NEED TO KNOW
- In 2009, after raising four daughters, Margaret decided to move from Brisbane to London alone with her husband Peter’s support.
- She lived with younger flatmates, teaching English and eventually securing a full-time job at the Royal College of Surgeons.
- Although she and Peter lived on different continents, they remained happily married, regularly visiting each other and travelling together.
- Over the years, their daughters also settled overseas, allowing Margaret to build a life filled with work, friendships, travel and time with her grandchildren.
- Seventeen years on, Margaret remains in London and says she has no regrets about choosing an unconventional marriage, while she and Peter continue planning for the day she returns to Brisbane.
- Margaret Murphy, 73, shares her story…
My darling husband, Peter, looked at me across the dining table.
“I think it’s a good idea,” he said at last.
I exhaled a long sigh of relief. “Really?” I asked, hardly believing it.
“I do,” he replied, smiling. “You deserve it.”
Peter, 64, had always been steady and accommodating, but even so, what I’d just proposed was bold: I wanted to move across the world to London without him.
It was 2009 and we’d been happily married for nearly 30 years.
Our four daughters Natalie, 28, Georgina, 26, Annabel, 24, and Emily, 21, had all grown up and flown the nest.
Until recently, we’d lived a very traditional life – Peter a busy GP and me at home raising our girls.
When they left for university, I decided to go back into education myself.
What started as a one-year post-grad course to teach English as a second language turned into a PhD in Applied Linguistics eight years later.
By the time I’d graduated, I was itching for an adventure.
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Through ancestry, I had a British passport, giving me the right to work in the UK.
We’d lived in the UK before, briefly, with the kids, and the thought of returning there on my own thrilled me.
Peter, however, had no desire to move back.
“It will just be for a year,” I promised.
“That’s fine,” he said gently. “Go. Live your dream.”
I loved him all the more for giving me that freedom.
After Christmas that year, I packed my bags, kissed Peter goodbye and flew to Beijing.
From there, I embarked on a five-week Trans-Siberian rail journey to London, stopping in cities such as Vladivostok, Ulaanbaatar and Moscow to deliver guest lectures at universities along the way.
When I finally arrived in London, the winter sky was pewter grey and my breath fogged the air.
I checked into a little B&B while I searched for a share house.
I’d never lived in one before and assumed there’d be plenty of women my age doing the same.
There weren’t.
Everyone was under 35.
So I moved in with younger flatmates and learnt to share kitchens, bathrooms and stories with strangers.
It was cramped, noisy and sometimes uncomfortable, but gradually I adapted.
I picked up part-time English-teaching work while I hunted for something full-time.
To make friends, I joined a tennis club and became part of a nearby Church of England congregation.
I phoned Peter regularly telling him about what was happening in London.
“I miss your parties,” he admitted once.
In Brisbane, I’d been the one to keep us social.
Now, he was learning to cook, manage the house and build his own routines.
There were times I really missed him, too.
One night I cooked his favourite – homemade roast beef with a glass of red wine – and felt the ache of his absence across the empty table.
But still, the year flew by.
By the following Christmas I was back in Brisbane, blinking in the bright sunlight.
Yet even as I unpacked, I knew I wasn’t done.
“I’m going to need to extend,” I confessed.
“I thought you’d say that,” Peter smiled.
Again, he was supportive.
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The second year was tough.
For 10 months I was unemployed and had to ask Peter for money, which was humbling.
Finally, in 2014, just before I turned 60, I got my first ever full-time job as an education officer at the Royal College of Surgeons.
I was so proud.
“So well deserved,” Peter told me over the phone. “You’re getting on the career ladder when most people are retiring.”
In my third year, I gave up house sharing and moved into a tiny flat in West Hampstead.
At first Peter helped with the rent, but soon I was covering it myself, thrilled by my new independence.
I started a street social group so neighbours could meet one another, organising summer and winter parties twice a year.
When I mingled, and told people my story, they were intrigued.
Peter visited and I introduced him to everyone.
“I can see why you like it here,” he said, looking around my little flat.
In 2015 my youngest daughter Emily came to London for a gap year.
Having her nearby was wonderful.
During that year she met John, fell in love and stayed.
In time they married and had twin boys.
Being able to spend time with my grandsons was a joy I’d never expected.
Annabel met her Dutch partner, Arjan, in Sydney and relocated to Haarlem, near Amsterdam.
I often hopped on the Eurostar to visit her.
The years slipped by like sand through my fingers.
Before I knew it, Peter and I had been living apart for 15 years.
Yet I wasn’t ready to return.
We’re still very much together, still planning for the day I move back to Brisbane.
We see each other every 18 months or so, sometimes in London or Brisbane, sometimes in other cities – New York, Delhi, Johannesburg – making adventures of our reunions.
Yes, there are moments when I question myself.
Am I selfish? Inconsiderate? Self-indulgent?
I’m not doing what society says a good wife and mother should.
That tension never fully disappears.
But then I remind myself of the rewards.
Had I stayed in Brisbane, I wouldn’t have gained the friends, work skills and experiences I now treasure.
I’m also healthier now and more energised than I was because I’m finally doing what I want to do in life.
My life in London has opened the world for Peter, too.
He loves visiting and together we often travel around Europe.
He tells me I’ve expanded his horizons.
Without me being here, he wouldn’t have seen or done half as much.
I’ve written a memoir, A Marriage Interrupted, outlining my alternative model to marriage because so many people ask me about it and I’m currently looking for a publisher.
I know my life isn’t for everyone.
But I’d hate to have reached old age bitter with regrets.
