On New Year's Eve, I went with my son and his family to lunch at the oldest hotel in Kalamata, which has a comfortable atmosphere and a buffet selection that suits my two grandsons, who are now seven and five.
On entering, I noticed a man and a woman at separate tables. Neither, I judged, would see 80 again, and I sent silent messages of congratulation their way, for Greeks generally hate being alone and hate being seen to be alone even more. But sometimes they have no choice.
Meal over, we were putting our coats on when the old man came over, and addressed my son and his wife. 'I just wanted to congratulate you,' he said, 'on the children's perfect behaviour at table.' Of course this was music to parental and grandmotherly ears: I was proud of Nikitas and Maximus. But then I was proud of their parents as well, for the old man wanted to talk, and did so for at least ten minutes while my son and his wife listened and conversed politely and enthusiastically: Greeks are not embarrassed or awkward in the presence of the old.
Later I mentioned the loneliness of old age to my son, and remarked on the courage those two people had shown in fighting it during the festive season. These matters are still academic to him, but he nodded, while I made a mental note to mention Dylan Thomas's 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goodnight' at an appropriate time.
In rural Greece, it is still considered shameful to instal an old relative in a home, and most aged people see their days out in the bosom of the family. My local shopkeeper, for example, has her mother and her mother-in-law living with her. Both are in their 90s, and are hale and hearty: they take an interest in customers and in doing chores around the shop.
As well as company, routines and habits are important, as I observed again in the case of an old man I saw while waiting for my bus. He'd taken time off from chatting with his cronies near the betting shop in order to tame a recalcitrant branch of jasmine nearby. Between us we managed it, with the aid of his walking stick, and he immediately assumed the air of the pleased and practised gardener.
That same day, I had taken a handwritten journal extract to be photocopied: the piece