Hazelle Ruth Eastman

Hazelle and I met for the first time on our first day at university. In October 1968, over fifty years ago, we both started on the European Studies course at Exeter University. There were about a dozen of us. There were some choices: French or German, Biology or Geography; we studied six subjects in all, but Music was for two years only. This was also a choice subject, but I do not recall its partner. We all studied English Literature, History, and the History and Philosophy of Science.

Hazelle and I were, I suppose, kindred spirits. I was terribly insecure, very lacking in confidence, a fish out of water. I met only one other student that year who was in receipt of the maximum student grant of £360 — I also received a travel allowance and a book allowance. other students came from very different, privileged backgrounds. On the first day, when we moved into the Birks hall of residence, Lord Soper, the president of the Methodist conference, brought his daughter in a Rolls Royce, as did the MP Sir Geoffrey de Freitas. We dozen students were joined a few days later by a young man who came to visit his sister and was given a place on the course. His name was Rupert. It was the first time I had ever met somebody with that name, and I was secretly hysterical. Boys in Moss Side did not have names like that. 

Hazelle came from London, and like me had unpretentious origins. She was an only child. I met her parents once when I visited her at her home, where her parents lived separate lives, her father upstairs and her mother downstairs. Looking at the public records suggests that Hazelle was born out of wedlock, and that her parents stayed together for decency's sake, marrying when she was eighteen months old, and her being fully legitimised with an amendment to her birth certificate in 1966 when she was 17.

I believe her childhood home was at 2 Elsinore Road, Forest Hill, in SE23.

Research on the internet shows that Hazelle went to Sydenham School, where she was awarded form prizes in 1963 and 1964. In 1966 she participated when the school recorded an LP. Hazelle was musical, and I recall that she played the oboe in the university orchestra where I played the double bass.

I remember that hazelle, probably in our first or second year, invited me to join her on a course outing to a barbecue one evening on Dartmoor. I believe we travelled all together in the back of a cattle truck, and on the way back everybody sang Beach Boys songs, something that was totally new to me — I rememb er in particular the song 'I want to go home'. Playing it again now brings tears to my eyes. The song then was quite new, having been released in 1966.

It was probably in July 1970 that Hazelle asked me to be her partner for the summer ball at her hall of residence, Lopes Hall. It was a happy event, we were good friends, we both probably got a little tipsy from the look of it. We did not have a romantic attraction, but we felt safe and comfortable in each other's company.
1970–1971 was our third and last year, the year of our finals. The stress of studying for our finals became intense. In the spring of 1971 Hazelle had a nervous breakdown, and became a patient at Digby, then Exeter's large psychiatric or 'mental' hospital. I supported her through this, going out there on my Lambretta scooter, sitting and chatting with her, listening as she told me how she had become convinced she was a witch, describing the strange occurrences that pushed her over the edge, such as gazing in the bathroom mirror and seeing a toy model of a witch on a broomstick. I think Hazelle underwent electroconvulsive therapy, which shocked and terrified me. I hope she did not have too much. I got to know another student who was also a patient like Hazelle. I got used to how, every time i went back to visit, he had completely forgotten me or who I was: his memories were completely wiped away.
Hazelle was unable to sit her final examinations, which was probably for the better, as they were pretty chaotic. Our finals paper for English Literature asked questions on completely the wrong books, which we had not studied. A couple of people broke down in tears and left the room. I raised the problem with the invigilators, who advised that we either made up our own questions or attempted to answer questions on books we had not read. Similarly, with the Biology paper: the first question was compulsory, but a whole line had been omitted from the question. Again it fell to me to raise the problem, and we were advised to individually guess what the missing line might have said.
At the degree ceremony on July 6th 1971 I was handed my diploma by Deborah, the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire. I do not remember if Hazelle attended, perhaps she did, but I do remember that she was awarded an aegrotat degree, in other wards to was too ill to sit the final examinations.
I believe that Hazelle did make a good recovery, and she went on to take a job teaching English at a language school in Bari in Southern Italy. I do not recall the year, but probably in about 1973 or 1974 I joined my parents for a camping holiday with them and my young brother at Caorle, on the Adriatic coast not too far from Venice. I used to escape for long walks, or by catching a train to go and photograph monumental and ethnic cemeteries in Venice and Trieste. With their permission I invited Hazelle to join us for a week or two at Caorle, and she took the train for the extremely long journey from Bari to Portogruaro, the nearest railway station. It was only a few days later that Hazelle and myself both fell ill with a stomach bug, and we were both weak and vulnerable. I do not know why, but both my parents not only took a dislike to my friend and guest, they insisted that she leave, despite her being unwell. I was so hurt by this, but it also marked the moment when I grew up and separated from my parents. Upon my return to England I interrupted the habit I had of calling my parents at least twice weekly, and of regularly returning to Manchester. I had had enough, and needed to find my own identity.
Hazelle too carried on with her life. I think it was about this time that she took a post with the Council of Europe in Brussels, though I am unsure of the correct sequence of these events. I was proud of her, how she had recovered from her breakdown, how she had made a career for herself, and how she worked abroad, strong and independent. We kept in touch always, exchanging letters, and I produced an occasional newsletter for the alumni of our year of the course.

I think it was in the spring or summer of 1978 that Hazelle asked if she could come and stay the weekend with me at my maisonette in St Albans. I did not know that she meant to make a full man of me and a full of woman of herself, and I have always treasured the memory of that weekend together. We helped each other to grow, and to break through the bonds that restrained us. Ours couldn't be a permanent relationship, we knew we weren't meant for each other, but we cared for and about each other always.
I was delighted to discover through the internet the letter that Hazelle wrote to Spare Rib in 1980, illustrating this growing personal strength. This was a surprise to me, but I discovered and read it with pride, warmth and approbation. I remain proud of her.

Spare Rib, Issue 98, September 1980

Hazelle continued to grow, and formed relationships and found a partner. I was invited to her wedding in April 1982, but then I was living in Bideford, with no income, and reluctant to be a ghost at the wedding.

This letter from Hazelle is undated, but must come from those years, probably about 1983. It brings back many memories, including a reference to Danny and Liz who came from New Zealand last weekend to visit me, and I reminisced with them about the party mentioned in this letter, and how I met them through Hazelle at the party somewhere in London.
I believe her husband suffered a serious motorcycle accident at some time after the move to Norfolk but that he fortunately survived.
Three years ago when I was told I was terminally ill I thought of the people who had touched me in their lives. I traced Colette in Dublin and we have corresponded. I tried to trace Maïthé who I last saw in Paris ten years ago, and I tried once more to try and trace Hazelle, with whom I had long ago lost contact, though I had a memory of a move to Norwich. Searching on the internet in November 2016 whilst on the train to go to the airport to fly toTrieste after returning to Exeter following my mother's funeral I took advantage of the unusual spelling of Hazelle’s forename to do another search and was pained to discover this photograph of her gravestone. Reading between the lines I guess that her marriage had ended and that it is likely that she took her own life. I remember her and want others to know about her.

Hazelle Ruth Turner grave monument
(www.gravestonephotos.com)