Yesterday was our Wedding Anniversary

I remember the first time John ever referred to me as his wife. He said to a lady who'd answered our knock at the door “C'est Ma Femme”.
We were looking for a different place to stay in Geneva, and had responded to an advert for a house and garden. It was wholly impractical because there were a number of steps. It had a garden with mature trees and a kind of basement and barbecue area.

John was really keen. I was horrified: the area seemed really quiet with no people to be seen.. I imagined a lonely and isolated existence. It didn't help that in Geneva if you are new tenants, there is no provision of 'white goods'. You had to provide your own cooker, fridge and washing machine. It didn't feel like a home with cables poking out of the walls.

The flat that came with John's job was in Meyrin, a working class part of Geneva. It was on the fifth floor with a spectacular view of the snow-capped Jura. The flat occupied the entire width of the building. From one side you could see tall towers at CERN, from the other, blocks of flats with a backdrop of the mountains.

It was possible from the fifth floor to observe the routines of daily life. There was a school nearby, and mothers would deliver their children in the morning and collect them at the end of the school day. Schools in Switzerland have a two hour lunch break. Cynics say it's a device to prevent mothers from seeking employment. Anyway, it provided a rich tapestry of daily life.

Long ago, John had told me about the American Women's Club. It was an organisation for the wives of diplomats and businessmen.
I became an enthusiastic member of the AWC.
Within the Club there was a writing group, art group, film group and various ways in which to improve your language skills.

The journey across Geneva to the AWC by bus was a joy. There was a ramp on the bus which my wheelchair could use to board.
Then we would travel through the centre of town turning onto Rue De Mont Blanc.
The street name was no lie: towering above us in the distance was the shape of Mont Blanc.
We would then cross the River Rhône and Lake Léman driving adjacent to the UN buildings.

I have a fond memory of traveling with the Art Group on a group outing to the Hermitage Gallery in Lausanne. We went to see an exhibition of American Impressionists. I was familiar with just one American Impressionist: John Singer Sargent. He was commissioned by the British Government to paint scenes from the First World War. His line of soldiers each holding the shoulder of the man in front, each with his eyes covered, entitled 'Gassed' is part of the Imperial War Museum's' Collection.
It's a dignified, humble line of men. Very different from the images of Wilfred Owen's “...blood come gargling from froth corrupted lungs...”

But it was the work of another painter that I remember. An old lady holds her hands in supplication to say grace over a bowl of soup, behind her head, light tumbles through a window picking out the colours of the room.

By Philippa