Friends for 50 years

The lunch crowd has thinned at the West Main Tim Hortons in Moncton, N.B.; only a smattering of people remain while staff prepare for the next rush. One group stands out, with conversation as relaxed as a lingering autumn twilight. They are the mothers from my childhood and the matriarchs of a neighbourhood that still feels like home because they remain as anchors and reminders.

Ranging in age from 73 to 85, Evie Wadman, Helen MacArthur, Betty Lockhart, Margie Kay and Mildred Steeves are the very best of friends, and coffee is a ritual shared for close to half a century. For years they gathered in kitchens and on patios, but since Tim's opened down the street seven years ago, two to three times a week the phone rings and a familiar voice sings out, "Leaving the bus stop at 10:15."

That's the signal to convene at Margie and Mildred's combined driveway for the short drive to the coffee shop. "We used to walk," says Helen, "but since Evie had a hip replacement and Margie had knee surgery, we drive." They order coffee or hot chocolate and sometimes share a single muffin, cut five ways.

The roots of a lasting friendship
In the fledgling neighbourhood of my youth, before trees grew and fences merged, mothers called out to one another from their clotheslines. We kids played tag and hide-and-seek while the women shared coffee breaks and recipes.

"Evie moved here first…" remembers Helen. "…In March 1959," picks up Evie. "Then while she was waiting for her house to be built, Betty would come over and have tea in my kitchen. Then Margie came in October and Helen moved in December that same year." Mildred was the last to arrive in 1962.

Somehow their friendship took on a life of its own, intertwining in the growth of the family life each nurtured. Through the years, the endless conversations about home and family drew them ever closer and, with the respectfulness of their generation, they matured around one another the way trees closely planted might wrap together, one trunk supporting another.

A friendship deeper than gifts
As a child, I wasn't aware of the undercurrents of love at work here, but as I grew older, I often admired the perpetual closeness of these women. There was comfort in seeing the constancy of their friendship.

They still celebrate birthdays with a single card signed by all. They aren't about giving gifts; their friendship is gift enough. Christmas deserves a special dinner out, then it's back to someone's house for dessert. They thrive on fun. When Helen bought a new car, the salesman asked what she was looking for. "Something to hold all five of us," she said.

Sharing secrets to longevity
Although rifling through the emotions and mechanics of relationships is an unfamiliar chore for their generation, the five friends agreed that day to discuss the inner workings of their friendship with me and two younger women. Nina van der Pluijm, the regional director for the New Brunswick Department of Health, and Tammy Betts, a physiotherapist, are 30-something career women who met casually three years ago, then grew closer while training for a marathon. Now, though, Nina and Tammy see each other less.

What, we three "outsiders" wanted to know, are the secrets to the longevity of the older women's friendship? How do they ignore or resolve individual differences or clashes? How did they support one another through the twists and turns of their individual lives?

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