The folks at the nursing home

I can't remember how much of the backstory I've already give about my attempts to volunteer while abroad, so I'll give a quick recap. Way back in January, when I first arrived at Royal Holloway, I tried to find volunteer opportunities through the campus volunteering organization. As it turned out, the campus "volunteering organization" is little more than an automated email spammer and a load of red tape. After several back and forth emails with an obnoxious computer I located a nursing home in the area at which I planned to volunteer. I had been hoping there was a Royal Holloway student group that volunteered there so that I could meet students... but there wasn't. In fact nobody volunteers at this nursing home, and they seemed surprised that anyone would even inquire....... even though they are in Royal Holloway's poorly constructed volunteerism database. Whatever.

Before the home would allow me to volunteer they wanted to do a background check. So I provided them with 3 forms of ID as well as a reference list. They said they would call when it cleared. This was in January. Over the next few months I would hear from the people I listed as references that they were receiving strange letters via snail mail, etc. I pretty much assumed after awhile that the background check wouldn't clear until I was back in the states. It was frustrating, because all I was trying to do was help! It was not until I was traveling in Europe in April that I received notification that I had cleared my background check. Upon arriving back at Royal Holloway I got in touch with the home and let them know I would still be interested in volunteering, but it would only be for about three weeks, because I'm going home! They said that was fine, and to come in.

On my first day I went and met Martin, the activities coordinator who would act as my "supervisor." He said hello, shook my hand, introduced me to someone and said "you have free reign. Go. Talk." See, when you never have volunteers, I don't think you know what to do when you finally do get one. So for the past couple of weeks I've gone over to the home every couple days when I have a large chunk of time (which is pretty often on this stupid exam schedule), and simply walked around meeting people. With this post I just wanted to write a little about the residents I see most often:

John: John apparently moved into the home relatively recently. He is 85 or 86 years old, and is originally from Scotland. He phrased his age rather ambiguously. I couldn't tell if he meant he was 86 or if he was in his 86th year, which would make him 85, turning 86 on October 24. His wife, Patricia passed away somewhere around a year or less ago, and he has been having a very difficult time coming to terms with it. Understandable when you lose someone you've spent most of your days with since the 1940s. Being a new resident, and someone that clearly could use some company I try to make a point of seeing John both when I first arrive and when I leave. His memory is better than most of the people in the home, and he clearly recognizes me. Occassionally, however, a few lines that are seemingly out of place slip into conversation, and he has trouble remembering people, places and names. Twice he has pulled out a photo album and showed me pictures of Patricia, Patricia's very good friend (married to his own best friend), various members of his family, various homes he has lived in, and various former pets including Blackie, a big black dog, and a very fat white and black cat. John's father was a chemist, and during WWII he wouldn't allow John to enlist until he was 22 years old. When that time came around John enlisted in the RAF. He had a brief stint as a pilot, but wrecked a plane (not in combat) and injured himself. After recovering he returned to the RAF, not as a pilot, but as a member of air-sea rescue. His best friend (the one mentioned earlier) was an RAF pilot. John has a picture on his wall of an RAF battlescene and he insists that it is his best friend piloting the plane in the center of the frame. I'm not sure whether this means he actually was the pilot of that particular plane, or whether he piloted a similar plane. The picture doesn't seem to be a photograph, so I lean towards the latter, but I suppose it doesn't really matter. Fact is, his best friend was an RAF pilot, and John was in air-sea rescue. After the war, John worked in a company that sealed the hulls of ocean-going vessels. I believe he worked in the office/managerial aspect of the company.

Peggy: I don't know nearly as much about Peggy, I suppose because it wouldn't "be proper" to dig deep into her past. Peggy is a very friendly woman. Upon first sight she looks frightfully frail, and you aren't sure she is going to be able to talk with you. Generally she is sitting in complete silence in front of the television with other silent residents. Once you say hello, however, a smile lights up her face and she very articulately returns the greeting and asks how you are. It turns out that Peggy's stance while watching television reveals a lot about her. Many, if not most, of the residents are slouched or reclining as they sit in their seats. This is understandable, of course, as many can do little more than this. Peggy, however, is always sitting up as straight as an arrow. While many residents remain in pajamas for the day, or wear messy clothes, Peggy is always immaculately dressed in a long skirt. You see, despite a mildly faulty memory, Peggy is a lady. As only a woman in Britain could possibly be a lady. When I first met Peggy we were watching a television program in which they try to renovate homes in under 60 minutes. A nurse came to see if Peggy would like to go downstairs to the main room of the home for a possible activity. Peggy hesitated and hinted to the nurse that she did not want to leave because she was afraid I would be offended at her departure. I assured her otherwise and accompanied her downstairs. How could you be anything but a lady when you are served tea promptly at 5pm every day?

Tom: Tom is what you likely picture an elderly blue collar Englishman to be. He is short, talks a lot, and winks a lot. He is "from a family of fifteen," lived only a few miles away in Chertsey, and has never left the country. That means England, not Britain. I.e. he's never been to Scotland. He prides himself on being more mobile and more mentally sound than many other residents. The first floor is where the patients suffering from more severe cases of dementia reside and Tom hopes he doesn't live long enough to ever live on the first floor. Despite his pride in his memory he still finds it difficult to keep my story straight between visits, though he certainly recognizes me and a lot of what we have talked about in the past. Tom's accent is very thick, I don't think it is a cockney accent, but it is somewhere close. It often feels like he is speaking another language. Nevertheless, he is the biggest talker, loves to joke around, and has an opinion about everything. Especially the food. He refuses to eat any of the food served at tea. He says he will eat what they serve when they start serving bread, butter, a block of cheese and an onion. The perfect tea-time snack. While some residents are unable to walk on their own power, most have some mobility with a four-legged walker. Tom hates the walkers and insists he will only ever walk as long as he can walk with his old-fashioned cane. He uses his cane to go outside, unaccompanied and under his own power, on nice days. He sits alone in the garden and smokes a pipe. Given his generally youthful attitude, his memory, and his independence I placed Tom somewhere in the range of mid-80s. He is 98.

Ruth: Ruth has to cope with some significant difficulties. She is completely blind. She is wheelchair bound. And she is almost completely deaf. She can hear with a hearing aid and when you speak loudly very close to her ear. Despite all of this, she is very approachable, friendly and talkative. When you speak to her she likes to hold your hand so that she some idea of where you are. She likes making that connection. She grew up in Staines. To give you an idea of proximity, some of the other Arcadia students and I walked to Staines and back one night in search of ice cream. Having grown up in Staines, she was actually christened in Egham, at a church that is still there. She was christened there 104 years ago. On her 100th birthday she received a letter from the queen, but she isn't sure where it is. At some point in her long life, she never told me when, she somehow happened upon a man getting ready to fly his helicopter (what a bizarre story, I wish I knew more...), and asked if she could go along. He said yes. And then ruth flew in a helicopter over Windsor Castle. Apparently the flight was in all the local papers. As I was speaking with Ruth, Martin (my 'supervisor') came over to say hello to her, and called her "mum." She explained that he called her mum because his own wasn't around. I told her that my mum was back in the US, and though I get to talk to her often, it would be nice to also have a resident English mum for my time in England. So now I have an English mum too (don't worry mom, I'm not killing you off, just trying to make an old lady's day).

There are plenty more residents, but not many more hours to type about them. So, perhaps in future posts.