Sue says her life was ‘a mess’ in her 60s. Then along came a man with a poodle ...

For former teacher Sue Ferris and her partner, painter Jeremy Barrett, moving into a Canberra retirement village has coincided with a burst of creativity. Sue, 83, recently published her first book. Jeremy, 87, currently has a solo exhibition.

“He was very reserved,” says Sue Ferris of her first impression of Jeremy Barrett, “but I knew the goodness was there.”Credit: Alex Ellinghausen

Jeremy: We met 18 years ago in the little central Victorian town of Malmsbury. Sue and I had both retreated there after having a pretty rough time, mainly to do with failed marriages. I’d been living a very quiet life, trying to put myself together again. I was walking along the street one afternoon and saw this lady busily weeding her garden. She had a small schnauzer that rushed up to the fence and started barking furiously at my dog. We got talking and later I put a post-it note in her letterbox, inviting her to come to my place for a coffee.

Sue’s very extroverted, whereas I’m the opposite. But I thought, “It’s time you met some people. Snap out of it. Live a bit.” I wasn’t thinking of a relationship. Part of me thought I was too old for that. And I was happy, in a way, to be alone. On our first walk together, I said, “I’d never consider marrying again, would you?”

We built houses on adjoining blocks in Malmsbury and later lived in Bellingen [in northern NSW]. Moving to a retirement village was Sue’s idea, based on her diagnosis of advanced macular degeneration, which can lead to blindness. I was reluctant but, in retrospect, it was a very good decision. We both like it here, and we’re getting a lot done. Publishing a book [Let’s Not Lose Them: Endangered Species in Australia] was a triumph for Sue, and now she’s writing another one using voice-to-text software and a large screen. I’m still painting and making prints. I think I’d be a dried old twig if I didn’t have my art.

Sue talks a lot, including when I’m trying to read. She calls it sharing; I call it interrupting.

Jeremy Barrett

Sue has had a profound effect on me. I’m a better person now, more interesting to know than I used to be. I’m more likely to express my thoughts instead of bottling them up. And I’m more engaged with the world. I’m not an activist by nature – Sue is much more that way inclined – but we’re both very concerned about climate change, so we joined the blockade at the port of Newcastle last November to protest against mining and exporting coal. I found it a rewarding and positive experience.

We have regular arguments, but not the toxic kind. It’s superficial stuff. Sue talks a lot, including when I’m trying to read. She calls it sharing; I call it interrupting. I read to her in the evenings because she can no longer read books herself. I do whatever I can to care for her now that she’s becoming more dependent. At the moment I only do the cleaning and tidying up but, eventually, I’ll be doing everything.

Sometimes, when I’m on my own, I think, “One of us is going to die before the other. What if it happens to be her and not me?” I would manage. I’ve lived on my own, off and on, quite a lot of my life. And she’d manage, too, if it was the other way round. For now, though, we’re both determined not to fall by the wayside. We want to keep producing, and living as fully as we can for as long as we can.

Sue: “We worried we’d go mad with boredom when we moved into the retirement village...but it’s quite an enlightened place, really.”Credit: Alex Ellinghausen

Sue: I was out in the garden and this guy came along with a poodle on a lead. I said, “What’s a poncy dog like a poodle doing in a place like Malmsbury, if I might ask?” He said he was minding it for a friend who lived in South Yarra. When I got home from work the next day – I was head of English at Girton Grammar in Bendigo at that time – there was a note from him, inviting me to visit. When I walked around to his miner’s cottage, I could smell Anzac biscuits in the oven and freshly brewed coffee. I thought, “This augurs well.”

From the beginning, I knew I was going to end up with Jeremy. He didn’t know it, but I did. My life had been, frankly, a chaotic mess – one disastrous relationship after another. I thought, “Here’s a man I can actually trust. He’s steady, he’s genuine. He’s compassionate.” He was very reserved, but I knew the goodness was there. After my best friend met him, I asked her what she thought. She said, “He’s very wooden.” But the next time they met, she rang me and said, “Can I take that back? He smiled and his face lit up. He’s lovely.”

We hadn’t known each other very long when I was diagnosed with breast cancer and ovarian cancer. I said, “If you don’t want to go any further, I quite understand.” But he was there the whole way through. He took me to Melbourne for chemo every three weeks. I’m very lucky that they picked up both cancers early.

I thought, “Here’s a man I can actually trust. He’s steady, he’s genuine. He’s compassionate.”

Sue Ferris

We worried we’d go mad with boredom when we moved into the retirement village. I said, “We’re moving in with 400 old crocks.” We thought everyone would be talking about ailments and grandchildren, but it’s quite an enlightened place, really. I started a weekly discussion group in the library and that’s made a difference because it’s flushed out some kindred spirits. I sometimes refer to us as inmates, which makes Jeremy cross. He’s doing his best to teach me to be less outspoken, but I don’t know whether he’ll win that one.

We both love nature and being in the bush, but there’s an awful lot I can’t see now. When we go walking, I’m hanging onto Jeremy’s arm. You just have to adjust to it. He reads to me every night, and it’s hard for him because he’s not an out-there person like me. He tends to read in a fairly monochromatic way. I’m so grateful that he’s doing it – he’s a dear man – but I want to say, “Put some expression into it!” Lately, I’ve started borrowing audiobooks from the library. I can lie on the sofa and listen through my headphones while Jeremy reads his own stuff.

I don’t think I’d want to go on living if Jeremy weren’t around. I see myself sitting in a chair and not moving. But at the moment, together, we can contribute something. I have physical incapacities, but I still have plenty of energy and there’s a lot I want to do in the time I have left. I’ve gained confidence through Jeremy and I think he’s gained confidence through me, too. It’s been a new lease of life for both of us, really.

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