My Buckinghamshire holiday

At my age, expectations for an exciting life and stimulating lifestyle should be modest, naturally limited. It should be a time of comfort and gentle satisfaction, of memories, sad and happy. Bitter sweet. I cannot believe how different it has become for me.

A few months ago I was contemplating the increasingly realistic prospect of a steady decline, physically and mentally, like most of the residents at Sunrise Cardiff  care home. I countered this as far as I could by writing, reading and taking part in the activities.

Today my life has changed dramatically. I have a new home and a new life.

There is no better illustration of this than the time I have spent with Robert, Karen and Owen - not forgetting Rufus their lively, loveable dog. It was a delight. For four days I have enjoyed family life and new experiences which I thought were gone.

Every day was a new pleasure, organised to give me my own time and the chance to see new sights.

Among those was a visit with Karen to Owen’s school, Merchant Taylors’, one of the oldest schools  in Britain. For centuries based in the city of London, it moved out of the capital to acres of lovely countryside, with distinctively designed buildings, for work and sport, including extensive playing fields, and a concert hall.

I thought my school, Emanuel, Wandsworth, my time there cut short by the outbreak of war, was impressive but this is on a totally different scale

What a privilege for its 1,000 boys. Owen is making the best possible use of its facilities and advantages. Apart from his success in the educational side of life he is enjoying new experiences, in music and drama and the prospect of a successful future, whatever path he decides to take.

His range of activities includes yachting which he has taken up with his usual enthusiasm and skill. As with his school, the facilities at the sailing club and lake at the lovely Rickmansworth park with its lakes are excellent.

Cliveden

Another exciting day in my mini holiday was a guided tour by Robert of Cliveden, the magnificent former Astor family mansion and estate overlooking the Thames. 

Cliveden's Long Garden

I have seen many historic homes and estates, mansions and castles, in Britain and overseas and Cliveden is one of the finest.  In the warm spring sunshine, with its magnificently designed grounds, its miles of topiary, the multitude of daffodils and the superb Long Garden lined with limitless primroses it is a sheer delight.

More mundane, but for me with shopping a lifelong pleasure, was the expedition with Karen to nearby Beaconsfield where I bought a shoes and new sunglasses, essential with sunshine every day.

My stay at Chalfont St Giles ended with a celebration dinner at the White Hart where they had booked my room. (I could not stay with them as I could not manage the stairs.) Each day Robert called for me, after breakfast ready for the day’s adventure.

As always, Robert and Karen had planned everything to make my holiday safe and easy. When they first suggested I should use a wheelchair I was hesitant. To me that sounded ‘too old’, but it proved just right for the programme.

It has been one of the most memorable holidays in my life, one of the happiest over many years. There was some sadness, too, as I recalled the times Rosemary and I had spent with our two families but it only served to emphasise my incredibly good fortune in being loved and looked after so well

As I left the White Hart Robert booked my room there for Christmas.

I am old  -  very old,  but my life is still a pleasure. I hope it will continue for some time yet.

Holiday time

Holiday time

It’s sunny and already warm, and I am sitting in the lounge at 24 White Hart Close.The first day of my mini holiday, the first break for three years. And everything is working out 

Robert and Karen had booked a room at the nearby White Hart Inn, where I enjoyed the first of my four nights. Very comfortable easy and safe for me. 

Robert called to take me ‘home’ for dinner and I had a chat with Owen about his plans before he went to prepare for his exam today. Played chase the ball - in the lounge - with Rufus.

It was lovely to be back with them; so many memories. Karen has worked out a holiday programme for me. Today we are off to the lakes where Owen goes sailing and then on to show me his school.

It’s going to be an exiting few days, something  I could never have imagined a few months ago. 

A world away from being in a care home.

Holiday ahead!

Holiday ahead!

Ready to go! I am sitting waiting for Robert to arrive to take me to Chalfont St Giles and my first holiday break for over three years. What a treat. And, in a way, so unexpected .

Just a few months ago, in Sunrise, it was hard for me to imagine that there was life outside and that I would be able to join it.

But I decided that at least I should try. My aim - to go back to Penarth.

By chance I at once saw what seemed to be a perfect new home, 10 Bridgeman Court, a stone’s throw from Windsor Court where Rosemary and I spent a happy twenty years.

Since then it has all happened, buying the flat, the removal, getting my new home fully equipped and settling in. It has taken three months but I now have all I need and am living comfortably, happier and fitter than for some years.

It was the right decision, and its success is due to all the advice and help I have had.

I have said many times  how fortunate I am in many ways. For example, this week is forecast to be the sunniest and warmest so far this year.  Lucky Bob.

My sister

My sister

Today was my sister Dorothy’s birthday. She died of cancer in 2003 after a life dedicated  to her children, Valerie and Wendy, her husband George and our mother.

Dorothy’s life changed when Dad died in 1942 at 52.

We had moved to Cardiff from London after months of bombing when Mum became ill. 18-year-old Dorothy immediately gave up her job to look after her.  

She did so, uncomplainingly, for the next fifty years, never able to take a full time job although for many years she worked part time from home for Peacocks, then a Cardiff based firm owned by Harold Peacock, a friend and neighbour of our Uncle Walter Dymond. 

Dorothy married George Thomas who after six years in the army became a teacher, first in Bristol and for many years in Cardiff.

After moving from our first Cardiff home they moved to a flat near Roath Park where Mum continue to have health problems. She ignored the doctor’s  instructions that she should stay in bed mornings and  settled for a room downstairs so she could have visits by friends and family. Everyone loved ‘ Nanny’ and there was a constant stream of visitors.

Her health improved so much she could manage to use the steps outside their flat better than I, to come regularly cto us and tonBert, my brother. Dorothy and George used to take her on holiday.

Mum lived until she 102, proof of the loving care she had always received from Dorothy whose own life was cruelly changed when George had cancer and after a harrowing yea, died.

This and her constant care for Mum had taken its toll and after months in a respite care home Dorothy died of cancer.

A marvellous daughter, wife….. and my big sister.

Off to Bucks

Off to Buckinghamshire

A big adventure for me next week. I am going to Buckinghamshire for a few days while my flat is being decorated. It was Robert and Karen’s idea. 

I had thought I might go on a coach holiday to Devon and when my niece Brenda checked with the company to see if I could manage it the answer was yes, but as soon as Karen heard, she suggested Bucks. An offer I could not refuse.

As there is no stairlift stay I could not stay at White Hart Close so she arranged accommodation for me at the White Hart Inn near their home. Robert will collect me on Tuesday and I will spend the next few days with them and Owen. 

Exciting. My first holiday for three years.

Again, I cannot believe how lucky I am.

My Dad

Bob (right) with his father and cousin Joan, 1930s

Brushing my sparse hair each morning I think of my Dad. I can’t avoid it; I am using his hairbrush and visualise him doing so one hundred years ago.

Marked with a silver F it is showing its age, the bristles worn down to the ebony, but I love the link, made more precious because I knew him for far too short a time

I was sixteen when Dad died suddenly. I had just started my career as a reporter. It was 1942 and like all families at the time we were separated by the war.

In my growing up years I saw too little of him. Before we moved to Cardiff he worked long hours, arriving home at Bushey Road, West Ham, in the evening. It was a rare treat when Bert,  Dorothy and I went to the underground station in the evening to walk home hand in hand with him

He was interested in all we did, proud of us, encouraging us.

He enjoyed the few rare occasions he watched me play cricket and my proudest possession was a cricket bat he bought me. It was very special. It had the signatures of the England and New Zealand test teams from, Robert tells me, 1937.

I used it for many years -  due to my leg problems cricket was the only game I could still play after having to give up football, rugby and hockey when I was twenty years old.

Robert is now looking after that battered bat with which I never was able to score a century. My top score was 70 on the fabled Arms Park pitch in Cardiff.

Dad’s life was marred by illness when he was lovingly nursed by Mum, and he was seriously injured when his steam crane toppled over as he was driving it at Sparrows wharf on the Thames at Wandsworth.

The day he died I was called out of Penarth police station where I was reporting a case, knowing as I made my way home that it was serious.

It was. He died on December 21and his funeral was on Christmas Eve.

My memories, strong and comforting, are brought to life every morning as I brush my hair.

March 18

 Good and bad

The joyful homecoming of two British citizens after years held prisoner in Iran set me thinking of good and bad days, months and, even, years.

Most of us have faced hard times, for all sorts of reasons and in different circumstances, but we have had to try to put them behind us and get on with our life.

I have been inordinately fortunate all my life in having had so little setbacks which makes it easy for me to take a positive attitude.

On a bad day I tell myself tomorrow will be better, and almost invariably it has been, so far.

And I am surprised at how quickly disappointments and problems that seemed intractable dim in our memory.

What are our feelings now as Covid, despite statistics which even a few weeks ago would have worried us ?

The pandemic is a mere shadow compared with the blackness we endured for all those months.

For most of us that time and experience is something to look back on with relief and thankfulness.

In my diary I told of the first year of the pandemic and its effect on my life.

I did so to pass on to my great grandchildren a unique experience; the pandemic, the  disruption, deaths and the carers who shielded us.

We will never forgot it but passing time will soften our memories.

It ihas done with my recollection of 1939 to 1949 and the devastating bombing in London.

The even worse destruction wreaked on Ukraine cities will, must never, be forgotten,  but  people will get their homes and life back. And they will gradually see better times.

It is the good day following the bad.