After 70 years of marriage, couple goes out together in blaze of glory

After 70 years of marriage, couple goes out together in blaze of glory. ILLUSTRATION | JOHN NYAGA

What you need to know:

  • Vicky had been referred to me for gall stones and, since key-hole surgery had not entered the surgical armamentarium, I carried out an old-fashioned open cholecystectomy.
  • Bethwell had one question when I informed them that Vicky would have to lose her gall bladder. "Why are you after my wife’s gall bladder?” he asked with his usual wit. “Why don’t you simply remove the stones?”

A little earlier, they had said: The drawback of this welcome, long cohabitation arises when one dies, leaving the other behind, who finds it simply unbearable to continue living alone...’

Bethwell and Vicky were a lovely couple, celebrating their platinum wedding anniversary — married for 70 years. It was a happy occasion to which we were invited. He was 95 and she was trailing not too far behind at 90, and were known as the grand old couple of Kenya.

I presume we were invited because I had treated them both for surgical problems, which luckily were few. Also, Bethwell was a Rotarian in my club and I had known him for almost 25 years in that capacity.

He was a Sgt at Arms for a few years, whose job is to keep order during the meeting, more specifically to make sure that everybody keeps time.

The job also entails making a funny speech, fining members and collecting funds for club projects to help the local community. It was this aspect of the assignment in which Bethwell excelled, because he had a fund of jokes and told them with the right expression.

He, therefore, got away with stories too close to the bone, which another member would hesitate to say to a mixed audience.

HUMOUR AND WIT

After a few years, he expressed a desire to retire, but whenever the need arose, which was very often because not everyone is conditioned to be able to inject humour in a talk, Bethwell would rise to the occasion and make a wonderful job.  

As we were driving to Karen where they lived, I recalled the times I had operated on them and left behind what Bethwell called my autographs. They had undergone one surgical procedure each and both were uneventful.

Vicky had been referred to me for gall stones and, since key-hole surgery had not entered the surgical armamentarium, I carried out an old-fashioned open cholecystectomy.

Bethwell had one question when I informed them that Vicky would have to lose her gall bladder. "Why are you after my wife’s gall bladder?” he asked with his usual wit. “Why don’t you simply remove the stones?”

“Because it is believed that the gall bladder forms stones when its lining is damaged by inflammation, so it is likely to form stones again, if left in,” I explained. “Therefore, it is better to remove the soil which can repeatedly form stones.”

“Can I live without my gall bladder?” Vicky darted a supplementary question.

“Yes, indeed.” I replied. “Its function is to store and concentrate bile produced in the liver and discharge it in the small intestines when food arrives there. In the absence of a gall bladder, the liver sends bile directly to the duodenum through the bile duct.”

Surgery went off very well and Vicky went home after a week. The operation on Bethwell was simpler and entailed repairing his inguinal hernia (abdominal-cavity protrusion). The day after surgery, I took my students with me, saying. “You will meet an interesting character”.

They were not disappointed because he made his usual wisecrack. As I usually do, I asked him. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Not bad,” he replied. “But I have a lot of pain in my groin, where you operated.” 

To reassure him and acquit myself, I let him into my secret. “I had my hernia operated on when I was doing my ‘A’ Levels and I can’t remember any excessive pain.”

He took a little time to reply and then said coolly with a blank expression. “Obviously, you didn’t have the same surgeon as I had!” As my students sent peals of laughter, I felt utterly deflated.

HAPPY COUPLE

We had reached the house now and, after some drinks, delicious food was served buffet style. After the couple jointly cut the cake over a champagne toast, Bethwell was persuaded to make a speech by public demand. I knew we were in for a treat as the guests gathered round the grand old couple and as Bethwell started his informal speech by complementing his wife of 70 years.

“First of all, I must thank my wife for giving me a blissful 72 years.” As Vicky stood beside her husband, nodding in mutual recognition and we all looked surprised at the apparent error in his reckoning, he clarified. “We courted for a couple of years before we decided to tie the knot. In our days, we did not jump in bed on the second date by the latest, but nourished our love and studied each other to see if were compatible.”

Throwing a side glance at his wife, he continued. “That reminds me that when we met, we were very different in our background, our make-up and our temperament; in fact we had different personalities but like the left hand and the right hand, we could clasp tight.”

As he received a loud ovation for his profound statement, he continued. “Above all, Vicky was determined to make me the father of her children. You must never underestimate the power of women, a fact which was brought home to me when women were allowed into Rotary in 1989. I asked a newly inducted female member to be Sgt at Arms at one of our lunches. She was the wife of a doctor and, after a few insipid remarks, she added. ‘I am told that I must end by telling you a funny story but I don’t know any jokes so I will relate a personal experience which happened today. As we were expecting an equally insipid joke, she continued. ‘My husband lost his temper on a minor matter and harangued me, saying that I was no good at anything. He ended by making the most hurtful statement and said. “And you are no good in bed, either.”

During coffee time in his clinic, he felt remorseful and rang me at home to apologise. I was getting ready to come here and had locked my bedroom. My maid picked up the phone in the lounge and told him that I was in my bedroom and the door was locked.

He told her to knock on the door and tell me that bwana wanted to talk to me urgently. When I reached the phone, he asked me what I was doing in our bedroom at this time of the morning and I replied. “If I remember right, you accused me of being no good in bed.”’

“I am ringing you now to apologise,” he said.

‘Bit late,’ I replied. ‘Right now, I am obtaining a second opinion!’

“As we all split our sides laughing, she took her seat and I saw Rotarians inserting thousand shilling currency notes in the charity box going round.”     

Bethwell turned serious as we all laughed and remarked. “The drawback of this welcome long cohabitation arises when one goes, leaving the other behind, who finds it simply unbearable to continue living alone.” Then, looking at me, he added. “Unless our surgeon friend can organise a simultaneous double mortality, Vicky and I might have to travel to ‘Dignitas’ in Zurich and drink the death potion together.” He soon realised that he had cast a gloom over a happy occasion and came into his own again.

EASTER WEEKEND

“It is not like me to be serious for long and will end on a happy note. One of the consequences of old age is loss of memory, something that hit me hard as I was travelling by train from London to Walton on Thames by an over-ground train. The ticket inspector boarded our compartment at Wimbledon and asked us to show him our tickets. I just could not find my ticket, in spite of going through my pullover and jacket. Looking at the discomfiture on my face, he said. ‘Please don’t worry because I don’t think a man of your age would diddle the British Railways.’ Since I continued searching, he thought I hadn’t heard him and repeated himself. ‘I must find my ticket,’ I replied, ‘because I need to know where to get off!’”

At the end of his most humorous talk, he received a well-deserved applause. As for his fears of one of them being left behind, he need not have worried... for a couple of months later something happened which astounded me.

It was the long Easter weekend and Vicky and Bethwell went to Mombasa by road. “But you always fly to the Coast,” I said to Bethwell when he told me about it at a Rotary lunch before Easter.

“We want to visit a game park, en route Kilaguni on the way to Mombasa, and Voi Safari Lodge on the way back, but our driver is going with us,” he replied knowing what I was driving at.

It was on the way back on the Tuesday following Easter Monday that they met with a fatal accident on the Emali Bridge. When the driver, who survived, came back to Nairobi, he came to see me and explained. I knew him well and he felt obliged to give me first-hand information.

“After we left Hunter’s Lodge, Bwana said he wanted to drive when Mama moved on the front seat and I went to the rear seat.”

“How did the accident happen?” I asked.

“I don’t really know,” replied the driver. “The road was clear and no other vehicle was involved. I was nodding off and was woken up by a mighty crash. I came out of the Benz and found Mama and Bwana had collapsed. A passing car took us to Sultan Hamud Hospital, where they were pronounced dead. I rang but your houseboy said you were in Governor’s Camp in Masai Mara.”

I might be barking up the wrong tree, but I have a grudging suspicion that Bethwell orchestrated the accident to avoid what the couple feared most.