Farewell Monica
About ten years ago I sat in a icy mobile SAfm radio studio in Grahamstown during the Festival. I was “driving the desk” for a recording that was taking place. Behind the microphone was Monica Fairall, and her guest was a holistic healer of some sort who specialised a swinging crystal pendulum that was meant to realign something or other to make you better. It was vaguely interesting but, honestly, I was more anxious about when I would get to have my next cigarette. The interview ended, I bolted outside onto the pavement and lit up. The guest left, trailing a cloud of incense and clutching her crystals (I swear I saw a lentil fall out of her skirtfolds). Monica joined me on the pavement. “Come on Monica,” I said “Seriously?” Monica just smiled at me – her twinkling, understanding smile, neither patronising nor preachy. I can’t remember her exact words and it is tempting to make them up to give the full effect. But I don’t need to – her words weren’t important. Her demeanour was. Monica was intrigued in the world of health and gave lentil lady as much time to express her views as she did nicotine-soaked me. It was just one moment out of the time I knew Monica that stands out.
And it came flooding back to me this morning when Marion (my former PA at SAfm) phoned to tell me that Monica had passed away last night. Whenever someone dies those of us left behind are usually rendered speechless, and it’s hard not to fall back on cliché…they all get trotted out: “a life cut short”, “a great person who will always be remembered for…[insert dripping description of their smile/laugh/generosity of spirit etc]” For those of us who are born cynics, death is an uncomfortable thing to face. Because the clichés suddenly seem wholly appropriate, the English language so completely inadequate, and any natural cynicism has to be put on the back burner.
I’ve just googled “Monica Fairall” to see what had been written about her since her death last night. Not much – a story on East Coast Radio news and a couple of posts from people who knew her on their own blogs and websites. Some tender words. But not enough to pay tribute to one of this universe’s gems.
No matter how many words I type here I can’t begin to do justice to a woman who was a walking saint – one of life’s most generous, warm, loving, gracious and tolerant human beings. I chose each of those words carefully…not because I was grasping for them, but because each is so absolutely utterly true of Monica.
Inevitably the eulogies will all make mention of the fact that she won the Miss South Africa title. But the truth is that Monica was the least beauty-queen like person I knew. Not because she wasn’t beautiful, she was, but because the modern day beauty pageants with glittering swimsuits and ballgowns are from a world that was so foreign to the warmth, humility and humanity Monica possessed. Monica was grounded and centered.
Yes – that’s it. The best possible word to describe Monica: centered. She didn’t need crystals, nicotine, eucalyptus leaves or anything else. She was so utterly calm, radiant and “together” that when former colleague and friend Dianne Kohler-Barnard told me a couple of weeks ago that Monica was seriously ill I just couldn’t picture it. It was – and is – impossible to picture her frail from illness or needy. But she was, because she, like the rest of us, is human.
But somehow she always seemed more human than almost anyone else I have ever met. It wasn’t just her smile that twinkled – on countless occasions while presenting on SAfm I had to talk to her live on air – mostly for one of her Health reports but for a while to take over the programming from her when her show was on before mine. The twinkle was always there in her voice, even though she was usually sitting hundreds of kilometres away in the Durban studio. I was the naughty son she never had, she was the mentor, nurturer and cheerleader to all things good in life. She sounded as warm and friendly on the radio as she did on the telephone, even when life was flinging curveballs at her from every direction.
As I write this I’m in Grahamstown again. It’s freezing cold outside. It’s probably exactly the same time of year we met lentil lady. And when I light my next cigarette I know Monica will heave a sigh, shrug her shoulders and smile. Uncritical, unjudgemental. Just serene. And centered.
Rest in peace, Mon. You did good here on earth. You’ll be missed.
Beautifully said, Tony. RIP Monica.
Well, that certainly had me weeping early this morning. Beautifully written – nothing else needs to be said. You are so right about her smile …. you could almost see & hear it across the airwaves. May she rest in pece.