should be careful what I wish for because the next thing I knew, someone offered to provide me with a luxury car!
I must admit that I do miss gadding about, but I doubt I’ll have time to do much more. This old chassis has had a good run and is soon headed for the scrapheap. Not that there will be much to salvage, mind.
I only pray that I don’t linger on or go into a home. That would be a final mercy. Once that happens, I want everyone to say, “Well done, Tom!” and
hopefully reflect that I’ve done a bit of good. Life will go on.
Babies will be born. People will eventually forget about Captain Tom.
For a while, though, I’ll be remembered for the last few years of my life rather than those that went before, a rare blessing in a world that tends to celebrate youthful endeavour.
Previously, my funeral would have made one line in the local paper and been attended by only a handful, but I expect there’ll be a few more now.
Someone will have to make extra cake and sandwiches, and it won’t be me. I want the service to end with My Way because I always did things my way and especially like the line about having too few regrets to mention.
It’s odd and rather touching to think that people might weep over my passing – strangers I’ve never met.
Even though I have a space reserved in the village churchyard, I want to be cremated and my ashes taken back to
Yorkshire to be with my parents and grandparents in the family plot.
Several people have asked me what my epitaph might be. One of the comedians who always made me laugh the hardest was Spike Milligan.
He wrote his own epitaph, which was engraved in Gaelic on his headstone. It reads: “I told you I was ill.”
This always made me laugh, so I’d ask for the simple inscription of my name, the dates of my earthly span, and the words: “I told you I was old.” That’ll do me. And hopefully, some day it will make someone smile.
■ Captain Tom’s Life Lessons is out on April 2, published by Penguin Michael Joseph.
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There’s no styling it out with that crowd. ashleigh.rainbird@mirror.co.uk
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