ALZHEIMER'S WARD : IN MEMORIAM GLADYS

“She’s a character!”
- hoiking her nightie, peeing in the street:
kinfolk fail to laugh.

ON THE WARD

Hobble, hop: one shoe shy,
he seeks. Hand held she navigates
on gnarled naked feet.

“How’s your poor thumb?”
She closely scans her ring finger
And declares it fine.

Remote control flung
because the programme wouldn’t change:
stubborn old fish-tank.

“See me again again again,”
her litany of remembered visits,
from a sister long dead.

”Why don’t you roger me?”
she cackles: a passing nurse smirks
“I’m first! Join the queue!”

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Picture of Gladys aged 90: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7911705@N07/2265594064/sizes/o/

Picture of the Two Sisters: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7911705@N07/2265594170/sizes/o/

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TWO SISTERS

This is the story of two girls, Annie [the elder] and Gladys [the younger].

Annie received this letter from her father:

“Dear little girl

I am looking through the door of my little hut and can see the Cows eating their tea and the Bunnies running about and the Great Big Sea with little Ships sailing on it, and next door to us is a big field where all the potatoes grow and little girls come and dig them up and put them into baskets, and outside is a Soldier with a Gun marching up and down watching that know one steals the flowers would you like to come and gather some in a little basket and take them home to Gladys, then you can walk down to the sea-shore and gather the nice shells and play at making sand pies wouldent it be fun tell Doris and Edith all about it and it would make you grow a big big Girl your mother says you have been a very good Girl so I will buy you a nice frock when I come home

From Your Father
With Kisses and Love
x x x x x x x”

Father did not come home.

He was reported ‘missing presumed killed’ in March 1918 – seven months before the end of the Great War. The two sisters were brought up by their widowed mother, who supplemented her measly pittance of a pension by her skill as a garment maker – as is plain to see in the photograph. Despite the obvious financial and social difficulties, the girls grew up as happy loving sisters and into healthy and vivacious young women.

However, further tragedy was not far away. When Annie was just thirty she suffered a dreadful accident at work in which she lost the fingers of her right hand in an unguarded carding machine. The firm was taken to court, and found to be negligent, but since it was ‘the first accident of its kind’ they were fined the pitiful sum of 30 shillings [£1.50]. No monetary compensation was awarded to her family. It is not untypical of the rudimentary health care of the times that Annie tragically developed septicaemia and died. Gladys and her mother were, naturally devastated. Mother never truly came to terms with this, and more and more often took to her bed with ‘mystery’ ailments, leaving Gladys and her new young husband to look after her, which they did with commendable devotion.

Gladys then lost her mother, and when the grieving was over looked forward to a good life with her beloved husband. But it was not to be – not long afterwards her husband also died. Much to Gladys’ regret they had no children.

The widowed Gladys was resourceful and fiercely independent. Indeed, her strong personality – in all honesty she was belligerent, foul-mouthed and opinionated – caused her to be known in her Avenue as Gladiator Gladys. She was tolerated by most adults because she had a remarkable sense of humour. Kids loved her irreverent feisty attitude and bawdy sense of fun.

One incident illustrates this: I used to act as taxi driver for Gladys for all family gatherings such as Christmas parties. She always – for reasons only known to her – insisted on me, rather than other closer male relatives. I can’t say I was too happy because it meant that I had to stay ‘dry’ for the whole of the festivities. On one occasion she accused me of ‘looking up her skirt’ whilst I helped her into the car.
The only way to deal with Gladys is to answer in kind, so my response was,
“I’ve seen it all before, Gladys, but better!”
She guffawed uproariously and retorted, “Well, I’ll leave ‘em off next time!”
“You’d get the same answer,” I countered. Game, set and match to me, for a change!

She cared for herself – with what little help she would allow from surviving relatives - until she was 89 years old, when she developed Alzheimer’s disease. She was placed in a special unit receiving treatment, although there is no likelihood of a recovery.

She stayed in the same facility, with superb caring nurses, until Monday this week when the doctors decided that she was fit to move to a private nursing home. I had my doubts because she was so settled where she was - but the doctors know best, don’t they?

Yesterday I went on a short break and this morning I received a telephone call from the police at my hotel. Gladys died in the early hours of St Valentines Day. I hope she believes in an afterlife and a husband waiting for her.

Two sisters, two very different tragedies.