More Golden Moments On Our Travels (3)

More Golden Moments On Our Travels (3)

During all the time we were in Brisbane, visiting Uncle John, and taking trips to places he and Wendy know so well, we managed to keep an eye on the time in England, and rang home to speak to Mum on a regular basis. We were very lucky in that on most occasions we picked our moments just right, and could have a quick chat with her. Mostly it was just to tell her we were fine, and she told us she was having her breakfast; but at least we could keep in touch.

On the Wednesday, 27 March, we were back bright and early at the hospital. When we walked into the ward, there were two members of the Palliative Care team present, and they told us Uncle John would be moved very soon, to St Vincent's, a private hospital. Uncle John was in pretty good form, and took this news in his stride.

After they left, we took the opportunity to have brilliant conversations with Uncle John about when we were all in East Africa in the 1950s. He remembered, when he, Marguerite and Johnny left Kenya, they had a little 2CV car, and he drove all the way across Africa - first to Victoria Falls in what was then Southern Rhodesia, then across and through to South Africa, and down to the Cape, where they took a ship back to the UK from Cape Town.

He also recalled the time when they spent a year or two, in Romania; Uncle John worked for a big company that made paper, and every weekend the family would go to either the Black Sea, or one of the lakes, to relax. If they went to a restaurant for dinner, a gypsy violinist would come and serenade them - happy memories for Uncle John!

Whilst we talked and listened to Uncle John, Wendy took some beautiful photographs, and also made some videos of our conversations. It is amazing what facilities are available on very small cameras!

Presently, a nurse came along and said Uncle John was due to have a chest X-ray, and we asked if we could go with him? We could, so we tagged along with the porter and stayed with him whilst he waited in the X-ray Department; after the X-ray had been done, we sat with him until the porter returned to take him back to the ward. Uncle John had become quite nervous; he was shaking, and a bit shivery, and we were very glad we were there to reassure him, and tell him he was fine. There was a "warming cupboard," where they kept nice hot blankets, so we got a couple and wrapped them around Uncle John; he felt much better for that. Shortly after we were back on the ward, the phlebotomist came along and took umpteen phials of blood! (I felt like paraphrasing those wonderful lines from Tony Hancock's sketch, "The Blood Donor": "A pint?!....Why, that's very nearly an armful!")

We gave Uncle John another pair of pyjamas we'd bought for him - these are flannelette, and a bit warmer than the cotton ones he'd been wearing.

Uncle John enjoyed his lunch, and then was ready for a nap; we bought him a copy of the Courier Mail, and after he had settled down, Wendy and I left, to get something to eat ourselves. We promised to be back first thing in the morning.

We also did more shopping! When Wendy was with Uncle John in February, they had gone to a large store, Harvey Norman, to get him a new shaver. On the way through to the electrical department, they passed through the carpet and rug section; Wendy had seen a very beautiful rug, in graduated shades of red and orange, and now she was keen to see if it was still there, and for me to see it, too.

And indeed, it was there! These rugs came in three sizes - large, small, and - the "Goldilocks size" - medium - "just right" for what Wendy wanted. The large one had been sold that morning; the small one was of no interest to Wendy, but the medium rug was still there; just waiting for Wendy to buy it. Of course we realised we would have to get it back home to England somehow; clearly, it wouldn't fit in our suitcase! The salesman was extremely helpful; he got it measured and weighed, and we reckoned we could post it back to England without too much difficulty.

We went shopping for our dinner, and bought a couple of birthday cakes to take with us to the hospital tomorrow.

Wendy then took me for a relaxing drive round some of the places where Uncle John, Marguerite and Johnny had lived in Brisbane. We saw Wembley Road, and then went to Marsden. It felt strangely sad to think I won't ever see Uncle John in his Unit; Wendy, who has spent so much time with him at both Forest Lake and Marsden, felt it even more keenly.

We went back up to Mount Coot-tha once again, before driving back to the apartment and making our dinner. After that, we tackled the problem of wrapping up the rug! Wendy went to an office supplies store to buy two cardboard boxes, brown paper, heavy duty parcel tape, Sellotape and string. Nothing if not enterprising, we put the two boxes together lengthways, which then made them long enough to take the rug. For a bit of padding, we added the throw, and the cushion, and crumpled newspaper.

I have never been a Girl Guide, but my Mum was, and she taught me how to wrap up parcels with string, and secure the knots properly. Because the box was now quite long, and heavy enough, it was very unwieldy! but together, Wendy and I managed to do it.

The moral of this story is, you should always check not only the weight limits (we were fine with those), but the size of the parcel as well. When we measured it, it was too big to be sent home by parcel post.

Ah. Wendy was so disappointed, and quite prepared to return the rug to Harvey Norman, but then we had another electric light bulb moment: Find a courier. Wendy checked what couriers were available, and came up with TNT; we were further reassured, because one of the receptionists on the desk downstairs told us he often sends parcels back home by TNT, and they always arrive safely.

This time, we checked the criteria extremely carefully. Everything was in order, until we discovered string is not accepted! (And after all my efforts to get the parcel so beautifully tied up with string...!)

I unwound the string.  My Grandma, always thrifty, advocated never to cut string; she would wind it carefully into a ball, to be used again.

 It took me longer to get the stuff off, than it took me to put it on!

After that, we went to bed. And did I have nightmares about brown paper packages, tied up with strings? Mercifully, I did not.