Highs And Lows With The Hoist

Highs And Lows With The Hoist

'Twas on a Friday morning
The hoist engineer came to call;
He checked it out to make quite sure
That everything was cool.
And so it was; until he saw
The date was overdue.
He said, "This needs to be replaced -
We'll order one that's new!"

(With apologies to Flanders and Swann)


Until September last year, when the carers began to hoist Mum on a regular basis, it had been rarely used. Standing in the corner, its two feet splayed out like a bird's legs, it was there "just in case." If Mum felt weak, or could not manage to stand up and do the "twiddle" manoeuvre to get her from bed to glider, or glider to chair, the hoist was always fully charged and ready to use, to facilitate moving her.

It has been serviced regularly, and we have never had any qualms about using it; Mum, of course, was not (and is still not) keen on being lifted in the sling, but she is getting used to it.

After the service check on the Friday morning, the engineer explained the hoist was just over four and a half years old, and therefore "out of time." It was still safe to use, but a new one would be delivered on Monday morning.

When the carers arrived at lunch time, they proceeded to get Mum up. At first, the hoist worked perfectly, but then it suddenly threw a wobbly; however hard the control buttons were pressed, the machine would not operate the "up" instruction, to lift Mum from the glider so she could be seated in her chair.

Fortunately, the hoist then remained in the "down" position, so at least Mum was not left swinging like a chandelier attached to the ceiling, or clinging on to a malfunctioning ski lift, half way up a mountain!

In fact, I understand a hoist will always return to the down position, but that still left us in a quandary: how to extricate Mum from the hoist. We managed it by dint of taking her weight evenly between us, and lifting her on to the chair.

However, that wasn't going to solve the problem for the other calls the carers would be making later that evening. We rang the company who provided the hoist, and were given the emergency out of hours number. The response was quite impressive;  a technician arrived at 7.30, and found the problem lay with the remote controller. We would need a new one and clearly this could not wait until Monday. The technician said he had another three calls to make, after which he would go back to the depot, collect the new controller, and bring it to us; it would take him about three hours before he could get back, but we were quite happy to agree to that. In the event, he returned at 11.20, plugged in the new controller, and made sure it worked. It had a much more positive response when the buttons were pressed, and the hoist was ready for action once more. We were very impressed by the service and, in spite of having had a very long day (and evening), the young man was still smiling - and still had another call to get to!

Mum's First Foray Into Print - (Published in Best of British magazine)

Mum's First Foray Into Print

The first article Mum wrote, originally entitled "Working Life," was published in 2007, in Best of British. It was shortened slightly to fit the space available, but I have found this original text that Mum sent to the editor.

LOOKING AFTER THE PENNIES

by
PHYLLIS WHITWELL

Phyllis, aged 18

I was born in 1919, in Liverpool and, like many little girls, my dream working life was to be a dancer, and maybe enjoy some success, if not as a prima ballerina, then at least in the corps de ballet in a good, reputable company. I was trained in ballet and tap but alas, after a bout of rheumatic fever at the age of 7, which left me with what was in those days called "a weak heart," this was not to be.  

Instead, my parents were told that a nice, sedentary job would be best for me; so in 1937, when I had passed all my matric. exams and I was ready to find a job, my father saw an advertisement for staff at the local Midland Bank and went in to ask about it for me. He saw the Manager and was told there was a clerical vacancy for a "suitable young lady, aged 18 or over, with a good head for figures."  

I was given an appointment to see the bank manager and on the agreed date, presented myself for interview.  I was dressed in an elegant costume and blouse and, feeling somewhat nervous, was ushered in to see the great man.

He made me feel at ease, and invited me to sit down, and then followed questions about arithmetic, maths and English; I must have done well, because he then asked me, what sort of salary I expected.

I thought for a moment and, not wanting to sell myself short, I said, "Twelve shillings and sixpence a week, please sir!"- 62 1/2 p in current money!

Well, the bank manager looked flabbergasted!  He spluttered and coughed and nearly fell backwards off his chair.  When he had recovered a little, he asked me how old I was.  I told him I was eighteen and after a few more moments, he harrumphed a bit and said I could start at the bank the next week  - at a salary of 12/6 a week.

I could hardly believe it!  I had got a job, at a good salary, and I rushed home to tell my mother and father all about it.

As soon as I got in, I told them everything that had happened, and of course they were delighted for me, until I got to the part about asking for the enormous sum of twelve shillings a sixpence a week!  

Unbeknown to me, my father had agreed with the bank manager, that if I was suitable for the job, my salary should be only seven and six  (37 1/2 pence) per week, and my father insisted I go straight back to the bank and tell the manager I'd made a mistake, and would be happy to accept the lower sum.

Very reluctantly, I did as I was told.  There was a short wait until the manager was free and once again, I was ushered in to his office.  I told him what my father had said, and that I should have asked for only 7/6 a week.  

"Young lady," the manager said, "If you're not worth 12/6 a week, you won't be worth 7/6.  You were right to set your sights high.  Your salary will be 12/6 a week, as arranged!"

With that, I flew home, and my father felt that as I had gone back to volunteer for the lower salary, honour was satisfied.

The following Monday, I started work at the bank, and the first thing I had to do was sit in a little office and familiarise myself with customers' signatures - there were no pin numbers or automated telling machines then!   There was such a personal touch to banking, with the managers knowing all their customers and understanding their needs. I suppose the downside was if a customer and manager did not have a rapport, then it could prove difficult for that customer to obtain a loan or overdraft!  but I think the impersonal way we bank now does also leave a lot to be desired.

I worked my way up through the ranks and left as a teller.  My fiancé had managed to get a few days' leave and we got married in 1941; he then had to return to his unit and was sent to Kos, where he was captured and held as a prisoner of war in Germany for over three years. After the war ended, my husband got home and we settled down in Cheadle Hulme in Derbyshire; my daughter was born in Buxton in 1946.  After a dreadfully cold winter in 1946/47, we decided to go abroad and see what life was like in a warmer country.  

At sea, on the way to East Africa, 1947

We sailed on the Empress of Scotland for East Africa and landed in Dar-es-Salaam. It was a completely different way of life, of course, and the sunshine and easy pace of life was a tonic after all the difficulties experienced post-war in England, with continuing shortages and rationing, but being in the tropics meant the heat was relentless, all year long.

With Alexandra in Dar-es-Salaam, 1948

Sometimes it would be so hot you could almost fry an egg on a slate in the sun. We always made sure we were covered up and protected from getting sunburn. Working and school hours were mostly organised so that people could start early in the cool of the morning, and have a siesta during the fiercest heat of the day; and then we worked on longer in the afternoon, when it had cooled down again.  

There was no air conditioning when we first went out to East Africa, just large electric "punkah" fans suspended from the ceiling that would turn lazily round and round, moving the warm air about a little.

For some years I continued to work in East Africa, first in Dar-es-Salaam in Tanganyika (now Tanzania), Uganda (Kampala), Kenya (Nairobi), and I have enough tales of my experiences there, to fill a book!  

I always worked in accountancy; it was an interesting career, and all started by that first interview with the bank manager at our local branch.

Nowadays, people have to complete long application forms, provide detailed CVs, and undergo psychometric and aptitude tests;  but even with these modern interviewing "tools,"  I wonder if companies get people any better qualified or suited to their posts as I obviously was, all those years ago?!

Even after I had officially retired, at the age of 66, I still felt active and energetic enough to see if there was something I could do in accountancy to keep my skills up to date.  For a further 18 months I worked in Fenchurch Street, and thoroughly enjoyed going up to the City every day.  It was exciting being at the centre of things and it gave me a real buzz to think I was working with the "whiz kids" in high finance! However, now my pleasure is spending a lot of time with my 11 year old great-grandson, Al Wilde.  I am so proud of him, because even though he is so young, he is also an author, and had his first book published this year; but he always has time to escort me whenever we go out for tea!

Mum Puts Pen To Paper

Mum Puts Pen To Paper

Having been an accountant all her working life, Mum's forte was always figures, and not words. She could write a good letter, and generally keep in touch with people, but producing longer pieces of work never really crossed her mind - until one day, about eleven years ago, she suddenly announced she wanted to write about how she got her first job at the Midland Bank.

"If you write it," I said, "I'll type it all up for you."

I didn't think any more about it. In the past, very occasionally Mum would announce she would like to write about her life experiences, but she had never really got around to it, so when she actually produced a really lovely piece, reminiscing about starting work in Liverpool in 1937, it was a wonderful surprise.

As I'd promised, I typed it up for her, and said I thought she should submit it to a magazine, to see if it could reach a wider audience. Mum didn't think anything would come of it, but went along with the idea. I told her she might not hear anything for weeks or even months, but to our surprise and delight, after quite a short time, she had a reply from the Editor, accepting the article.

She was so thrilled to see her story in print - and even more delighted when a few weeks later, a cheque arrived in the post for her!

She then began to think about writing more about her life and she wrote a few paragraphs every week. We all encouraged her; when she had completed a couple of chapters, she gave it to us to read, and said she wanted to call it, "A Liverpool Lass."

I was pretty sure that title had already been used by another author, and explained she might have to think of another one, but in the meantime, we produced a mock up of how her book could look, if it was picked up by a publisher, and went to printed.

The local press ran a story about Mum and her dream of writing her autobiography, which inspired her to keep writing for a while longer. Unfortunately, it was about this time that her memory began to play tricks, and she started repeating over and over again, all the different places she had worked, with no cohesive structure or narrative. It all became so jumbled, until even I couldn't work out what she wanted to say, or where she was in her head, and presently the idea of writing more chapters faded away. I was so sorry about it; even now, there are things I would love to verify with her, but her memories can be so confused, nothing is reliable anymore.

Mum with "A Liverpool Lass"

I thought it might be nice to include Mum's first article, Looking After the Pennies, so that will be coming up next!

A Trio Of Short Scripts

A Trio Of Short Scripts

1) TRYING TO SORT OUT WHERE MUM'S MOTHER IS

(Various members of the family are with Mum)

Mum:  (as if it is the first time she has asked the question):
Where's my mother?

Family: (trying to get Mum to remember)
You know where she is

Mum: (more insistent):
Where is my mother?

Family: (giving up)
She's in the family grave in Liverpool

Mum (demanding more information):
What is she doing there?!

Family:
She's dead

Mum (a bit indignantly):
She can't be dead! She was here this morning!



2) WE ARE ABOUT TO HELP MUM TO BRUSH HER TEETH:

Family:
You're going to brush your teeth in a minute

Mum:
Oh, tea's alright - I'm not keen on coffee

Family:
No, no, not tea.... you're going to brush your teeth.

Mum:
Oh, alright - I prefer tea.

Family (giving up):
O.k., we'll bring you some tea in a minute.....



3) MUM REVEALS SOME AMAZING NEWS

When Mum was taken to hospital a a few weeks ago, after all the tests were complete, the doctor decided she could be discharged. She was taken to the Discharge Lounge, to wait for an ambulance to  bring her back home.  One of us always stays with Mum, and whilst we were waiting, she beckoned us over.

Mum (whispering conspiratorially):
Come here! I want to tell you something!

Family gathered round:
Yes, Phyllis? What is it?

Mum (directing her attention one person at a time):
I want to marry you!

Family (all very non-plussed):
Well..... that's nice.....

Before this can escalate, the porter arrives to take Mum out to the ambulance, to be brought home.

The next day, Mum is up bright and early, and being taken to the bathroom by the Carers. We mention Mum was proposing marriage the previous afternoon.

As Mum is wheeled into the bathroom, she whispers to the Carers:
I have something to tell you!

Carers:
What's that, Phyllis?

Mum: (excitedly):
I'm pregnant!

It is all the Carers can do, to keep a straight face.
That's nice, Phyllis!

Carers (to Alex):
Your Mum has some good news!  You're going to have that little brother or sister you always wanted!

Alex:
So that's why Mum wanted to get married yesterday!

Happily, a few minutes later, Mum had forgotten all about her big news; but how I wish I could know how her mind sorts out all these ideas into what clearly makes perfect sense to her.

Mum Finds The Bed Controller

Mum Finds The Bed Controller


One of the first things we bought when we knew Mum would be coming home from hospital, was the hospital-style bed. It has all the attributes of a bed to keep patients safe in hospital - in fact, Mum's bed is better than those I have seen on the wards, because the side rails go all the way along each side of the bed, and don't stop in the middle. I think that any patient in hospital, who was determined enough, could sit up and manoeuvre themselves further down the bed and past the rail, swing their legs over the edge, and then get their feet on the floor. Once that was achieved, theoretically any could set off anywhere - or end up having a nasty fall. 

Once the side rails of Mum's bed are lifted up and clicked into place, it is impossible for her to lower the rails herself. 

Then there is the controller: it has 8 buttons, offering various positions for the comfort of the user: the head, foot and centre of the bed can be raised up or down, and there are options for a "double dip" - up at the head, down in the middle, and up again for the legs. 

The whole bed can also be raised to a higher level which saves a lot of bending, and reduces backache; we've been told by many carers, how much easier it is to deal with clients when they have a bed like Mum's, and having to care for people in an ordinary divan bed can be really difficult.

Having just written about all what this bed can do, has made me realise we are almost spoilt for choice with all the combinations that are on offer; and usually the controller is hooked over the second, lower rail, towards the foot of the bed. 

One day, not long after she had come home to live with us, the controller was hooked at the foot of the bed, over the top part of the safety rail.  

Mum, who was far more agile in those early days than she is now, had managed to sit up, lean far forward, and get hold of the controller.

There are pictograms on it, showing what each button does, but Mum didn't bother to check it to try and work out what position she wanted to be in; she began by pressing every button on the dial, with the result the bed went up and down like a yo yo. 

Eventually she called out for some help; we discovered she had also experimented with the legs and head up and down positions. The result was the back of the bed was nearly vertical, her knees were scrunched up in the air, and she resembled a folded "W!"  It was no surprise that she had got herself totally confused, and had no idea how to release herself.

She was perfectly safe, but from then on, we made absolutely sure that the controller was well out of Mum's reach.