The End!

LUCY’S FINAL COLUMN
Endlo…1
We’ve been together now for 44 years. No, not me and himself, I mean me and the good old Derby Telegraph, side by side from single parenthood to grandmother-hood. And what a lot we’ve packed in during that time.
So I’ll get straight to the point. I’m off, finished, kaput, over the hill, worn out, and if I’m not exactly suffering from writer’s block, I feel I’m past my sell-by date. They say that journalism is one of the few jobs where no two days are the same, and I’ve been privileged to be part of that profession since leaving school.
And what a journey it has been. From chasing ambulances and fire engines and sitting in council chambers and draughty courtrooms as a news reporter, through the 20 years I spent as women’s editor and feature writer, to more years than I can count as a columnist, it has been a roller-coaster ride. During that ride, I’ve been run ragged by at least nine editors – some of them, including the current incumbent, I’ve know since they were trainee reporters – countless news and sub-editors, and wallowed in the friendship and camaraderie of hundreds of colleagues.
The profession has taken me to places, and to meet people, most folk could only dream about, coming across the lowest forms of pond life on the crime scene, to following in the wake of visiting Royals, and interviewing stars of stage and screens large and small, and sports fields. But the greatest satisfaction has always been in the local stories of human interest, of triumph over adversity, of drawing attention to the plight of others which often led to positive action from the powers-that-be.
As goes with the territory of writing a column, I’ve made a few enemies along the way, back in the days when I was more hard-hitting, taking to task governments, city fathers, supercilious celebrities, anybody of high opinions and low morals who got up my nose. And through it all, I retired only twice!
But there has always been one constant – you, my loyal readers, and heck, I’m going to miss you.
You who have sustained me through the often rickety path of the life I have shared with you, in unabashed and totally honest detail, throughout the thirty-odd years of a weekly column. Along with the joy of life – grandchildren spring to mind - you’ve seen me through operations for varicose veins, wisdom teeth, and cataracts. They were the soft, sometimes jovial, options. But how can I ever forget the outpouring of support and love which came, via letters, cards, prayers, phone, and the supermarket queue, when son Matthew died at Christmas 1995. Similarly, four years later, when I was in a horrendous car accident in Mallorca, followed a week later by the dreaded diagnosis : breast cancer.
Oh, I had the love and strength of a wonderful, close family. But in both instances, you, dear readers, were my guardian angels and counsellors. Thank you all for that backbone and friendship you gave.
But the time is right to go. No aspiring woman-who-lunches, domestic goddess, should be working at pushing seventy. We’ll be celebrating that birthday, and the third retirement, with a family and friends bash at Littleover Lodge Hotel, with Elvis tribute star Aaron singing all those significant songs. It will be a great "do", in the capable hands of our front of house friend Antonello Pitzettu and organiser Wendy Bagshawe.
If I summon up the courage to make a speech, long-suffering husband John, son Simon, daughter-in-law Claire, grandchildren Jacob and Grace, and friend Rose Kennedy – all who’ve been often unwilling subjects of this column - will be mentioned in dispatches. So, too, will you out there. Even in retirement, you will be, in the words of Elvis and Aaron, always on my mind.
So, Lucy has left the building…. thankyou and goodnight.