Why, like Judi Dench, I don’t want a late-life marriage
I adore my partner, but like many older women, I cherish my independence too much to marry again, says Linda Kelsey
Weddings always make me weep. I’m planning a little cry at a humanist ceremony on a cliff in Cornwall this summer and will no doubt shed a tear when I sit in a pew at an upcoming church service in Oxfordshire. Last month, when I attended my first gay nuptials, those of my beloved nephew to his longterm partner, I snivelled through the proceedings at the Chelsea Register Office. Weddings, I love ‘em.
So how come every time my partner of eight years says, “Let’s do it, too,” I reply, “Thanks, but I’d rather not”? In truth, even the thought of it makes me shudder slightly. I’ve tried to explain why and he seems to understand my reasoning.
Even as marriage rates overall have declined significantly, these first time around weddings of hopeful young couples in their twenties and thirties represent a time-honoured way of cementing love and commitment. But once you’ve been round the wedding block a couple of times, as I have, and once you reach the age of 64, which I am, weddings and marriage have most lost likely lost their magical, magnetic power. They certainly have in my case. And it’s clear I’m far from alone.
Dame Judi Dench, 81, has said of her six-year relationship with the conservationist David Mills, “It’s wonderful to be in love”, but she has also stressed her independence and that she has no intention of putting another ring on her finger, following a 30-year marriage to her late husband, the actor Michael Williams.
Only this week a friend of hers said in an interview that “Judi and David spend a lot of time together at each other’s houses in Surrey. She loves him, but she won’t marry him, even though he has asked her”. The friend added: “She doesn’t even intend to move David in with her. She can’t imagine anyone replacing Michael.”
The most interesting aspect of this “thanks but no thanks” attitude to latelife marriage is that it seems to be women, rather than men, who are reluctant. A recent survey in the US showed that after divorce or the death of a spouse, men are more open to the notion of remarriage than women. Almost two thirds of the men said they would want or would consider remarriage whereas less than half of women would.
Two of my female friends are in this position. Sarah, 62, is a European business conference organiser who works from home. She has been in a relationship for five years with a divorced banker based in Paris. She says: “As a widow – my husband died when my youngest was five – I became a fiercely independent mother of three young children. I did have short-term relationships but nothing that would last the distance, and frankly I was more focused on my kids than finding new love.”
Her children are now grown up, so when she met a dashing Frenchman at one of the conferences she had organised, she was free to pop over to Paris regularly for romantic weekends.
“The problem,” she groaned to me over dinner last week, “is that he’s retiring next year, and wants not only to move in full time, but get married as well. I love him, I don’t doubt it, our weekends and holidays together are perfect. But I haven’t lived with a man for 20 years and the thought of him moving himself and all his stuff into my home keeps me awake at night. Why can’t we carry on just as we are? I’m happy for him to sell up in Paris if that’s what he wants to do, but then he can buy himself a place nearby.”
Unlike my friend Sarah I do share a home with Ron, my partner of almost eight years. I relish the rhythm of our daily lives, waking up with him every morning, breakfasting together at the weekends before heading off on a long walk, reading our Kindles in bed. If he were to become unwell I would do whatever it takes to care for him.
But having been twice married before, once when I was just 19, and later for 23 years to the father of my son, I’m fearful of marrying – and perhaps failing – for a third time. I’m prepared to do everything expected of a wife except be one.
If I’m being brutally honest, money comes into this as well. I have twice lost homes I loved to divorce and downsizing, but I have always been economically independent, never expecting a penny more than a fair division of our property assets. The house my partner and I live in is mine, and he has his own small flat which he rents out. When I die I want my only son to be my main beneficiary and although it’s going to make for some complex decision-making with regard to my will, I am not at this point prepared for a marriage which would mean that all my hard-earned assets go to my husband rather my son. I’m upfront about my money issues and he would be quite prepared to sign a prenup. But for me it’s the nup, not the pre, that is the problem.
As women become more economically independent it’s hardly surprising they don’t have the same need for a husband, or even a live-in partner, especially as they still bear the brunt of looking after the home. Is it possible that men become more romantic as they age, and women less? Or simply that men just don’t cope as well when there’s no woman around to look after them?
Another reason, I believe, why men are more keen to settle down and remarry after widowhood and divorce is that their support networks aren’t as good as women’s.
My other friend who finds herself in the “no” camp is Karen, a caterer and divorcee of 66, whose husband left her reeling when he walked out after 40 years together. Three years ago, she found love with an architect on an internet dating site. She is a serial naysayer to her new partner’s marriage proposals, even though they are in the process of buying a house together. “I realised, early on, that Ed only has one or two really close friends he can call on. His family are all in Australia, and he lived in the States for years, so the intimate relationships he has forged here are few. I don’t doubt Ed loves me – and I adore him – but this marriage thing strikes me more as insecurity than anything else.”
Karen is hoping that once they are living together, the marriage question will quietly go away. “In my experience complacency sets in after marriage. Perhaps not being married keeps us on our toes.”
I joke with my fellow no-marriage mates that it’s one thing to be a blushing young bride and look back at your photos to remind you of one of the best days of your life. Quite another to be 64, when the blush has become rosacea and no amount of retouching can disguise your wrinkles.
I can’t wait for that wedding in Cornwall. And I’m absolutely delighted it’s not going to be mine. Some names have been changed
‘Is it possible that men become more romantic as they age, and women less so?’