From Reporter Issue 81

AGEING

As we resume this series, Patrick Middleton writes about growing old… 

A while back we got a call in the office from one of those frothy girls who work as researchers for U.K. television production companies. Could we tell her, she asked, about "all those old people who've retired to the Côte d'Azur"? Mike Meade tried as best he could to convince her that this was not a Mediterranean version of Sun City. The English-speaking community here has a full age-range and in this respect is different from that in the west of France where, according to a survey carried out by our colleagues at The News, the average expat resident is in his or her sixties. Of course, that's not to say that there aren't a lot of oldies on the Coast. Currently, one in five of all Riviera residents is over 65.

This figure, admittedly, is somewhat higher for English-speakers, getting close to around 30 per cent. Within this group, as Patrick Ireland, a British doctor in Valbonne, explains, there are broadly two sorts of people. "You've got those who've lived and worked here for a substantial time, and then others who've come here simply to retire. As a medic I see clear differences between the two. Those who've been in France for quite a while are usually fitter. They've acquired the French concern for health, they trust doctors and readily visit their GP. Those who've come here in late middle age, especially from the U.K., are often in worse shape and have acquired that funny British habit of 'not wanting to bother the doctor'." Those who've lived here for some time have benefited not only from being in a country with some of the finest medical services in the world but also from sharing in a life-style that makes this the healthiest region in France.

Patrick Ireland notes another contrast between those who've been here for quite a time living active lives and those who've come to retire. "For those I'd call adoptive locals their later years are a natural extension of their earlier life here. They usually speak French well, they've got lots of contacts often including wider family ties here and they're familiar with how things work in France. With the incomers it can be quite a different story. They uproot in their late fifties or after from some chilly town in England or Denmark, say, and after a couple of months here begin to feel less happy than they imagined. They've usually not got the language, don't know anybody, get irritated by unfamiliar ways of doing things, miss their families and generally get miserable. That's not true of everyone, of course, but I sometimes wonder with some couples if they wouldn't have done better to stay put."

Later life entails two changes for almost everyone. On the one hand, that physical running down – creaky joints, less acute hearing and vision and so on – which can be delayed and alleviated but not totally avoided. On the other, the move from active working life into retirement. That term, wrote Ernest Hemingway, is "the filthiest word in the English language – it just means a backing-up to the grave." And it has to be said that, in my experience, a lot of those who look forward to retiring find those years less enjoyable than they expected. Giving up work involves major changes in daily life for most people: the loss of the time structure that comes with a job, the disappearance of familiar social contacts and – above all – a sudden feeling of reduced personal worth. Put this to some recent retirees and you get a blustering denial, but others offer a rueful admission: "For me," lamented one former senior executive, now retired from the City of London to Fréjus, "the worst thing is that nothing I do really matters to anyone except myself, and maybe my wife and my dog."

For some, old age can be a sad time of increasing infirmity compounded by oppressive boredom. But it needn't be like that. Says Patrick Ireland, "Of course, people's health is more fragile as they grow older but there are some simple rules for keeping in better shape. If you've been a smoker, stop. There's no way round it – tobacco kills. Drink in moderation. Eat sensibly. Take exercise everyday. Continue your sex life if you can – it makes you happy and produces chemicals telling you so." And one comforting observation: "There's one huge advantage in growing old in France: you don't get that medical ageism that, quite frankly, is now so common in Britain. In the NHS, certainly, the attitude is often that the over-sixties aren't worth treating. Some of my patients have told me terrible stories about this. Well, here that's not true."

There's a grim definition of retirement in Kingsley Amis' novel The Old Devils: "it's when the evening starts starting after breakfast", and for more oldies than you might think filling their time is a problem. "And this is serious," puts in Patrick Ireland. "There's more to a good old age than healthy food and a brisk walk every day. You've got to keep your mind working as well. That's not just to keep up your morale but for a very specific reason. There's a stack of research to show that ongoing mental activity is a preventive of Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia. Well, perhaps a factor of postponement might be a more precise term. Some American doctors claim that the mentally active are three times less likely to show signs of Alzheimer's than the couch potato." Among the activities they list as effective in this respect are solving crosswords, playing bridge and chess, doing accounts and – tiens! – writing. Watching television isn't rated.

Not doubt about it – this isn't a bad place to spend those later years. Apart from anything else, local authorities in France are mandated to make a special effort to care for their elderly residents, a charge mainly carried out by the local Centre communal d'action sociale. At the CCAS in Nice I was amazed by the scale and scope of its activity. As Jean-Paul David, director of services for old people, told me: "The media love to show off this city either as a playground or as the background of affaires of various kinds but we've got other claims to fame. We've got one of the most highly developed programmes of help for the elderly anywhere, and it's regarded as a model for the rest of France. Among the facilities offered is a home-support system helping the elderly with household tasks and shopping, a meals-on-wheels service calling twice a day, a system of panic buttons to bring immediate help to those in difficulty, a monitoring project to enable the sick to stay in their own homes as long as possible, subsidised restaurants du troisième âge, a range of accommodation from sheltered housing to full residential care and a network of clubs covering all sorts of activities." The CCAS in Nice is always alert to special needs among older people. Jean-Paul David: "One thing we've realised is that the coming of the euro is going to be difficult for some of our more elderly citizens and so we're running initiation courses to prepare them for the change-over." This is just one example, he pointed out, of how the CCAS works. "Our message to our senior citizens is quite simple: you're not alone."

Well, after all that, how are our English-speaking oldies doing here? The ones I've been talking to fit easily into the categories I've mentioned earlier. Tom Tennant worked for many years for Barclays' Bank in Nice. He and his wife Finella have belonged to both the local and the British community. "For me," says Tom, "it was an easy transition and I'm very happy. But then I've always been happy here." John Morey is an example of a successful incomer. After 33 years with a British government oceanographic institute – "I travelled from the Faroes to the Falklands, from Cape Town to Cochin" – he moved here just over 10 years ago. "To be honest, it was made easier for me by having a French wife but I did have to get used to that I wasn't any longer in Haslemere. I decided to go native, if you like, and I joined the Office niçois pour les personnes âgées where I'm one of just half a dozen foreign members. We do all sorts of things: I go mountain walking and I'm in a geology study group. Really happy."

But that's not true of everyone. Take Fred and Greet (not their real names). They quit a small town in southern Holland to settle in Villefranche about 3 years ago. "Bit of a let-down," sighed Greet. "We love the weather and the food but we've got almost no French – we're too old to learn – and we're rather isolated. The big thing for us is when one of the kids comes to stay. Otherwise time drags. Yes, we have talked of going back…" And finally there's Sven (again, not his real name). He made loadsamoney from a fancy car polish he invented and at 54 – he's now 61 – he took off for Cannes with only his dog for company (his wife had dumped him years before). "I've got a routine," he told me, with a rather sad smile, "I get up around ten, have breakfast, take Wotan for a walk, read the papers, have lunch, then a snooze, walk Wotan again and then watch television over a few vodkas till around midnight. Thank God for satellite! I've never decided if I did the right thing coming here. I've always felt a bit lost away from Lund." Sven is a depressing case and proof enough that growing old on the Côte d'Azur is not a good choice for everyone.

For details of your local C.C.A.S. call your mairie. A useful publication is Guide Seniors Alpes-Maritimes which lists hundreds of organisations and companies whose services can interest the elderly (59 francs from kiosks and newspaper shops).

© Patrick Middleton 

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