Jo Caulfield will never forget walking the West Highland Way to raise money for Macmillan Cancer in 2021.
She and her friends were blighted by blisters and lost toenails and one of the party suffered three broken bones in his foot on the first day of their 97-mile journey.
The West Highland Way journey wasn’t easy, their legs were aching and they all felt as if their bones had been pummelled by rocks, which wasn’t so wide of the mark – but then again, every step that Jo took was in honour of her beloved sister, Annie, a prolific and highly-regarded stage, TV and radio dramatist who died of cancer in 2016 at the age of 57.
Loss leaves a gaping void
As a comedian and actress, she was used to hearing the adage “the show must go on”, but that couldn’t prepare her for the gaping void which suddenly existed in her life. When you’ve grown up with an older sibling for company, it’s not so much that you take them for granted as you simply can’t envisage them not being there any more.
And forget about time acting as some spurious healer. Yes, it may bring acceptance, but in other respects, it simply leaves so many questions which will never be answered.
Jo, who is herself now 57, has written a book The Funny Thing About Death which addresses all these issues from anger, aching sadness and mystification to marvelling at the hospice care in Britain and observing the excruciating banality of people’s efforts to respond to something which will happen to all of us. And it is by turns scabrous, side-splitting, searingly honest and, perhaps above all, a love letter to a kindred spirit.
The late Joan Rivers was once asked if she had ever got over the death of her mother and replied: “I’m not sure you’re supposed to.” But just look at Jo’s reflections on that when I asked if she could understand the sentiment.
She’d have been a fabulous old lady
She said: “You get over grief in that you learn to live with it and you still function, but it changes you forever. And I don’t think we want to ‘get over it’. Grief is your way of showing your love for the person who has died, it’s your way of keeping them still with you. Like a scar that you run your finger over.
“Annie was my older sister, she was here when I was born and I hadn’t lived a day without her, so I am very conscious that I have no footsteps to follow now.
“We used to talk about when we’d be old ladies together, how we’d go shoplifting and say whatever we felt like and not give a damn because we were in our 80s. I don’t know if I’ll live to be an old lady, but I do know that I will have to do that on my own, without my big sister to guide me. She would’ve been a fabulous and outrageous old lady.”
Last precious weeks with sister
The idea of growing old outrageously appeals to many people, but, behind the scenes, death is still regarded as a taboo subject, which explains the plague of TV adverts with euphemisms about “making memories”, leaving “a lump sum for loved ones” and getting a free Parker pen from Parky for joining a well-known insurance firm.
Jo doesn’t gloss over any of the more ridiculous aspects of this, but she was impressed by the manner in which hospice staff worked tirelessly to make Annie’s last days as peaceful and even pleasurable as possible, given the circumstances.
As she recalled: “The worst part of cancer is not the treatment, as brutal as the treatment is, and it is; the worst part is when they say you can’t have any more treatment, because your body can’t take it.
“That was when our Macmillan nurse found Annie a place in a hospice. It seems a strange thing to say, but I have really happy memories of it.
“We were able to enjoy the precious last weeks with Annie, without stress, knowing she was getting the very best care.
Gallows humour exists in these times
“We laughed a lot, I remember wheeling Annie’s bed out into their gardens with her best friend Sarah, who is 5ft nothing. When we tried to wheel her back, Sarah somehow got swept under the bed and I couldn’t get the bed through the door, we were all aching with laughter. We would bring in wine and tell stories about Annie, as the morphine was increased she was less and less aware, but I hope it was nice to drift away peacefully with sound of people who love you laughing. Always with one of us holding her hand.
“It is something people don’t want to talk about, how we die. Governments don’t provide for it as it’s not a vote winner. Hospices are vital to the terminally ill and their families but fundraising is often difficult and they rely almost totally on donations.
“A fundraiser for St Columba’s said to me: ‘We don’t have happy endings to show people, there’s no photo of a cute kitten in its new home; that’s why Cats Protection get all the bloody money”.
Book is full of humanity
The book, as you might expect, isn’t always an easy read – why should it be? – but the pages are packed with humanity and provide a reminder that laughter isn’t simply for the good times, but what gets you through the tears.
It also offered motivation during that aforementioned Highland charity odyssey. As Jo told me: “I was the entertainment at a lunch to raise money for Macmillan Cancer Support and the organiser was an amazing woman called Carolyn McKeown.
“That woman has magic powers of persuasion and, somehow by the end of the lunch, I had agreed to walk the West Highland Way for Macmillan Cancer. I just had to get some friends to do it with me and we would walk under the Team McKeown banner.
Living life with a razor sharp wit
“Three friends agreed to walk with me and we raised over £18k. I am ashamed to say that I was one of the slowest walkers, cursing Carolyn and her persuasive powers with every step, but what a sense of achievement there was at the end.”
Joy and pain. That bittersweet combination has been a part of Jo’s comedy routines for many years and she will be returning to the stage with fresh material – not least about her Granite City husband, Kevin Anderson – at the forthcoming Edinburgh Festival.
She said: “Yes, I am doing a new stand-up show called Razor Sharp every day at The Stand Comedy Club. It’s me talking about everything that has happened since the last festival [including] my embarrassing encounter with a man who turned out not to be a taxi driver, and yes, I was sitting in the back seat of his car.
Nationwide tour
“Also, I will be talking about my Aberdonian husband, we have been together over 25 years, but every year I find new things about him that annoy me….that’s the secret to a healthy relationship, isn’t it?
“In September I will be going on a nationwide tour with my stand up show Here Comes Trouble. There are also some appearances at different book festivals, so it is going to be a busy few months. I will be adding some Scottish dates in the autumn [of 2024], so if you would like me to visit your town, get in touch.”
She’s constantly looking ahead, thanking her lucky stars, albeit with an ever-present sense there’s something missing. But, as she said: “I am now older than Annie was when she was diagnosed with lung cancer. I feel so young.”
And there’s still so much she wants to do.
The Funny Thing About Death is published by Polygon.
5 questions for Jo Caulfield
- What book are you reading? Non-fiction: How Westminster Works and Why It Doesn’t by Ian Dunt. Fiction: Milkman by Anna Burns.
- Who’s your hero/heroine? Mick Lynch, secretary general of RMT union and Pat Cullen, general secretary and chief executive of RCN union.
- Do you speak any foreign languages? No, but I am on a 160-day streak trying to learn Spanish on Duolingo. I have learned how to tell my grandparents about my university which is of absolutely no use to me.
- What’s your favourite music or band? Punky pop with a hint of ska.
- What’s your most treasured possession? My garden.
