DON’T worry, this is not going to be about Prince Philip. He will feature but only in passing, and not because of his status as the so-called ‘father of the nation’, as Lindsay Hoyle, the Speaker of the House, dubiously called him, but because he attained such a venerable age. Rather, it is about his children, and all those of us who are fortunate enough to have parents who live long and healthily into their dotage. And about the parents themselves.

The sight of Prince Charles, at the front door of Highgrove, paying tribute to his ‘dear Papa’ would have moved all but the stoniest hearts. Losing a parent is hard enough without having to face the cameras to express your grief. What was striking, however, was that not so very long ago, Charles, at 72, would have been seen as not merely old, but comfortably past his sell-by date. That he, and his sister and brothers, are only now bereft of their father is an extraordinary statement about our times. Meanwhile, their mother is a robust 94, with every prospect of good years ahead.

Prince Philip’s great age will doubtless be attributable in part to genetic inheritance, and in part to the medical attention someone of his prominence and wealth would receive. Yet while making it to 99 is rare, it is not unique to the rich and titled – Captain Tom managed it, before succumbing to Covid. In an era of universal health care, reaching a ripe old age is no longer a cast-iron indicator of class or income, although sadly these do continue to play a role.

More significant is the general health of the population. In 1908, when the law providing for the first state pension was passed, average life expectancy in the UK was 47 for men, 50 for women. By that standard the Duke of Edinburgh enjoyed more than twice the Edwardian norm. Today, those figures are in the region of 79 and 83, or 81 overall, although as everyone is all too aware, people in deprived postcodes die far younger than the statistics suggest. For some households, and indeed entire communities, for a senior member to live almost a century remains the stuff of science fiction.

Increasingly, though, children reach middle age with at least one parent around. They are often drawing their pension before they gain the unwelcome distinction of reaching what you might call the family front line. It is a slightly disconcerting thought. In the space of less than a century, the once fixed pattern of generational transition has been expanded, almost beyond recognition. Where children formerly were lucky if they were born in time to meet their grandparents – my father’s father died a decade before I was born – now it is commonplace for obituaries to include not just a list of the deceased’s children and grandchildren but of great-grandchildren too.

With their mother or father living well into their 80s and 90s, those who are otherwise independent adults, with families of their own, still also remain in some sense children. Or, to put it the other way, the role of parents has for some become a 70-year long-haul journey rather than a 20-year sprint.

Nobody now blinks when youngsters continue to live at home well into their twenties or thirties, leaving and returning like migrating wildebeest as relationships, careers and accommodation needs fluctuate. Yet a mere half a century ago, it was assumed that a child would be financially free-standing after they left school or further education and found a job. If they still lived at home, then a nominal rent would usually be expected. It was not just a question of the household budget unable to accommodate additional grown-ups who did not pay their way. Parent-child boundaries were governed by a firm and even rigid idea of what was appropriate and respectful. Modern mums or dads who suffer empty nest syndrome when the last child heads out the door might be shocked to learn that their own parents breathed a sigh of relief when their brood fled the coop and they finally got their lives back.

In virtually all respects longevity is a win-win for every family member. Children often don’t properly know or indeed appreciate their parents until they have grown older and wiser. The same is true in reverse. Once your kids are raised and established, it is possible to have a different kind of rapport with them. Offering economic help can play a part, but the defining feature of modern parenting is emotional support and involvement. Occasionally this can go too far, to the detriment of youngsters finding their own feet, or of parents not learning to press the release button. Yet excessive interest or interference is, arguably, less damaging than too little attention.

And in time, roles inevitably reverse. As they grow frail, elderly relatives are no longer taken into children’s homes to live out their final days, as was once the case. My Linlithgow grandmother recalled the terror the poorhouse held when she was a child. It was the last resort for the senile and indigent who had nobody to look after them. These days, the care home has replaced it for dread. Yet the ongoing attention given to parents by their family as they start to decline is part of the lifeblood of society. At one end of the spectrum there are grandparents helping with child care, at the other silver-haired retirees acting as guardians and carers for their mum or dad.

The big difference today is that when what Dickens called the Aged P does depart, their children are not so far from the exit either. In losing somebody who has been in their life for upwards of eighty or ninety years, they are saying goodbye to part of themselves. I was startled recently when a friend in her sixties, whose father had died some years earlier, described herself as orphaned on her mother’s death. It’s a term usually associated with children, yet it was a powerful way of describing how deeply she felt her loss, and how overnight her place in the world had shifted.

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