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How To Find Love Now

In our modern consciousness, life is seen almost as a railway station platform and we imagine that one day that the Love Train will stop for us, we'll get into the carriage and off we'll go, love has found us and we'll be carried away. But for some of us, if not most of us, love doesn't arrive on time, when we're waiting for it, for some of us it never turns up at all. 
Barbara is 87 and has been single all her life; it's a sensitive subject for her. Did she ever fall in love, I ask her?
"Falling in love is not the same as being loved back, necessarily," Barbara says, eating her teacake and staring from the window of her small flat, gloomily chewing. "I was asked to dances a couple of times, and one boy, a fly boy, in the RAF, he asked me out once. We had a very nice time."RAF Spitfire
But you didn't see him again, I query?
"No dear, I didn't, maybe he died, most of those boys did you know." 
Was there anyone else, I ask?
"There was one other, but he was married so it went no further. In my day a generation had been wiped out by the Second World War. There weren't many young men around after the war, and if you did meet someone, he was in great demand, " Barbara recounts wistfully. 
She shows me her photograph album from her youth. The sepia photos are carefully fixed down with cream brackets at the edges, the pages protected by waxy, transparent leaves between each page of photos; the documents to a full life, full, but not it seems, full of love. 
"You just have to get on with things, buck up, not moon around for what will never be, I've had a busy life and I have enjoyed it, though children would've been nice," Barbara tells me. 
I feel very sad for her, she's been brave, strong, lived a worthwhile life, a life that has always been useful to others, to neighbours, siblings, cousins, her parents, her employers, various charities, but not so useful to herself emotionally. Her life reminds me of a glass of vintage wine, half drunk, never to be finished. She shows me her photos, Barbara as a young girl, her face gleaming with health, optimism and a sparkle in her eyes, undimmed as yet by disappointments. Barbara was an attractive girl, slim, tall with pretty, shoulder length hair that skimmed her shoulders. Her mouth was darkened in that red stain so popular in her youth, applied each morning still, bright against her now snowy, faded colouring but no longer in expectation of admiration or hope.
"You get to a certain age," Barbara informs me, "when these things don't really matter anymore. You become content with the small things in life, a good book, a nice meal, doing someone a good turn, watching the flowers pop up in spring." 
All those girlish hopes and dreams of love have been set aside, can they be as easily forgotten as this? 

old lady Barbara

"Honestly?"  Barbara asks, "No, you just adjust, people adjust to whatever happens, and by my age I'd be a widow probably anyway. But I do miss grandchildren and children, I do mind when my friends tell me they're being taken somewhere nice by their daughter, outings to London and the theatre, that sort of thing. I wonder if I'd had a daughter or a son if they'd be treating me now. It's not something one should dwell on for too long dear, that way madness lies."
Sharon is middle aged and divorced, " I don't really expect to find love anymore, or at least what I thought love was as a girl. You know, romance, passion, that sort of thing. I'd like to, just give me the chance! But it's not something I can hope for anymore.  What do they say? If you're a woman of a certain age, you're more likely to get hurt in a terrorist attack, something like that and equally depressing." 
Scarlett is 22, a student and describes herself as alternatively beautiful. "Yeah, it's not easy being unconventionally lovely, guys often just don't get it, they go for the more conventional type of beauty." 
Surely Scarlett hasn't given up on finding love already I ask her? 
"Given up isn't how I'd put it, I'd say from the time I was first teased by the boys at school for my matching set of large ears, nose, frizzy hair and acne at 11, I didn't have any expectations. More fears really that anyone would notice me and laugh. Of course I've grown up now and I'm content with myself, but..."
Scarlett's voice trails off, it's clear, she's given up, or rather as she said, she never started to have romantic hopes. So what can those who have been left on the Love Train sidings do? Are Internet dating or speed dating the answer? If they want to take the risk of filtering out freaks and those who are dishonest about themselves, sure they are. 

Minnie who has been happily married for five years tells me, " I had given up, men had dried up, you know, I had a whole ocean of choices when I was young but by the time I reached my fifties I was more likely to be run over, than find a good, single man.  So I gave myself a treat, for my 52nd birthday I did my research and looked into magic. Eventually I found a practitioner who I thought sounded trustworthy and powerful and she performed a love spell for me. It was meant to draw love to me, someone right for me, you know. She told me to go out as much as possible, I did, and I met Bill at my local library, both looking for the same book. A good start, we liked the same novel! I'll always be grateful to my witch, you know, her spell just drew us together. I'm sure if I hadn't met Bill I'd have met someone else suitable and been happy because that's what she told me the spell would do, and it did. It was sheer fluke I went to that library that day, I hadn’t intended to, the idea just came into my head as I was passing, a strong sudden urge to read that particular book.”
I wonder if magic hadn't been stigmatised by fairy stories and our cultural perceptions, if Barbara and Sharon's lives would've been very different, very different and very much happier. Maybe magic love spells are a way to find love and draw it to us quickly, for those of us who don't want to risk spending our whole lives waiting on that lonely station platform, watching others get onboard and perhaps never finding that the Love Train has arrived for us, our carriage awaits.

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