The seven rules for finding love in your 70s

Following news of Maureen Lipman’s engagement at 78, Val Stewart Howard shares tips for love in your eighth decade

When I first met Alvin at college, I was 17 and he was 19. He was training to be a geography teacher, and I was on my way to becoming a bilingual secretary. We had a brief romance, but I never forgot him. He was my first love.
I went on to marry twice, had two children, and built a career as a youth and community worker, and later a podiatrist. Alvin married his late wife, Judith, and was together with her for 46 years and built a career as an architect. We may never have met again but fate had different plans.
It was 2016, and I was crossing a market square in Keswick, where I was living and working, when a man called my name. I did a double take. There was Alvin, my first love standing in front of me. I couldn’t believe it. He was with his wife Judith at the time, who was in a wheelchair, and we briefly caught up.
In early 2019, Alvin reached out again, after Judith had passed away following a long illness. It wasn’t easy for him; he was surrounded by grief and wanted to talk about anything but loss. So, we talked. For hours. About life, the Lake District where I lived, our families, and the many roads we had each travelled. These conversations were the beginning of something deeper.”
One thing I’ve learned about love in your 70s is that communication is everything. You don’t have the luxury of decades ahead to learn someone’s quirks slowly or hope they’ll change. Alvin and I spent months talking into the night, sometimes on the phone, sometimes over FaceTime, while he cooked in his kitchen, 300 miles away, and I did the same in mine. We covered everything – our shared past, our hopes for the future, our struggles, and our children. That’s the thing about finding love later in life: you need to talk. A lot.
When we met in person again, in August 2019, after months of phone conversations. I just knew I wanted to be with him. At 70, there’s no time to waste pretending. Luckily, Alvin felt the same. We got engaged that very day. Alvin proposed properly on one knee in the sitting area off our rooms and already had a Celtic costume jewellery ring, just in case I accepted which he had had made from a designer he knew I liked, with a period stone.
Some might say it was too quick, but when you’re in your eighth decade, you don’t wait around. We were married just over a year later, in September 2020, during a brief window between lockdowns, surrounded by only our closest family and friends.
When you’re older, you learn that there’s no time for resentment or holding onto grudges. We’ve both had previous marriages, we’ve both been through hard times, and we’ve both had to let go of the past. But even so, it was heartbreaking to leave my life and house behind in the Lake District because Alvin needed to live in Melksham near Bath for work.
It was very difficult to move into the home Alvin had shared with his wife for decades, but I didn’t want us to live apart.
I’m a firm believer in saying what you mean and not tiptoeing around issues. Alvin and I have a rule: we talk things through, even if it’s uncomfortable. If we disagree on something – whether it’s how to arrange furniture in our new home (we’ve just moved into a new house) or who’s in charge of the washing up (he prefers to hand-wash, I prefer the dishwasher) – we say it straight. The key is to communicate openly and honestly, but also with kindness. We laugh at each other’s stubbornness, have learned to compromise, and forgive the rest.
One of the joys of finding love later in life is having the time and the inclination to truly enjoy your shared interests. Alvin and I love music – he’s incredibly knowledgeable about classical compositions, and I sing, so we find a lot of joy in attending concerts together. We also enjoy walking, especially in the Lake District. Though life has been busy with house renovations, we always make time for the simple pleasures: a good detective series on TV and a cosy night in. These shared moments are the building blocks of our relationship.
It’s not always easy navigating new family dynamics. Alvin’s daughter, Charlotte, struggled with our relationship at first. She was grieving for her mother, and it wasn’t easy for her to accept me, especially so soon after her mother’s death. But over time, we’ve found a cautious, respectful balance. I’ve learned to give her space, and she’s learned to accept me as part of her father’s life.
On my side, my children, Douglas, 40, who lives in Montana in the States, and Naomi, 36, who’s nearby in Oxfordshire, have been supportive. They were definitely shocked at how quickly we got engaged, but they could see how happy I was and gave us their blessing.
At 75, we’re attracted to each other because of who we are, not how we look. There’s a comfort in that. The intensity of physical passion may not be the same as it was in our youth, but that doesn’t mean the spark isn’t there. It’s just evolved. Now, it’s about trust, and the joy of being in each other’s company.
In your 70s, you both come with experiences, relationships, and baggage that have shaped who you are today. To make it work, you need to respect those past lives, listen without judgement, and accept that they have made your partner the person they are. While you don’t need to share everything at once, open conversations about important topics like family, money, religious faith and values are essential for building a strong foundation.
Finally, love in your 70s comes with a freedom that’s hard to find when you’re younger. You’re not worried about impressing anyone. You’ve been through enough to know what really matters. For Alvin and me, it’s about being together, enjoying life, and supporting each other in whatever comes next. As we look toward the future, whether that’s moving north again or continuing to travel and enjoy our time together, we know one thing for sure: it’s never too late to fall in love again.
As told to Suzy Walker