unfair that your achievements can be snatched away so cruelly, just because you need help to support yourself. I ask Harry discreetly if he had ever been close to marriage.
He laughs. ‘Do you think I have never been with a woman?’
Mortified, I splutter: ‘No! That wasn’t what I meant at all. I just wondered why someone as handsome as you never got married?’
I glanced over at a faded black and white picture of Harry and his brother in their Navy uniforms, their goofy pose captured in time. Jimmy had never come back from the War. Just weeks after the picture was taken, they had been sent off to different vessels and Jimmy had died in a torpedo attack on his ship; Harry had been on the aircraft carrier flagship and he had seen the flames and explosions from a distance.
‘The one and only time I prayed,’ he solemnly informed me. ‘I prayed that he was alive and that if he wasn’t, that it was quick.’ I looked at Harry in silence, not knowing how to reply to that. His alarm clocked ticked away to fill the void. Harry glanced at a bird pecking at some stale bread thrown out the window of the kitchens and then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, said:
‘Besides, being the hunk that I was, I never got around to choosing just one woman. There was just too much damn choice.’ His eyes sparkled at the memory. ‘And another thing; don’t think all the girls were virtuous in those days. So long as you didn’t get in the club you were fine.’ I stifle a shocked laugh at the biggest player of his day.
Despite Harry’s chattiness to me, he never repeated his intriguing tales in our regular reminiscence groups.
‘Can’t get a word in for all those bloody wimmin,’ was his excuse.
It was around this time that I met Paul. He had come to give us a talk on Dementia. He was around for three days, to make sure he covered those on days off and all the senior staff. Paul wandered around the centre, whistling tunelessly. Everywhere he went I witnessed the old dears taking out their hearing aids, shaking and fiddling with them in a confused manner. Paul was very shy with me, despite being able to stand up and talk to a room full of people, and blushed even if I asked him if he fancied a cup of tea. Every time he popped into the day room, Maisie, an eighty six-year-old ‘Dementia sufferer’ would nudge me knowingly.
‘Don’t be daft,’ I’d say. ‘He doesn’t fancy me!’
‘You’re lucky I have no memory, hen,’ Maisie stated. ‘Otherwise, I’d be most offended that you called me daft.’ It was our little joke.
‘Well, I guess I am lucky, Maisie’.
‘Lucky in what way, dear?’ Maisie would reply. We would both laugh.
It was her little play on “forgetfulness.” If the Social Work department knew she had more marbles than she cared to admit, she would be out on her ear from the place she loved and into sheltered housing.
One afternoon Paul came in with his empty cup.
‘Erm, so… What you up to tonight then, er, Lucy?’
Fifteen wrinkled and expectant faces look our way.
‘I’m on early tomorrow,’ I say apologetically. ‘Planning a bath and an early night,’ I lie.
‘No! She’s on the back shift,’ informs Bessie. ‘Don’t you play hard to get, Missy.’
‘Carry on, son,’ encouraged Sadie.
Paul looked at his feet and shuffled uncomfortably, giving me the perfect opportunity to shoot a warning look at Bessie. She smirked and winked in return.
‘Well, if you like, there’s a new restaurant opened on Rose Street. I thought, maybe …’ he trailed off.
‘She’d love to,’ shouted Maisie from the kitchen. OK, I think we can rule out deafness along with marble loss.
‘Well, yeah, all right,’ I agreed reluctantly, feeling under duress and knowing full well I‘d never hear the end of it otherwise. I can’t be bothered with a boyfriend at the moment. I like my life the way it is. But, at that moment, I had no say in the matter – and we left the room to a
He laughs. ‘Do you think I have never been with a woman?’
Mortified, I splutter: ‘No! That wasn’t what I meant at all. I just wondered why someone as handsome as you never got married?’
I glanced over at a faded black and white picture of Harry and his brother in their Navy uniforms, their goofy pose captured in time. Jimmy had never come back from the War. Just weeks after the picture was taken, they had been sent off to different vessels and Jimmy had died in a torpedo attack on his ship; Harry had been on the aircraft carrier flagship and he had seen the flames and explosions from a distance.
‘The one and only time I prayed,’ he solemnly informed me. ‘I prayed that he was alive and that if he wasn’t, that it was quick.’ I looked at Harry in silence, not knowing how to reply to that. His alarm clocked ticked away to fill the void. Harry glanced at a bird pecking at some stale bread thrown out the window of the kitchens and then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, said:
‘Besides, being the hunk that I was, I never got around to choosing just one woman. There was just too much damn choice.’ His eyes sparkled at the memory. ‘And another thing; don’t think all the girls were virtuous in those days. So long as you didn’t get in the club you were fine.’ I stifle a shocked laugh at the biggest player of his day.
Despite Harry’s chattiness to me, he never repeated his intriguing tales in our regular reminiscence groups.
‘Can’t get a word in for all those bloody wimmin,’ was his excuse.
It was around this time that I met Paul. He had come to give us a talk on Dementia. He was around for three days, to make sure he covered those on days off and all the senior staff. Paul wandered around the centre, whistling tunelessly. Everywhere he went I witnessed the old dears taking out their hearing aids, shaking and fiddling with them in a confused manner. Paul was very shy with me, despite being able to stand up and talk to a room full of people, and blushed even if I asked him if he fancied a cup of tea. Every time he popped into the day room, Maisie, an eighty six-year-old ‘Dementia sufferer’ would nudge me knowingly.
‘Don’t be daft,’ I’d say. ‘He doesn’t fancy me!’
‘You’re lucky I have no memory, hen,’ Maisie stated. ‘Otherwise, I’d be most offended that you called me daft.’ It was our little joke.
‘Well, I guess I am lucky, Maisie’.
‘Lucky in what way, dear?’ Maisie would reply. We would both laugh.
It was her little play on “forgetfulness.” If the Social Work department knew she had more marbles than she cared to admit, she would be out on her ear from the place she loved and into sheltered housing.
One afternoon Paul came in with his empty cup.
‘Erm, so… What you up to tonight then, er, Lucy?’
Fifteen wrinkled and expectant faces look our way.
‘I’m on early tomorrow,’ I say apologetically. ‘Planning a bath and an early night,’ I lie.
‘No! She’s on the back shift,’ informs Bessie. ‘Don’t you play hard to get, Missy.’
‘Carry on, son,’ encouraged Sadie.
Paul looked at his feet and shuffled uncomfortably, giving me the perfect opportunity to shoot a warning look at Bessie. She smirked and winked in return.
‘Well, if you like, there’s a new restaurant opened on Rose Street. I thought, maybe …’ he trailed off.
‘She’d love to,’ shouted Maisie from the kitchen. OK, I think we can rule out deafness along with marble loss.
‘Well, yeah, all right,’ I agreed reluctantly, feeling under duress and knowing full well I‘d never hear the end of it otherwise. I can’t be bothered with a boyfriend at the moment. I like my life the way it is. But, at that moment, I had no say in the matter – and we left the room to a
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