On New Year's Eve, I went with my son and his family to lunch at the oldest hotel in Kalamata, which has a comfortable atmosphere and a buffet selection that suits my two grandsons, who are now seven and five.
On entering, I noticed a man and a woman at separate tables. Neither, I judged, would see 80 again, and I sent silent messages of congratulation their way, for Greeks generally hate being alone and hate being seen to be alone even more. But sometimes they have no choice.
Meal over, we were putting our coats on when the old man came over, and addressed my son and his wife. 'I just wanted to congratulate you,' he said, 'on the children's perfect behaviour at table.' Of course this was music to parental and grandmotherly ears: I was proud of Nikitas and Maximus. But then I was proud of their parents as well, for the old man wanted to talk, and did so for at least ten minutes while my son and his wife listened and conversed politely and enthusiastically: Greeks are not embarrassed or awkward in the presence of the old.
Later I mentioned the loneliness of old age to my son, and remarked on the courage those two people had shown in fighting it during the festive season. These matters are still academic to him, but he nodded, while I made a mental note to mention Dylan Thomas's 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goodnight' at an appropriate time.
In rural Greece, it is still considered shameful to instal an old relative in a home, and most aged people see their days out in the bosom of the family. My local shopkeeper, for example, has her mother and her mother-in-law living with her. Both are in their 90s, and are hale and hearty: they take an interest in customers and in doing chores around the shop.
As well as company, routines and habits are important, as I observed again in the case of an old man I saw while waiting for my bus. He'd taken time off from chatting with his cronies near the betting shop in order to tame a recalcitrant branch of jasmine nearby. Between us we managed it, with the aid of his walking stick, and he immediately assumed the air of the pleased and practised gardener.
That same day, I had taken a handwritten journal extract to be photocopied: the piece had been written by someone who lived through the German occupation. The man doing the copying glanced at the pages, and said, 'How well I remember my grandfather and his stories of that time.' He and his grandfather had been inseparable companions, he said, and his face lit up at the memory of this valued person.
London journalist Adrian Gill, always trenchant in his opinions, speaks out regularly against the neglect of the old in Britain. 'This,' he has written, 'is the greatest shame and horror of our time.' But there is much worse than just simple neglect: the abuse of the aged is a particularly nasty problem of the iceberg variety; in both Britain and Australia very few cases are reported, and even fewer perpetrators punished. Yet surely our treatment of the old is a basic measure of our humanity?
Gill refers to the 'incremental shutdown' of old age, and ageing does involve sorrow and loss: there is a process of mourning for past youth and missed opportunities. British Prime Minister Disraeli, who died at the age of 77 after a life of great and varied achievement, stated that old age was a regret, while noted Hollywood star Bette Davis (pictured, in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane) roundly declared 'Old age is no place for sissies.' She had a point: ageing is hard work, and takes guts.
Of course there are, at best, compensations: the freedom in not caring as much about what other people think, the pleasure of grandchildren, gratitude for good health, many memories, and the great gift of time. But still, there's the loneliness. The proverb states that it takes a village to raise a child; each community should also look after its elderly. In and at the end, we all need a hand to hold.
Gillian Bouras is an Australian writer who has been based in Greece for 30 years. She has had nine books published. Her most recent is No Time For Dances. Her latest, Seeing and Believing, is appearing in instalments on her website.