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Living apart together: keeping the spark alive

Unhampered by those concerns – which can be so stifling – many of the LATs I spoke to emphasised the romantic nature of their relationship

“We're like teenagers,” Donald King says. “Stale is too strong a word for what happens in a marriage, but you sort of go into neutral, there are no peaks and troughs. If I've not seen Ann for a day she gets a hug as soon as she walks through the door; she expects it.”

In every case monogamy was a given. As Betty King put it: “We lead a full married life. Going out with other people is not an option.”

The way these couples arrange their meetings is obviously dictated by the distance between them. The LATs who wrote to say they live as far apart as Wiltshire and Oban, Canada and Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Hertfordshire and Washington DC, visit each other several times a year and holiday together.

Those like Paul Duncan and Anneliese Ostersprey, who live three or four hours' drive apart, see each other for weekends and holidays unless both are retired, in which case they may have two weeks together and two weeks apart or two weeks in one house, then a break followed by two weeks in the other.

Several couples wrote in to say they spend one night a week together as well as weekends and holidays, and those who live in very close proximity – particularly the older ones – see each other for at least part of every day.

“I sent him a text today saying I'm in the park with my grandchildren, do you want to join us, and he did but he decided not to come back for lunch,” says Toni Wallace.

How they behave in the separate houses varies quite considerably. When Marlene Wright, who lives in Devizes, visits her partner in Porthcawl, she takes over the running of the house, and she expects help in the garden when he visits her. This seems quite unusual.

Although several couples share chores such as cooking, the focus is on having quality time together. “We treat each other rather like guests and make that extra bit of effort. We don't really do jobs for one another and if I ever do, for instance, ask him to mow the lawn I say jokingly, “Oh my God, it's as if we are married,” says Anneliese.

And Shirley says, “I wouldn't do any housekeeping jobs for him, nor him for me. It's a treat to go round to dinner at the other house and whoever does the cooking also does the shopping and clearing up.”

I ask Betty whether she considers looking after a person is an important part of loving them and she says: “I've done all that nurturing. I've always been in the supporting role, now I'm doing things for myself. It's wonderful.”

Her husband, Philip, is also pleased with his independence. “I'm very keen on cooking. I've always had a desire for it but occupying the kitchen has been a problem. I'm messy by ladies' standards and I do a lot of preparation of sauces and suchlike. I brew my own beer and gut a lot of fish, so there are fish heads and tails around. That wouldn't be acceptable to Betty.”

Richard Comfort and his wife Joan are also confirmed LATs. He was 87 and she was 84 when they married four years ago and they never considered moving in together.

They were used to living alone, were fond of their own houses and felt too old to sell up and start afresh. Besides, they keep their homes at very different temperatures.

When Richard declared his love for Joan, the next question was “Will you marry me?” “We wouldn't have felt comfortable any other way,” she says.

They live six miles apart in Surrey. Richard has had the same housekeeper, who comes daily, for years and Joan lives in the same street as her son and a close friend.

“If she's unwell I go down there immediately, and of course I take her to the doctor or dentist,” he says.

They look after their own properties and keep their finances separate. “Although if we go on holiday or out to eat I pay, naturally,” says Richard.

Their lives revolve round a routine ordained by bridge, the hobby through which they met. They spend Friday and Saturday nights together (always at Richard's) and, on other days, ring at 9.30am to discuss their plans, which inevitably involve meeting each other at some point.

“Because we're not together all the time there's always something to look forward to,” Joan says. The only cloud on their horizon is the day Richard, now 90, might lose his driving licence. “Meantime I think we're the luckiest people alive,” he says.

This article was created: 13 July 2006.
This article was last edited: 11 December 2006.

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