Recovering

By the greatest good fortune and wonderful prompt care from the doctors and nurses at the Royal Sussex Hospital in Brighton I am recovering.  If you are an old crock like me and you are going to be ill try to get into hospital in Brighton.  The nursing is first class and even the hospital food is very palatable.  Everything is done cheerfully with a smile.

The NHS is utterly reliant on nursing staff from foreign countries.  Although, initially I thought we should leave the EU, for the sake of my young international family I voted Remain.  I am glad I did!

Since coming home I continue to be nursed and fed and watered by Mike and Amanda in addition to all their other tasks.  It is a pleasure to have my elder French grandson here to stay for part of his holidays - and it was lovely to see his little brother and their parents when they dropped him off.

I do as my mother told me and count my blessings.

Sunday

Well here I am, living the life of Riley, lying down on a Sunday afternoon with a cup of tea and some biscuits, being waited on by smiling charming girls who seem to anticipate my every whim.

According to the press I am one of the thousands of elderly bed blockers and persons who need a lot of care from the NHS, to the detriment of the rest of the population.  If you are lucky enough to end up as an emergency in the Royal Sussex County Hospital at Brighton, as I did late last Thursday night, NHS care is excellent and not at all how it is often portrayed in the media.

I've been slowing down a bit over the last few weeks which I had put down to old age.  Reluctantly I followed my doctor's advice to come to hospital for tests to see what was wrong.  How thankful I am that I did, because they are treating me and I am feeling much better and hoping to go home soon.  I was suffering from a shortage of oxygen and a slowing down of the heart, which caused a build-up of fluid in my legs.

Talk about the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, on arrival here I was poked and pummelled in the most peculiar places, pierced with various needles and given strange pills to swallow - all done with the greatest good humour by nursing staff.

Amanda is thinking about taking up residence since she is here so often.  Mike has been in attendance, keeping things going at home, and ferrying us to and fro.  Roger came hotfoot when he heard I was in hospital and was relieved to see I was not at death's door.

I will blog again when I'm settled back at home.

Young musicians

I heartily agree with Julian Lloyd Webber's article in the Times about the dearth of classical music on TV and radio.  The Young Musician of the Year (or 2 years) showed that there is an audience just waiting for this music.  Although some of the music was unfamiliar to me and not the sort I would La-La to these talented youngsters were a delight to watch and listen to.

I then switched to the Queen's 90th Birthday celebration.  The Queen is almost as old as I am.  Did she really enjoy the pop songs that accompanied the musical rides of her beloved horses?  I found it quite incongruous.  Where was the martial music?  I know "pop" means popular but it was HER birthday we were celebrating.

Update - April

We were shocked and saddened to hear of our friend Vic's death.  He will be greatly missed by his friends here and in Australia.

April was a busy month here.  My son and family came from Paris to stay with me while Amanda and Mike holidayed in Spain.  I saw my three grown-up grandchildren and Sarah and Lan also my three great grandsons.  My nephew and his wife and my niece Karen also came to visit.  An opportunity to see Roger and family while they were in England.  Martin came and a former colleague of Roger's.  The front door was busier than 10 Downing Street.

I had a very nice 93rd birthday with many cards and some beautiful flowers and presents.  My dear friends in Denmark remembered me.  So kind of them.  Also my friends from Seaford came for coffee and cake.

I have been told by the doctor that my 15 injections have halted the deterioration in my sight.  It is still not good but hopefully won't get any worse.

I was glad to find my alarm button works.  While I was alone I foolishly decided to move a heavy armchair.  I overbalanced and fell and could not get up.  I thought I can't sit here all evening till someone comes home so I pressed my alarm.  Help came at once.  My neighbours helped me up and an ambulance crew arrived to check I was O.K.  My pride was hurt and so was my bottom but apart from that I shall survive to fight Anno Domini a bit longer.

Lent

We always ate pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Mother said it was to use up the eggs for Lent but I'm sure we still had some: our Saturday lunch of egg and chips and possibly boiled eggs for Sunday tea.  Eggs were cheap and nourishing so Mother probably felt that it was a good enough reason to make an exception. The whole school went to St Mary's Church (next to Lambeth Palace) on Ash Wednesday for a service in the morning and the afternoon was a half holiday.  The cross on the altar was shrouded in a purple cloth and there were no flowers in church.

Lent is not only about giving up things, but also a second chance to renew those resolutions inevitably broken in January.  Our vicar's wife told me she did not look forward to a visit from the Bishop before Easter as he always gave up whisky for Lent, as a result of which he was extremely short tempered.

When the Second World War was over and sweets no longer rationed I did give up chocolate for Lent and have continued to do so - not that I eat a lot of it but it is a real sacrifice. Nowadays one hears of such tales of famine that we who have all we want to eat are fortunate indeed and must spare a thought in our prayers for those suffering from hunger and thirst.

A Night at the Savoy

A chance reference in the Times to an Indian Professor, now living in Cambridge, brought to mind a trip to India some years ago when I first met him.

Holidaying with Don meant one might end up anywhere, sometimes wonderful sometimes not.

Once we spent a week in a Maharajaha's beautiful Summer Palace, now a hotel.  Another time we stayed at Mahabalipurum near Madras.  The English Test Cricket team had just spent a relaxing week there.  The waiter showed me the bedroom where Prince Charles and Mrs. Bandaranika - former president of Sri Lanka - slept.  "Not" he added hastily "at the same time".  When I complimented the chef he took me to see his immaculate kitchen with its tandoori oven!

On one occasion we hit rock bottom.  We went by bus to a small market town.  The bus was already full, but at each stop new arrivals crowded on.  They were obviously regulars.  Don gave up his seat to an elderly lady carrying a scrawny live chicken in a basket, who fixed me across the aisle with a beady malevolent eye (the chicken not the lady).

Don went to the bank and I went to find the Savoy Hotel.  It was in a small garden and didn't look very inviting.  I booked a double room with a bath.  Don came and we went to the dining room for a pot of tea.  There were dozens of flies.  We ate dinner there sitting at a table with a checked cloth - no flies!  Don said they were all in the kitchen.  We hoped the super hot curry would counteract the germs.  Don asked for a sheet for his bed.  He was brought a checked one suspiciously like our tablecloth.

Next morning we saw the aforementioned Indian Professor come out of our bathroom.  We later discovered this was the only bathroom in the hotel!  I hope the Indian Professor does not have to share his present bathroom in England with all comers.

London trams

I recently watched a programme about the history of the tram.  I loved the London trams. In truth they were noisy and took up a lot of road space and you had to walk out to the centre of the road to board them but there was something about their clanging.  They could be driven and braked from either end.  On one occasion I was on a tram in Upper Street, Islington when a van came to a sudden halt in front of us.  Our tram hit the van and knocked it off the rails.  This damaged our brakes and the driver rushed through the careering tram to the rear and put on the brakes at that end.  A hair-raising experience!

I used the tram in April 1939 when I first went to work at 16.  The number 33 went from the end of our road, by St Thomas's Hospital, over Westminster Bridge along the Embankment to the Kingsway Tunnel which ran under the road to Southampton Row.  There was one stop in the tunnel and you then had to mount the stairs to reach the street.  My daily journey was to Holloway Road.  I think my stop was Manor Gardens where the Royal Northern Hospital was opposite the Post Office National Savings Bank building, where I worked at a very boring job as a clerk.

When war was imminent volunteers were asked for to work in Civil Defence.  I hastily applied and was accepted.  I then took the tram in the opposite direction to Brixton Hill.  This was a perilous undertaking.  Being on shift duties meant travelling in the blackout walking to the centre of the road to get on a tram when cars had no headlights!  In 1941, I got transferred to the Home Office in Whitehall, so I just had to walk across Westminster Bridge.  No more trams for me.

I was sad at the demise of the tram in London - although there are some areas now, such as Croydon, where the tram has been re-introduced.

New Year

Here we are at 2016, the beginning of another year.  After more than a week of jollification, cooking and preparing delicious food, we are now getting back to old clothes and porridge.

The highlight of the Christmas holidays was the day when my three grown-up grandchildren came to visit, bringing my three little great-grandsons.  It seemed so appropriate to have a baby in the house at Christmas and to have three brought three times the joy.  Jack, Beau and Lucas met each other for the first time.

I am very fortunate to live to this age and to see these so-welcome additions to the family.

Today is rather a grey day but still not unduly cold.  A & M have been tidying the garage and various treasures have come to light, including my mother's set of brass-topped dominoes and two dolls - a present from Czech Folk Dancers from the 1960s.

I have been listening to my audio book - an account of a wartime diary.  For the first time ever I read about the ringing of church bells on November 15th 1942, the day Ernie and I got married.  Church bells had been silent for 3 years only to be rung if there was a German invasion, but after the relief of El Alamene in North Africa it was a great victory and a turning point in the war, so on that Sunday church bells were rung.  (It sounds unusual to be married on a Sunday, but during the war one got married whenever one's fiance had leave, and by then Ernie was training for aircrew.)