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The words that helped me survive the death of my beloved John Thaw, by Sheila Hancock. By. Sheila Hancock. Updated. 0. 0: 1. BST, 2. 4 May 2. 00. I could not have been more miserable. It was Christmas 2. John Thaw had died, the end of a passionate, maddening, fulfilling, obsessive relationship that had spanned 2.

I was clinically depressed, feeling cross and musty and being vile to everyone. My family had gathered about me, but in my persistent grief they were more irritation than consolation. One of the grandchildren pulled a volume of poetry off a shelf and it fell to the floor. I was unnaturally annoyed by the incident. But when I bent to retrieve the book I found it was a collection of verse given to me by John many years earlier.

Life lines: Sheila Hancock has found solace and new hope in poems. Enduring love: Sheila and John in 1.

There was a message from him in the front. It read: 'I love these poems almost as much as I love you.' He had marked one with a cross. It was W. B. Yeats's When You Are Old, which is about the value of a love that endures into old age and beyond.

The middle verse reached out to me. It reads: How many loved your moments of glad grace, / And loved your beauty with love false or true; / But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, / And loved the sorrows of your changing face. Since his death I had been insanely convinced John was coming back and I read a message into the last line which speaks of love's face hidden 'amid a crowd of stars'. I fled England for our house in Provence to find him where the night sky is a canopy of stars. It was ghastly being there alone in winter, not least because the mistral was blowing. I tried unsuccessfully to light the stove - something that had always been John's job. A tiny sooty owl came down the chimney.

I don't know which of us was more startled. I opened the window and watched it fly away. That night, in the home that had long been our joy and refuge, I dreamed John had come back to me. I opened my mouth to call to him, but no words came.

When I reached out to touch him, he turned and walked away and I knew then that he was gone for ever. The following morning I understood I had two choices: to survive my grief or to founder. Season 2 Have And Have Nots.

Memories: Sheila Hancock with John Thaw in 2. When You Are Old    William Butler Yeats   When you are old and grey and full of sleep,    And nodding by the fire, take down this book,    And slowly read, and dream of the soft look    Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;    How many loved your moments of glad grace,    And loved your beauty with love false or true;    But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,    And loved the sorrows of your changing face;    And bending down beside the glowing bars,    Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled    And paced upon the mountains overhead,    And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. From that moment, I began climbing out of my depression.

I accepted I was alone and the more I coped, the more I realised I could cope and the more I felt free. Looking back, finding the Yeats poem was a full stop. Like many great works it touched something inside me, it made me say: 'Ah, yes, I know about that,' and I found solace there. I have always liked poetry. In the manner of art, music, literature and nature, it provides another dimension to life, moving it away from the mundane - shopping, chores - towards the spiritual.

But it was only after I lost John that I truly came to love it. So when I was asked by the BBC to make a programme called My Life In Verse I was delighted to explore the poems that seemed to capture people and places that had mattered to me, and others that had taught me a lesson. I began at our house in France contemplating Yeats and then wound the clock back almost 7. England's Jurassic coast. There Alfred, Lord Tennyson's Break, Break, Break carried me back to a hot summer week in 1.

I was an evacuee. I had been billeted on a rather desiccated old couple in Somerset, but my best friend Brenda Barry, from home in London, was in an idyllic cottage at Dancing Ledge in Dorset and I was allowed to visit her. Sheila aged 1. 0One night we went down to the sea together. Goodness knows why two little girls should have been allowed to go off gallivanting on such a hazardous adventure, alone, in the dark, but I'm glad we did.

We lay on our backs in a tidal pool, holding hands. Even now I still remember the shuddering loveliness of it all, being with someone I loved and who I knew loved me back, embraced by nature: the velvety water, the sound of the waves and the night sky. It was many years later in adulthood that I read Tennyson's poem, which was written about the sudden death of his best friend Arthur Hallam, and recognised that it perfectly expressed my experience with Brenda. He says: And the stately ships go on / To their haven under the hill; / But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, / And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, / At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead / Will never come back to me. He is bereft at the loss of the 'tender grace' and that is precisely what I feel when I read Break, Break, Break and look back on my eight- year- old self.

Break, Break, Break     Alfred, Lord Tennyson   Break, break, break,On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter. The thoughts that arise in me.   O, well for the fisherman's boy,That he shouts with his sister at play! O, well for the sailor lad,That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on.

To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break,At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead. Will never come back to me.

Poetry can crystallise a moment in life. There have been many others. A lot are related to my love for John, his loss and my recovery.

One that stands out was about something else entirely: the conflict between my cherished role as a wife and mother and my professional career, acting. I was in my 4. 0s and had been appointed artistic director of the Royal Shakespeare Company's touring company. It put a huge strain on my family relationships; I was torn between my job and my domestic responsibilities. I was an early feminist and I was proud to be the only female director at the RSC. But the post meant leaving John at home with our three daughters.

I toured the country, including East Anglia where the Fenland landscape suited my sense of insecurity and my disturbed state of mind. I drove around with the roof down on my MG car - I am a speed freak and love elegant cars - listening to William Blake's The Sick Rose set to the music of Benjamin Britten. The Sick Rose is about dark passion and the ultimate complexity of human relationships. It says that love can be dangerous and destructive: O Rose, thou art sick!

The invisible worm, / That flies in the night, / In the howling storm, / Has found out thy bed / Of crimson joy; / And his dark secret love / Does thy life destroy. This is something I understood only too well: my relationship with John was not a nice, cosy one. Those weeks on the Fens with the winds and the grasses and the waterways and the eels and The Sick Rose were the backdrop for a turbulent time. Magic memories: Sheila with daughters Ellie Jane, Joanna and Abigail at Joanna's wedding     Leisure    W. H. Davies    What is this life if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare? No time to stand beneath the boughs,And stare as long as sheep and cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight,Streams full of stars, like skies at night. No time to turn at Beauty's glance,And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can. Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,We have no time to stand and stare. Blue Seduction Online Putlocker. By kind permission of Kieron Griffin, trustee for the Mrs H. M. Davies Will Trust.