No nature notes from me this month as I’m afraid I have nothing to write.
I have, since sometime in November been in Dorchester Hospital then the Yeatman and at present The Old Vicarage Care Home in Leigh, where, incidentally I had originally planned to remain until either I popped my clogs or my money ran out!
On another occasion, over 6 years ago now, I had decided to do the same thing. On that occasion shortly after Brian had died, the well-known and much loved village philosopher came to see me on the first morning, sat cross legged on the floor and said ‘So what’s all this nonsense about not going back to Goldsneys?’
On that occasion I murmured feebly something about memories etc, to which he retorted, ‘So will those memories not be with you wherever you go?’
So, after a period of a few weeks of mature reflection and with my friend‘s words still ringing in my ears, I went back and didn’t regret it.
This time, it was a bit different.
I don’t think I had been really well for a few weeks before I was actually ill, and just felt that I couldn’t cope with anything any more.
Had that particular gentleman been around on this occasion I’m sure he would have given me an equally good lecture, but alas he now has terrible problems of his own and I worked it out for myself.
I think it took under a week, when I looked around my little room, and thought, ‘is this it then?’
Too pig-headed to give up my independence just yet!
I looked at the activities arranged, I’m sure, with skill, but they were for the elderly and I do not feel in the least elderly in spite of my 90th birthday creeping relentlessly towards me this year.
I practised my mobility skills once or three times a day and they took me past many rooms where small, quiet bodies sat or lay immobile.
I know there are two residents who are 102 years old, one of whom still plays the piano and paints beautifully, but I don’t want to belong to a group where age will be my qualification from now on.
I do not want to be enticed to eat in a group when my preference is to eat on my own in case I embarrass myself and others by choking.
I do not want to join sing-alongs when I have completely lost any trace of singing voice I ever had, and I had no wish to join in with colouring or jigsaws, though these are obviously well thought out and pleasurable as well as necessary for many.
One thing that I would have been interested in was a film about the history of Sturminster Newton but that didn’t fit in with other things that were on my own schedule.
In short I am just too pig-headed to give up my independence just yet – if ever.
So I am going home after all.
Just a few things to put in place – carers etc. – and hopefully I should be back where I belong, in the lovely village that I have been proud to call my home for over 19 years and to once again be amongst the marvellous people I am privileged to call my friends, by the end of the month.
I think I have probably painted a dismal picture of a care home, but I hasten to say that this one, along with hundreds up and down the country, is marvellous.
It’s just that I am not yet ready for it.
Please don‘t misunderstand me, this is a really lovely place.
There are about 30 rooms, all set around at ground floor level in a large circle, so you can never really get lost whichever way you go.
Carers, managers, administrative staff and chefs, gardeners and those who do the odd jobs, are all first class, although of course, when you have been here for a while, you do have favourites.
Each room looks onto a series of courtyards, some planted, others opening onto bright, sunny seating areas.
Residents are encouraged to bring in bird feeders, boxes or tables if they want to, so there is plenty to watch. One lady of 100 has her little dog with her whilst another has her budgie in its cage.
Residents are obviously treated as the individual that they have been all their lives and not just grouped together as one amorphous mass as is so often the case these days.
The Gardens
The gardens themselves have obviously been planned and planted by a real gardener who knows exactly what he/she is doing and loves doing it.
I can see large rose beds, already pruned with their first winter pruning, containers of all shapes and sizes planted additionally with healthy looking wallflowers, whilst other, smaller ones contain a carefully pruned shrub.
Shrubs overall seem to have been chosen with something to look at all year round and there are bulbs sprouting up everywhere.
On a wide, natural grassy space edged by tall trees and backed by the countryside of Leigh. I’d like to bet that there will be masses of bulbs which will be a picture.
I will leave here with happy memories
I have come across some remarkable and endearing people.
And the endless patience that the carers have will always remain with me.
They never made me feel that anything I asked for, however trivial, was too much trouble.
But for me – I’m homeward bound, and by the end of January I now know!
Margaret Waddingham