I Am Getting Ready For Christmas

 I Am Getting Ready For Christmas

It feels really strange this year. I always start the preparations for Christmas nice and early - I don't like a rush! and I enjoy all the wrapping-up of presents, and getting them ready for dispatch to far-flung places - as well as those lovely folks closer to home. When I'm writing the Christmas cards, and letters to go with them, it's a great time to think of everyone, and catch up on news - maybe not just with a letter or an e-mail, but with a phone call as well. 

But it is different this year. With all the problems thrown up by the virus, and restrictions on travelling and visiting, I am sure some people may feel it will be perhaps better to leave all the festivities off the agenda. This is I can understand - but I take a somewhat different view. 

Yes, it is more complicated, and because we can't see dear friends and loved ones, rather than our usual trips both here in England and in Europe to deliver our gifts personally, more parcels will have to be sent - which means being more organised, even earlier than usual!

Apart from being careful to follow the guidelines to protect ourselves and others from the virus, my main sense of sadness is that this is the first Christmas without Mum. 

Because she died early in the year, on 23 March, since then we have had a lot of "firsts" without her. There was my birthday on 28 March; Easter, and Wendy's birthday in April, and other usual jollifications that have been noticeable by their absence - particularly Mum's birthday on 28 October. She would have been 101!  and there was a strange void in not having to book Tea at the Ritz, and organise a wheelchair accessible taxi for us all on the day. 

And now we are thinking about Christmas. This time last year, in spite of all her disabilities, Mum was so very helpful when I was wrapping up presents. We did everything together, and she was a dab hand at holding down the wrapping paper whilst I got stuck in with the Sellotape, to hold it all in place. 

I am so glad we were able to do that as a team; it took us a long time, but what good times they were, working together! I've got so many happy memories.

 

Today is Mum's Birthday

Today Is Mum's Birthday

It's 28 October, and today Mum would have been 101 one years old - or young! 

It's a strange feeling, all these "firsts" without her around to celebrate with us - my first birthday without her back in March; Easter; Wendy's birthday; and now her own birthday is here again. 

It's comforting to think back to the week-long celebration of her centenary birthday last year, including Tea at the Ritz, with the Birthday cards, not only from all of us, but from the Queen and the Minister for Work and Pensions as well, on the table. It was such a lovely time, and everyone made such a fuss of Mum. The visit to the Ritz was on the Saturday (Mum only liked taking tea on a Saturday!) and we had people visiting on the Sunday, and of course on the Monday, her actual birthday.  She had so many cards and flowers and presents, and messages, phone calls and e-mails; and afterwards, I put everything into a traditional photo album, which she really enjoyed looking through, and remembering everyone who had thought about her. They were happy days!

I know nowadays many people rely on keeping photos on their phones, or in the cloud (whatever that is - and however it works!) but you cannot share photos using those methods with someone like Mum. When I had finished preparing it, she had a proper, physical album to hold, turn the pages, look at all the cards I fixed inside, and re-read all the messages. I am so glad I got it everything done in good time, and she was able to enjoy looking through the album and see how much everything thought of her, and about her; right to the end of her life, she was happy for me to hold the album up and turn the pages for her, so that she could enjoy it. 

I know I'm overly sentimental, but I noticed the Happy Birthday banner we put up over her bed last October is still stuck on the wall! I am not in a hurry to bring it down, it makes me happy to see it up there! but in due course I will add it to the last page of Mum's Birthday Album.

We all still feel Mum's presence around us, and today I have received messages and phone calls from folk both in England and abroad, spending time chatting and happily reminiscing about Mum and her life. 

So, today has been a bittersweet time; we are sad that she isn't here, but happy to remember the good times, and the gentle way she left us on 23 March this year. 

I think it's worth attaching again, the photo from the Tea at the Ritz, as a reminder of a great day, and a memorable celebration. 

a

BIRTHDAY POEM 

 

It’s not every day we celebrate

A great centenary year

And now that you’re one hundred

It’s time to raise a cheer

 

For so many things that you have done

You’ve travelled far and wide

To Africa in all its ways

With Grandma by your side.

 

You’ve worked in jobs demanding much

But the pinnacle of your career

Was to land a top post in Treasury

A male-dominated sphere!

 

There have been seismic changes

But you’ve coped with every one

And risen up to do your best

And come out well and strong. 

 

We’re a family small, but large on love

You’re our universal glue,

Helping and encouraging us

To stay steadfast and true.

 

So we can celebrate with love

And congratulatory cheer

This special gathering at the Ritz

Now that your birthday’s here.

 

 

Alexandra Wilde

 

I Have Been Under The Weather!

 I Have Been Under The Weather!

If anyone has been wondering why it took me over three weeks since Mum's funeral to post a piece on how sweetly it all went, and another fortnight to publish this piece on my blog, let me start with a very heart-felt warning:

Do NOT go out at dusk, unless you are covered from head-to-toe in material that offers protection from gnat/midge bites. I did go out, sans covering, two days before Mum's funeral and, as wisdom comes from learning from other people's mistakes, I hope this post will prevent someone else from providing a meal for the early evening flying squad.

We had everything prepared for Mum's funeral on 18 September, and were getting ready to drive up to Liverpool on Thursday, 17 September, which entailed a very early start to avoid the worst of the traffic. I had set my alarm for 4.00 a.m., to give myself nice time for a cup of tea and a Weetabix, before leaving at about 5.00 a.m. So far, so good. 

However, one last job remained: to let our lovely neighbours have our telephone numbers and check that everyone who knew we would be away, would be able to keep in touch with each other. Our neighbours are really kind and helpful, and one family also had a set of keys. On Wednesday - early evening, just as it had turned to dusk - I thought I would "nip out" quickly,  to give the lady next door the information. I was outside for less than a minute - she also said she thought the midges were out and about, and didn't want to linger, so I gave her the piece of paper, thanked her so much, and was back indoors in seconds. 

Seconds, yes; but long enough for the sharp mouthed gnats to snap open their jaws and their white, starched table cloths, and tuck in all down my right leg; a little less enthusiastically down my left leg, and one deposited a delightful bite on my right thigh. 

I realised I'd been bitten, but not the extent to which they had gorged on me. With all the other things to check on, and make sure nothing was left behind, I slept Wednesday night; got up early on Thursday, and we all set off for Liverpool as planned.

I was still unaware of how badly I'd been bitten! and with the solemnity of Mum's funeral, and the course of the Church Service taking priority, I didn't realise quite how things were progressing. Getting out of the limousine at Kirkdale cemetery, I noticed the red lump on my right thigh; as I stood up, I quickly made sure the skirt of my dress was discreetly pulled down to cover it. I thought not much more about it, and concentrated on the final part of Mum's funeral at the graveside.  

Then I was distracted by the celebratory tea at Panoramic 34, although by then I was beginning to feel a bit weary; considering all the travelling we'd done, and the emotional day we had just had, it was not surprising I was tired.

Because Al had to work the next day (Saturday), after the tea at Panoramic 34, he and Hannah had had to leave to drive home; when we got back to the Hotel, the intention was to have some dinner, and get a reasonably early night, but I really did not feel like it - the dinner, that is, not the early night! - and I was happy to have a Caramel Apple Betty pudding, and a pot of tea, and leave it at that. 

We got back home on the Saturday evening, and it became clear how much the gnat bites were affecting me. I had large lumps from every bite, and some were so close together, they had formed one large mountain chain-like area, creating a continuous swelling. None of the sites was itchy - they were just very painful.

I bathed them, smothered Germolene all over each area of attack, and got some rest. The next day, the Pharmacist recommended I try a topical antihistamine cream, with the proviso that if I was still worried/the bites were no better, I should contact my GP. 

Who would guess 60 seconds out of doors could cause such disruption to one's well-being?!  

The bites continued to aggravate me, becoming so painful it hurt to have my legs on the sheets at night - even the light sheet over the top of my pins caused pain - and then I noticed my right ankle and foot were very swollen, which really worried me. I tried sleeping with my feet raised up on a pillow, but that did not help very much. 

Because of concerns with the virus, it is very difficult to get a face-to-face consultation with a GP, but I at least managed to get a telephone call with a doctor at my practice. After I'd explained what had happened, and the way things were going, he prescribed a week-long course of antibiotics for me; I had had to take some antihistamine medicine as well. 

Because I can't get tablets or capsules down me (I gave up struggling with them years ago - and it's no fun trying to take pills in jam, or squidging out the powder from a capsule onto a spoon filled with marmalade) I had to remember to request everything be prescribed in a suspension, and at least it was all available. The antibiotics were pretty horrible - I had to take four doses a day, on an empty stomach, which meant one hour before, or two hours after, food. Because I am such a slow eater, this meant it was difficult to time the four doses at equal distances, but I managed, and at last they began to take effect. 

Slowly, the lumps became less painful, and the mountainous ridges became more discernible as the individual bites they once were. It's now over a month since the midges did their work on me, and at last I can feel each lump is getting smaller; but what a salutary experience it has been.

I have learned my lesson well: NEVER to go out at dusk unless I am completely covered up and well protected again the little blighters that bite large. 

 

 

Mum's Funeral

 Mum's Funeral

Well, we made it! and it was well worth waiting nearly six months for. It was a wonderful send off for Mum; her funeral was moving and inspirational, and an uplifting experience; she was certainly an inspiration to us all, and to everyone she met during her long life. 

We might have been small in number in the Church, but we made up for it in raising our voices in prayer and praise, and giving Mum the send-off she - and we - wanted. 

We were very aware that, because of the restrictions imposed by the virus, many people who would have attended the Service, could not, but we knew their thoughts and prayers were with Mum, and us. 

I had sent the Order of Service to people all over the world, and they had come back to me to say they would be thinking of us at 12.00 noon UK time - even if, with the time difference involved, it meant being up at 5.00 a.m! and they would be with us and singing with us. 

Wendy was  in wonderful voice, singing Bind Us Together with Bob on the guitar, and she also gave the reading from 1 Corinthians, Chapter 1, verses 1-13. I spoke about Mum, and how I knew everyone who knew and loved her, wherever they were in the world, was thinking of her, and us, as we celebrated her life. Even if they could not be with us in Church, they were thinking of us. I also read the poem again, that I wrote for her 100th Birthday, and had its debut last October, in the Palm Court. Al came forward and talked about his Great-Grandma, and his fond memories of her; and then David, our dear friend who now lives in England, spoke so warmly about Mum, and the friendship she and his mother had enjoyed in Durban, all those years ago.  

Mike, the Vicar, gave the Eulogy - he included everyone and everything that Mum had done in her life, tracing it from her birth in Liverpool on Grandma's third wedding anniversary, to being with us at the end. He also remembered Uncle John in the prayers, so we felt the circle had been completed. 

After the Church service, Mum was laid to rest in Kirkdale cemetery, with her elder brother, Austin, her father, John Woods, and her Mum - my dear Grandma, Alice. We know she is with God, but for this Service everyone took such good, gentle care of her, treating her, and us, with sensitivity and respect.

At the graveside, I saw the two gentlemen who had prepared Mum's grave, and as we prepared to leave, one said to me, "Don't worry about your Mum; we'll make sure everything is done nicely, and we'll tuck her up safe and warm." For us, that was the most perfect and understanding thing to say.

We were then driven back in the limousine to the Funeral Offices in Broadgreen, where we had parked our car. Then we drove into Liverpool, and found parking in the centre, where we could walk through to Panoramic 34, a beautiful restaurant at the very top of the West Tower, with magnificent views over the whole of Liverpool; the weather was superb, and the visibility could not have been better; the Liver building was below us, with the ferries going to and fro across the Mersey, and Birkenhead and the Wirral lay on the other side of the river, with the Welsh hills in the distance. We had a champagne cream tea at Panoramic 34 - it seemed very appropriate to have an echo of the cream teas at The Ritz that Mum so enjoyed on so many happy occasions.

Before we left Liverpool on the Saturday, we went back to Flowerbug, and saw Jo and Tom, the florists who had been responsible for creating the posies and the floral spray for Mum, and thanked them so much for the beautiful display. We were very impressed by the way they had followed all our requests and chosen beautiful blooms. 

We then went on the Kirkdale cemetery, to say "Goodbye" to Mum - for now, at any rate; we shall be back more regularly in future. We saw the cemetery staff had arranged the flowers on top of Mum's grave in the form if a cross; we were very touched  by their thoughtfulness. Little things mean a lot!

I know we have to take care and act sensibly, but I think we must maintain an element of positivity as well, and be able to look forward to the future. In a few years' time, when things have calmed down, we'll look back on this era as part of our history, but hopefully without the fear so many people have at the moment. I am sure there will come a time when we shall be able to meet up with all the people who were thinking of us on Friday, 18 September, and have a chance to catch up, face-to-face. 

The flowers on Mum's grave

Kirkdale cemetery, Liverpool

 

We Are All Prepared

We Are All Prepared

It doesn't feel like nearly six months have passed since Mum died; and under normal circumstances, we would have arranged her funeral earlier, and the Service would have taken place within a very few weeks of her passing.

Instead of which, it has been rather like being in limbo, with Mum well taken care of by West and Coe, the Funeral Directors here in the south, whilst we waited patiently for the time to come when she could be collected by Cravens in Liverpool, and taken back up north.

And we have waited patiently; it is no good railing against things you cannot change. I remember my Grandma saying, it's best to know the things you can change; accept the things you can't change; and have the wisdom to know the difference!

We certainly knew we wanted to wait until the time came when we could have Mum's funeral conducted in the way she would have wanted; although there are still restrictions in place, and limited numbers allowed to attend, we can now sing and celebrate her life through prayer and praise.

We will follow all the guidelines to ensure everyone's health and safety, and although we may be very few in the Church on Friday, there will be people all over the world who knew and remember Mum, and who will be thinking of us, timing their thoughts at all the different times to coincide with the start of Mum's Service at 12.00 noon in Liverpool. To our minds, it doesn't matter where anyone is on earth; they have all been sent a copy of the Order of Service, and will be singing with us and keeping Mum, and us, in their hearts and prayers.

I am sure we shall feel everyone's loving thoughts surrounding us all.

A Tribute To My Mum, Phyllis

A Tribute To My Mum, Phyllis

I was asked by one of the reporters on The Liverpool Echo, to write a tribute to my Mum; I worked on it with Wendy and Al, and this is what I sent off to the newspaper:

My Mum, Phyllis, was loving and patient; a wonderful mum and good friend to so many people.

When Mum and I lived in Dar-es-Salaam, I remember trips to the beach, both of us eagerly searching for unusual shells. She also made all my ballet dresses, sewing the net into classical tutus. She supported me in everything I wanted to do, whether writing, singing or dancing – she was there, with my Grandma, for every show.

To her grand-daughter Wendy, Mum was a dispenser of sweets and treats, not usually available from her parents, a tradition that extended to her great-grandson Al, who has fond memories of circling items in the Argos catalogue - always sure that his dreams would be met! 

My mum always demonstrated kindness, generosity and wisdom; ever there to encourage and support, to offer advice, and to meet challenges with a wonderous tenacity. She had an indomitable spirit, overcoming many hurdles in her life with good humour. She gave us all, the most precious gifts: her love and her time. She will be missed by everyone who knew her. 

We Have Been Busy

We Have Been Busy

Since Wendy and I went up to Liverpool last month to make the arrangements for Mum's funeral, the days have passed by almost in a flash. We have been busy, designing and proof-reading the Order of Service, and making sure everyone is primed about timings, etc. I also arranged for an Announcement in the Daily Telegraph, which will go in on Saturday, 12 September.

That was quite an interesting exercise in itself, mainly because it is extremely difficult to talk to a human being for advice; they all want you to go on line and Do It Yourself, but I am not good at DIY, and needed some guidance. It's also very expensive to place an Announcement, and I didn't want to find that if I had rewritten it with, say, one word less, I could have saved a lot of money: Mum would not have been pleased!

In the end, I left an answerphone message on a news desk telephone number, asking if someone could help me; to my relief, a short while later, a lady rang me back, promising to forward my request to a human being, and get them to call me on the landline.

Perseverance pays off: In due course, a very helpful gentleman called, and went through every word of the Announcement with me. He also advised me on the best day to place the announcement - Saturdays are good, because these are the days with the highest circulation - so we plumped for 12 September. He provided precisely the kind go advice I wanted, and guided me to the most effective wording.

I then got in touch with the Liverpool Echo. Again, it was almost impossible to speak to anyone directly! and I left an answerphone message on the news desk telephone number, giving a brief outline of Mum's life and asking if they might be interested in running a piece about a very interesting Liverpool lass.

To my delight, one of the reporters got in touch and said they would like to write about Mum, He asked, "Do you have anything written down about her? and do you have any photographs?"

"I certainly do!" I said, "and I can get them over to you by lunch time!"

I immediately set to work, creating a little set of a story about Mum and 8 photos - of Mum as a girl with Grandma in England, and then on the Empress of Scotland, going out to East Africa; there were others of Mum in Durban, and with us at The Ritz on her 100th birthday, and another in the garden, with Blackie and Pushkin. I also included copies of a couple of articles Mum had written for Best of British and This England, and sent everything off by e-mail.

Presently, the reporter called me again, requesting a little more information, including a tribute to Mum.  I worked on this with both Al and Wendy, so it was a real team effort.

When I hadn't heard anything further over the weekend, on Monday, (7 September), I rang the Echo again. This time, to my surprise, I actually got through to another Editor, who told me the story had gone on line on 30 August. I was of course very pleased to hear it was out there, but also a bit disappointed that it might not go in the newspaper as well. I explained that as Mum had been over 100 years old, a lot of people that she knew were equally elderly, and it was very unlikely they would be using computers and apps to read the article; even their children would most likely be in their 70s and 80s, and may not be computer literate, either.

He understood what I meant; I said it would have been so important to Mum to know she would be featured in the Liverpool Echo, the city of her birth, and he promised to see what he could do. I can only hope something positive will come of it!

It makes me smile and exasperated in equal measure, at the carefree way most people under a certain age seem automatically to assume everyone, of all ages, will be able to access the latest information, using apps, tweets, Facebook, etc.  You name it, they think everyone is au fait with the latest technology; but we are not, of course.

I predict one day someone will pull a great big plug out of the wall, and all the computers will sigh gently and close down. We shall then have to resort to sending proper letters; speaking to each other in person; and having human beings manning switchboards, putting callers through to the relevant members of staff who can help. This will do away with the dire automated menus, interspersed with music to drive you mad by, and long lists of options - none of which applies to what you want to ask.

I have a suspicion that these things are specifically designed to put people off contacting a company; they just encourage callers to give up and put the phone down.

One day this may change! Then I - and others like me - shall be ready to ride in with my superb inter-personal skills, and save the day!

Arranging Mum's Funeral (3)

 Arranging Mum's Funeral (3)

The next morning, we were up bright and early for breakfast, then drove into Liverpool, and found the Church in Sheil Road, where we were to meet the Vicar of All Saints. This was not in fact the Church where Mum's funeral will be conducted - that will be the traditional Church of St Mary's at Edge Hill, but it is now part of the new parish of All Saints. 

We met Mike Coates, and had a brief chat, and then we followed him as he showed us the way to St Mary's. This is a very beautiful Church, with a rich history. I found some information on the internet about it - it was originally called St Mary's in the country; the foundation stone was laid on 14 January 1812, and it was opened for divine service on 14 March 1813.  It also said that, until 1812, there was no Anglican Church at Edge Hill; the population was, however, growing rapidly. In 1812, Mr Edward Mason purchased a plot of land to build a church from Bamber Gascoyne Esq. (I do wonder if he is any relation to the former question master on the TV programme, University Challenge?!)

Mike listened patiently whilst we talked about Mum and her life, and then asked us some illuminating questions that made us think of the ways we would describe her. We felt he had taken a great deal of time to get a rounded picture of Mum, so when he talks about her, it will be as someone who knows her and can speak knowledgeably and with great understanding. We also explained about the sadness we have not being able to be in touch with Uncle John, and Mike said he will include a special prayer for him during the service, and the traditional version of The Lord's Prayer.

We also went through the hymns we know Mum wanted, and arranged the order in which they would be sung: Praise My Soul The King of Heaven; All Things Bright and Beautiful; Abide With Me and Bind Us Together. ; we chose Dear Lord and Father of Mankind as the music on arrival, and Wendy suggested O Worship the King for our departure from the Church; for the reading, we asked for 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13, verses 1-13. 

Mike gave us template as a guide for the Order of Service, and Bob can begin to create it; I expect it will run to several pages, as Mike also requested that we print the words of the hymns as well. I think we would have done that anyway, but it is important now, because hymn books are not being handled by the congregation.  

Well, I think Mum will be pleased with all the efforts everyone is making and we shall have a beautiful service for her, and a Thanksgiving for her life. We thanked Mike so much for his patience and advice; and then we set off back to Preston Brook.

On the way, I wanted to go back to FlowerBug, and order some flowers for Mum, on behalf of Uncle John. Gina was so pleased to see us, and we chose another little posy; there was a card printed with "Dear Sister" and Gina gave me a couple of those, for me to write for Uncle John. 

Two more jobs, and then I was done: we found an HSBC bank where I could pay a bill, and a Post Office, where I got a letter weighed and posted. After that, it was back to the Hotel; we had already checked out, of course, but we went to the Beefeater, and had a lovely dinner, before turning the bonnet of the car south, and heading back home. 

It had been 36 strenuous hours, but what a lot we had achieved! Apart from producing the Order of Service, I also need to find a nice restaurant where we can have something to eat after the Funeral. As the funeral is at 12.00 noon, and the interment at Kirkdale will be at about 1.00 p.m. - or perhaps a little later, depending on how long the Church service lasts, I think we will not be away from the cemetery until about 2.00 p.m., after which we will be driven back to Cravens in Broadgreen, to pick up our cars. As this is too late for lunch, and too early for dinner, we feel a full cream tea - with champagne if possible! - will fit the bill, and we will need to book tables for about 3.00 p.m. 

That is another task for another day; there is still a lot to do, as I also want to place an announcement in the Daily Telegraph and I know Cravens will be putting something in the Liverpool Echo. I also have a very strong feeling I should get in touch with the Liverpool Echo, and tell them about Mum, and see if they are interested in running a story about her. I am listening to my instincts. 

We Continue To Arrange Mum's Funeral...(2)

We Continue To Arrange Mum's Funeral...(2)

After a very full, but successful day, in which we felt we'd accomplished everything we'd set out to do, Wendy and I arrived at the hotel at about 6.00 p.m.  

As it was our first sortie into the "outside world" as it were, we were a bit apprehensive, and curious, to see what measures the hotel had put in place to ensure hygiene standards were high and would  keep their guests safe. In fact, we were very impressed. We all maintained social distancing and wore masks; there were also labels on the door handle to our room, to say it had been sanitised. I asked for a couple of extra pillows, and they were delivered at arm's length, wrapped up with a label to say they had also been sanitised. All superfluous items, like folders with hotel information that are usually left on the desk, had been removed; there wasn't much to touch.  

We washed well, and went across to the restaurant, where the table was booked for dinner at 7.00 p.m. We were really ready for it - and pots of hot tea!  Again, we were very impressed by the staff and their constant attention to detail. We were escorted to our table - it was quite bare, with no knives and forks ready-laid on the table (before the age of virus, they were just waiting for other guests to breath all over them!), and the cutlery was brought to us directly, after we had ordered from the (disposable) menu. It all inspired confidence; and the best thing was, we could order large pots of tea, with extra pots of hot water. Never has that gone down so well!

We Arrange Mum's Funeral (1)

We Arrange Mum's Funeral (1)

In some ways it feels such a long time since Mum died on 23 March, and yet it is not yet even five months ago. We have done a lot since then, especially finding a good funeral director locally, who was able to take care of Mum, and reassure us they could keep her for as long as necessary, at least until we were able to arrange her funeral in Liverpool, in the way that she would like it to be conducted. 

With all the restrictions imposed by the virus - and we are obedient and follow all the guidelines - we didn't want Mum's send-off to be a rushed, half-hearted affair, especially as it is an interment in the family grave in Kirkdale cemetery in Liverpool; so we decided to wait as long as necessary, to do things properly. Now things are easier, and we will be allowed to sing in Church and raise our voices in praise and prayer. 

Two weeks ago, Wendy and I went up to Liverpool last week, to meet the undertakers - we are using the same company that organised Grandma's funeral, back in June, 1985 - organise flowers, and meet the Vicar. 

We set off at "0 crack double 0" - which meant I got up at about 4.00 a.m!  - and had a pretty good run up north, stymied only once by a hold-up on one of the motorways, when not only were we not even inching forward, we were not making any forward progress at all! We had arranged to meet the funeral Director, Tom, at 12.30, and this was one occasion when I found my ancient (i.e., one up from the brick) mobile phone handy: I rang him to say we were stuck for a while, but at least he knew we were on our way.

When at last we arrived, there we were still in good enough time to have comprehensive discussions and make decisions. It felt strange looking at a brochure for coffins, but we chose a nice one, and also made decisions about an announcement in the Liverpool Echo (yes), and a limousine to take us to the Church (yes) and then on to the cemetery. We also reminded Tom we had been told by the Vicar that we would be allowed to sing, and so an organist will be required. 

It was all quite simple, really, and after going through the list of things to be done, Tom then said he was show us where our family grave is in Kirkdale cemetery. It's not surprising I couldn't remember where it was; the last time we were all there was in 1985, when Grandma was buried; even though Liverpool City Council had sent me a map, my almost non-existent sense of direction would have made things difficult! and it was good to have someone to guide us. 

The cemetery is really nicely kept; all the grass was mown, and although our family grave doesn't yet have a headstone, it is next to Aunt Marian's grave, which does, so it wasn't too difficult to find. Tom had been there before we arrived; he had also requested cemetery staff to mark the grave for us, which they had done.

Tom had done a good job in making sure everything was well organised for our visit; after we said goodbye to him, Wendy and I drove to a florist called "FlowerBug" to meet Gina. I had already had very understanding conversations with her on the phone, and she knew exactly what we wanted: nothing too ostentatious - Mum preferred flowers from the garden - and no lilies; we all sneeze our heads off with them, and I can't stand the smell, either! 

We chose a simple two-foot long spray to go on top of the coffin, and decided on little posies, one from each of us, to go with the coffin as well. Gina said she would make ribbons with "Mum," "Grandma," "Great Grandma" and "Phyllis" in gold letters printed on them; she made a complete list of the different coloured posies, and which ribbons should go with them. 

We didn't want Mum's grave to be left bare; we can take the ribbons home with us after the funeral, and still leave the flowers behind, which seems to be the best of both worlds.

By then it was getting late in the afternoon. Wendy and I were both tired, hot and thirsty, and felt we had done a good job so far, and so it was time to find the hotel and check in, and get something to eat and drink. It had already been a long day!

    

 

 

I'm Becoming Less Of An Owl

I'm Becoming Less Of An Owl

I have always been a night-owl. Ever since I can remember, "10.00 o'clock in the evening, and the night is still young!" has been the way my body clock operated, and I could work perfectly well on a lot less than 8 hours sleep a night; the difference being of course, that with an East African childhood behind me, I would also take the chance to have an afternoon "kip" for an hour or so, after which I would be refreshed and ready to carry on. Those were the days when I could work as a journalist all day, and every evening be on stage - either rehearsing a show, performing in one, or else competing in ballroom dancing competitions.

In the past few years, though, since Mum became more disabled, I have felt the odd twinge of tiredness creeping in. Anything to do with age? Nonsense! Just that I had a lot to do, I reasoned, and it was better to stay up and get the jobs finished, and start with a clean slate in the morning, than go to bed and perhaps fret about the things I had left undone.

I could still get myself settled down to the ironing (no complaints from me about that!) at 1.00 o'clock in the morning, and sit and watch an hour's programme whilst I did some dashing away with the smoothing iron.

One of the last things I would do before going bed, was to sit and write an entry for my blog, but recently my eyes have been complaining. Even allowing time for looking away from the screen at regular intervals, I have found myself staring at the computer, with my eyes feeling as though they are like two peeled, hard-boiled eggs peering out short-sightedly from my face. It is extremely uncomfortable.

I have therefore taken the hint, and been listening to my body, and am now writing and doing close work during the day, and going to bed rather earlier. The only downside is that I tend to sleep for the same number of hours as before, which means I also wake up earlier, feel hungry and have to go downstairs for some breakfast.

Heigh-ho. We have had a huge upheaval in the past few weeks, with Mum dying just over four months ago, and all the on-going battles to get some good resolution for Uncle John whilst it will still be of benefit to him. I hope everything will settle down into a new pattern soon.

I still enjoy restorative afternoon kips. Some things never change!

I Took A Step Back

I Took A Step Back

Reading through some of my more recent posts, and all the problems with Uncle John, I realised it had been getting to the stage where I was becoming repetitious, as well as having a bit of a rant. This was not good! so I thought the best way forward was to take a step back and give it all a rest for a week or three (or four). 

In the meantime, I've been doing lots of other creative things; writing poetry, meeting deadlines for submissions, and getting out Mum's old watercolour paints and coloured pencils to produce art work to go with some of my poems. That was an experience in itself! I haven't done any drawing or painting for 50-plus years! so thanks go to MsLexia for inspiring me to get paints and brushes out again.

Not writing for a while also gave me a chance to marshal my thoughts on "The Australian Situation," and come to terms with the things I cannot change for Uncle John. This does not mean I have given up on him! I am still trying to find some way/someone who will be able to visit him, and still hope to get some resolution from the Tribunal with QCAT.

Even if he can't hear anymore, I believe there will still be some part of his mind in there somewhere, that will know and appreciate there is a kind person beside him, ready to hold his hand and pass on the message that we all love him. 

And if I can't manage to find someone who can see Uncle John? My prayer is that he will carry in his mind, memories of the lovely times we spent together, the places we went to and the people we met. Perhaps he will be able to escape mentally into a peaceful haven, surrounded by those of us who love him. 

I Try Once Again To Contact Uncle John

I Try Once Again To Contact Uncle John

I am still trying to get through to Uncle John, so a couple of weeks ago, I rang the home, and spoke to the Receptionist - the same one we have had conversations with before.

I promised to take up no more than a few minutes of her time, and she said I could go ahead and put forward my queries to her:

I reminded her that the Office of the Public Guardian report had upheld the allegation that Uncle John's son was preventing Uncle John from contacting, or speaking  to anyone.

Then I asked

1) Since he was transferred there from St Vincent's Hospital on 1 May 2019, has Uncle John been taken out of the Home at any time?
2) Did his son take him home at Christmas?
3) Did his son take him out at any time last year?
4) Does Uncle John get any visits from his other friends?
5) Are there any personal mementos from his past life - books, pictures, photos, etc. - in Uncle John's room?

The Reception's reply was polite, but firm. She could not answer any of my questions, but added:

"John Woods Senior has said he does not want to speak to anyone on the phone. That is his decision, and we must abide by it."  She added, "He has everything in his room that he wants."

My astounded  response was: "How is it that, until now, the mantra has been that Uncle John does not have mental capacity to make any decisions for himself, and all requests for contact must go through his son? And now - after the OPG have issued their advice to his son to help Uncle John maintain contact and relationships - suddenly Uncle John does have the mental capacity to make his own decisions - and he has said, he doesn't want to?

Just a reminder:

Findings 

The allegation is substantiated in that there are contact restrictions in place. However there is conflicting evidence provided regarding Mr Woods’ (Snr) wishes in relation to receiving visitors and investigators were unable to obtain his views and wishes in this regard. 

Conclusion 

1. The Public Guardian considers Mr John Woods (Snr) to have impaired capacity for financial and personal/health matters. 

2. On the basis of the findings outlined above, the Public Guardian considers it necessary to take the following protective action in relation to Mr John Woods(Snr) : 

a. Advice issued to Mr John Woods(Jnr) under s.18 (1)(a) of the PGA as follows: Mr Woods(Jnr) must consider General Principle 8 and maintain Mr John Woods (Snr) existing supportive relationships 

The Receptionist just reiterated that "...it was Mr Woods' Senior's express decision." She repeated this several times.

I was also able to ask if Uncle John had any personal money? Immediately I was in Deja vu territory, when she replied, "Mr Woods does not need any money. The Home provides everything that he needs."

My blood ran just a bit cold, as I recognised this sentence as exactly the same one Uncle John told us Johnny had said to him, last year: "You don't need any money here, Dad, the Home provides everything..." When Wendy was with Uncle John in June 2019, Uncle John told both Wendy and me that he had no spending money at all; he said, "I haven't got a bean... not a brass farthing..." and he was not happy about it.

Three weeks ago, I rang the OPG in England for some further advice about allowances for residents in care homes.  I was told everybody was entitled to have spending money - it's a basic right that all care home residents should have a little money, that they can spend as they like.

Now, I felt like asking - but of course I didn't! - if "...provision by the Home for everything that Uncle John needed..." might also include buying a 100th birthday card for his sister, and paying for the stamp to post it to Mum? and what about a card at Christmas?

Nothing changes. Johnny is so cunning, but no-one sees it, or seems prepared to speak out against his treatment of his dad.

a)  To begin with, Johnny went around quoting his Power of Attorney that allowed him to deal with Uncle John’s life, because Uncle John no longer had mental capacity, and he forbade us - and  anyone else - to speak to or visit Uncle John.
b)   Then the Office of the Public Guardian’s report, 5 May 2020, confirmed that Uncle John had impaired capacity, and had issued advice to maintain existing supportive relationships. 
c)   Johnny has now got round this by making sure everyone in the Nursing Home says it is Uncle John’s own decision that he doesn’t want to talk on the phone. How come Uncle John suddenly now has mental capacity to make his own decisions?

Does this mean Johnny can now put his hands up and say something to the effect of, "Well, it's nothing to do with me anymore... It's my father's own decision...?!"

Following my e-mail to her on 5 June, on 9th June, our Solicitor sent me an e-mail, to say QCAT had been notified that I was happy for them to deal with her.

The Tribunal had informed her that they had a) sought a response from  Mr Woods, but no response to the application has been provided; and b) is in the process of obtaining a medical report, which is different to that prepared by the OPG and has been requested by the Tribunal from the facility in Jindalee.  Once the medical report has been received, the Tribunal will determine the matter.

Well. It will be interesting to see if the medical report now says Uncle John has mental capacity to decided what he wants to do!

I am not hopeful; but I have more ideas in store. I shall not give up.

I Instruct A Solicitor

I Instruct A Solicitor

This is becoming hazy; dealing with smoke and mirrors, where so many people say so many different things, and you feel no-one is ever going to be straight with you.

I confirmed our instructions with a Solicitor in Brisbane, paid the starting fee and gave her authority to deal with QCAT on my behalf.

She came back to me very quickly, to say that she had been in touch with them, and specifically with the case officer for my application; and that the case officer had confirmed that:
"

1. the Application could not be passed on for determination immediately because further information was required from you; 

2. the Application has been passed on for determination with a QCAT Member as of last week;

3. most applications with QCAT have been delayed as a result of COVID-19, including yours; and

4. she cannot provide a time frame in which the Application will be determined as this will depend on the QCAT Member’s workload."

I was very upset by QCAT's response, and replied to the Solicitor by return, clarifying what had actually happened, and appending the e-mails I referred to, which proved the delay had not been down to me:

"Thank you very much for your e-mail received this morning.

Firstly, I am very happy for you to be kept informed of any progress with taking the case for Uncle John before a Tribunal.

Secondly, in reply to the points raised by the case officer:

1) a) Exactly what information did QCAT require from me? When I submitted all the forms in January, I enclosed all the supporting evidence - photographs, lists of people I had already contacted (e.g., Megan Hunt, the British Vice Consul; the Police; a petition to Scott Robinson, Prime Minister of Australia; ADA Australia), plus a list Social Workers from both Princess Alexandra and St Vincent’s Hospitals, who had received confirmation from Uncle John himself, that he wanted us to be told of his progress, and remain in contact with us.

b) It is I who have made all the running, with phone calls, and follow-up e-mails, asking what is going on. QCAT never approached me for any more information.

c) The Office of the Public Guardian’s report was at long last complete and sent to me on 5 May. On 7, May I spoke to the Officer from the OPG; I then e-mailed her, with the name of the case officer at QCAT who was dealing with the matter, and the Case Number. The OPG Officer said she would forward the report on to QCAT.

d) On 7 May, I also e-mailed the Officer at QCAT, to say the Officer at the OPG would be forwarding their report to her. In this e-mail I also wrote “…we have had no updates at all.”

e) Then, when I discovered the Officer at QCAT had not received the report from the OPG, I sent it to her myself, on 14 May.

2) At no time did anyone at QCAT say they required any more details from me. Is it the case they could not proceed until they had the OPG Report? I was told by QCAT, that once they had received the forms, they would be in the process of being dealt with. It now appears we are at the back of the queue.

3) I appreciate there are problems with COVID 19, but people are still able to work from home, and surely there should be a possibility of ensuring business continues - at least in some way - as usual, particularly when it relates to elderly, ill and vulnerable people.

4) If we are now depending on the QCAT Member’s workload, again, is no consideration to be given to the length of time we have already waited? In view of Uncle John’s great age and terminal illness, could it be placed before someone able to bring it forward to achieve a resolution? I feel throughout this whole process, it has been stalled so many times, and if they wait much longer, they won’t have to bother, because Uncle John will be dead. How much longer does he, and we, have to wait?

I will attach the e-mails I sent to the Officers at both the OPG and QCAT, as listed above. I hope they will help you to clarify the position with QCAT.

Looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Yours sincerely

Alexandra

1 c) My e-mail to the OPG on 7 May, with the details for Uncle John's case at QCAT:
1 d) My e-mail to QCAT, sent on 7 May, advising the OPG would be sending the OPG Report.
1 e) My e-mail to QCAT sent on 14  May, forwarding the OPG Report. "

So far, I've had no response. On 5 June, I sent another e-mail to my Solicitor, asking for an update;
I am now in the position of having to say:

 "WATCH THIS SPACE!"

Why Do I Believe People Will Do What They Say?

Why Do I Believe People In Authority Will Do What They Say?

Monday morning (gone midnight our time, 9.00 a.m. Brisbane time) 10 days ago, I rang QCAT and to my amazement managed to be put through to the Officer designated to Uncle John's case.

She had not been sent the Report from the Office of the Public Guardian (the one they had promised to send to QCAT!) so I said I would forward it to her myself. She then gave me a direct e-mail address, so that it would land straight in her in-box, and not have to progress through a tortuous route via the general "enquiries" address.

She sounded very sympathetic and understanding about Uncle John's age and frailty, and how concerned we are at the length of time it has taken the OPG to actually get the report sent to us, that I actually began to hope that at last she was taking it seriously and would do everything to expedite the presentation to the Tribunal.

I made sure the files were not too big, and divided them up attached to 3 or 4 separate e-mails; the Officer said they would be with the Tribunal that afternoon.

So that was Monday. On the Tuesday morning, I rang her again, to check everything had arrived safely, but was told she was day off on Tuesdays, and that I should ring again on Wednesday,

Wednesday, 1.00 a.m. As instructed, I called again; but this time she had gone into a meeting. that "...would last for hours."  I said I'd call again tomorrow.

Thursday, 1.00 a.m. - Again, no luck in speaking with anyone in charge; I was just told the officer wasn't available.

No-one can accuse me of not being persistent. Friday, 1.00 a.m. - I spoke to the same woman who had answered my call yesterday. This time, she was quite - what I call - "rudely polite." Clearly I was a great nuisance; she said she "...had to remind me that I must be patient!"

I pointed out I had been patient for a long time: since 20 January, in fact, when I first forwarded the forms to them, and had been told an Interim Order would take 3 - 5 weeks; as it all related to my Uncle, aged 97, with terminal cancer, how much more patience did they think he (or I) should have? For good measure, I added that the Officer dealing with the case had told me on Monday that the matter would be before the Tribunal that afternoon.

I could tell that did not go down well. I was curtly reminded again I must be patient. Clearly I was not going to get anywhere with anyone in QCAT this week.

It is a disgraceful situation, especially as I also contacted the Office of the Public Guardian here in England again, and they were shocked at the attitude of the OPG in Brisbane. If the same concerns had been raised here, it would have been dealt with much more swiftly, and they would be able to make sure their recommendations were carried out. They have teeth!

But we are not in England. We are dealing with the authorities in Brisbane, and that is that.

So then I decided it was time to try and find a Solicitor who would be willing to help.

I rang the Law Society in Australia and whilst they are not allowed to recommend any particular firm, they were able to give me some guidelines as to what to look for. It's still rather like taking a pin and aiming for some location on a map, but I picked a firm that had a normal landline telephone number that I can dial from England, and tried that.

I am hoping I struck lucky. I explained the problem to the lady who answered the phone, and after a short wait, she put me through to one of the solicitors. She had obviously been told the basic details of what help we need, and seemed to have got quite a full grasp of it.

She took my e-mail address and said she would forward details of her firm and that I should confirm our instructions.

I had already prepared the e-mail with the attachments to go with it - photos of Uncle John, the original complaint I made to the Office of the Public Guardian, and their report, so it was all ready to go; I pressed "send" and then there was a hitch! It did not want to go and kept bouncing back to me, and eventually I had to use another e-mail address; happily that worked.

She told me because Johnny still has Power of Attorney she is not allowed to write to him (I'd been hoping a Solicitor's letter might have given Johnny pause for thought!) but she can help us with QCAT and try to expedite things for us.

If we can get a State Attorney appointed to handle Uncle John's affairs, that would be the best outcome, as  I think they would have to uphold the OPG's recommendations that Uncle John's existing relationships should be maintained.

Well, that is as far as I have got. I guess I still have to keep faith and believe someone will now act on our behalf, and quickly enough for a positive result (if there is one) to be helpful for Uncle John before it is too late.

I Send E-Mails To The OPG And QCAT

I Send E-Mails To The OPG And QCAT

Just a quick reminder: The OPG is The Office of the Public Guardian; QCAT stands for Queensland Civil and Administrative Tribunal.

I am never one to fire off e-mails, missives, letters etc., without thinking twice or thrice about it; but having heard nothing back from earlier e-mails I sent to the OPG, and not having had any confirmation from QCAT that they had received a copy of the OPG Report, I spent another 24 hours writing a "chivvy" ("are you getting on with it?") e-mail, first to the OPG and then, a day later, also copying it to the person appointed to handle the case at QCAT.

The first part of the e-mail is just reiterating what I had already flagged up in previous correspondence, but then I added more paragraphs to remind them that, when it comes to keeping older people active and happy and communicative,  I do know what I am talking about; after all, we loved and looked after Mum for 8 years, and she was always included in everything we did, and we encouraged to talk to all our friends and neighbours.

I hope you might also be able to view on You Tube the video I refer to in the email below - it of Uncle John talking to me in March, 2019.

Here is the extra information contained in those latest two e-mails sent last week to the authorities:


"I will attach a video Wendy made when we visited Uncle John in Princess Alexandra Hospital in March last year. My Grandson, Al, has made a file of it that he uploaded onto YouTube (he is a whizz when it comes to computers), so I hope you will be able to take five minutes to view it, and you’ll see how well Uncle John remembers things, and how he loved to reminisce about what he has done in his life. He is such an interesting gentleman.

Here is the YouTube link for you to view the video - you may have to copy this and paste into your browser https://youtu.be/H97l8T9aa6A  

I can only pray that QCAT will be able to help us get back in contact with Uncle John. If he has not been able to talk to anyone on the phone for nearly a year, I am not surprised if he is no longer keen to try using that method of communication now, and if the lady you saw checking his hearing aids and batteries was there when Uncle John was asleep, how could she know if the hearing aids were still functional for him, and if the ear pieces still fitted him properly? When Uncle John first moved to the TriCare nursing home, the staff said they could arrange calls on FaceTime, and when Wendy was with him in June last year, he was certainly happy to chat on Skype.

It is a fact that people become more withdrawn the longer they are left in isolation, and that is the situation my Uncle has found himself in: Cut off from his family through a vindictive attitude set forth by his son as a result of what has been confessed to be a deep-set hatred towards his dad. The situation we find ourselves, in which a brother is unaware of his elder sister's death, is shocking. Johnny is not using his power of attorney to care or protect his dad, he is using it to hold his father prisoner - to keep him segregated from the people who love him. 

I believe further mediation will fail. Johnny is ignoring, and will continue to ignore, not just general principle eight, but his father entirely. If the stance of the Office of the Public Guardian is to issue their report, give recommendations, and then not ensure those recommendations are enforced, is the Office truly doing everything in its power to protect the most vulnerable? I feel my Uncle has been let down and is continuing to be let down, being kept from even merely speaking to his family – now for nearly a year - since 22 June 2019. 

I sent forms by courier to QCAT in January, including Form 10 (appointing a formal Guardian/Administrator) and an Interim Order Application, which I understood would be actioned within 6 weeks. I have heard nothing from Mrs Taylor about how any application is progressing, so I hold out little hope there. 

I look forward to receiving your earliest reply."


So there you have it: the e-mails probably won't do much good, and I'll bet anyone five pounds to a pinch of pepper they won't come back to me, but at least I feel better for having written them!

A Disappointment - But No Surprise!

A Disappointment - But No Surprise!

It's as well I wasn't into bating my breath for too long, or got my hopes up high.

The report from the Office of the Public Guardian duly arrived on 5 May; according to the time-line in the report, it had been completed on 5 March, and signed off on 1 May, so there was clearly no sense of urgency about it, and complete disregard for Uncle John's great age and his state of health.

The bottom line is that 3 allegations were investigated: 1, that Uncle John's son was utilising his father's funds for his own benefit; 2, his son had discarded his property contrary to Uncle John's wishes, and 3, restricting contact and outings that is not in the best interest of Uncle John.

I was surprised to see how the Investigating Officer had worded the 3 allegations, because when I submitted the form on 22 July 2019, I explained Uncle John was very unhappy that his son had closed down his bank account, and taken full control of his money; he had wanted his son to open a joint account. His son had given Uncle John no spending money, and Uncle John was very upset about this; he wanted to be able to buy personal items for himself - sweets, a newspaper, batteries for his hearing aid, etc. I also wrote that Uncle John told us his son had said, "You don't need any money, because the Nursing Home provides everything"! but that took away every last vestige of his independence and without money, Uncle John couldn't even buy a card for Mum for her 100th birthday, or a Christmas card.

With regard to the second complaint, we provided photographs to show Uncle John had no clothes in his wardrobe, and no outdoor shoes; he was sitting in his pyjamas and dressing gown, with slippers on his feet. When she was with him in June last year,  Uncle John wanted Wendy to take him back to Marsden Gardens (where Uncle John had been living until he was taken ill in the March), to retrieve some of his possessions, but by then his son had forbidden Uncle John to leave the home. I rang the Warden at Marsden Gardens, and he told me Uncle John's son had come round on 1 May (the day Uncle John moved to the Nursing Home) and cleared everything out of Uncle John's unit. Uncle John complained he had not got a book, a photograph or anything from his past life in England, from East Africa, or the time when he spent two years in Romania. There was not one personal memento in his room, and it was clear to us that his son had not intended him to have anything.

No mention was made in the Report about the evidence I had provided to prove what Uncle John was complaining about, was true.

The first two allegations were considered to be not substantiated, but at least the third one was substantiated, in that Johnny is restricting contact and outings and that this is not in the best interest of Mr John Woods (Snr), as there are contact restrictions in place. The Report says they have issued advice to Mr John Woods (Jnr) under Section 18 (1) (a) of the PGA, that he must consider General Principle 8, and maintain Mr John Woods (Snr) existing supportive relationships.

I rang the OPG, but then came the part that was the nub of the matter: I was told the OPG can only "advise" Johnny about their findings; they cannot enforce them. This means the OPG is toothless; what a total waste of time all this investigation, over nine and a half months, has been.

They suggested I contact QCAT (already done, back in January, 2020 - and still no word from them!) and see if mediation will help.

We have a very dear, long-standing friend in Australia called Pamela, who thought that - because she isn't family, and "just a friend" - she might have some success in making contact with Uncle John. She rang Johnny, but he would not come to the phone, and sent his wife Jan to deal with the call. Jan told Pamela there was no way we could ever speak to Uncle John again, and we had said our last goodbyes, the last time we saw him (on 22 June last year).

Pamela was so sorry about it - she said, however much she had tried (and I know she would be lovely, and diplomatic on the phone), they were very stubborn on that. She said she had been very pleasant on the phone, but it didn't make any difference.

So now, where? This is something that offends my sense of fair play, of justice and of wanting to see someone who is good and kind have some happy times at the end of his life; the end of Uncle John's days should not be dictated by someone like Johnny, who is keeping Uncle John a virtual prisoner in the nursing home.

Forgive the mixed metaphors, but I still have more ideas in my head and up my sleeve, and hope I'll soon find an Ace to play.

With Bated Breath, We Await A Report About Uncle John

With Bated Breath, We Await A Report About Uncle John

We have still not been able to speak to Uncle John in the Tri-Care  Nursing Home at Jindalee. Yes, I know it is difficult at the moment with the lockdown situation, but that should never have prevented us from talking to him on the phone - there's no chance of spreading the virus that way.

A quick update of how long it has taken to get any response from the Office of the Public Guardian (OPG) and/or the Queensland Civil Administrative Tribunal (QCAT) offices in Brisbane:

22 July 2019: I sent the forms and supporting evidence to the OPG, requesting an investigation into the way Uncle John's son, Johnny Stephen Woods, was operating under the Power of Attorney given to him by his father. Having taken advice from Social Services here, I was sure they would find Johnny was abusing his Power of Attorney, firstly and fore mostly  by forbidding us to have any contact with Uncle John.  It was not just we who were not allowed to communicate with Uncle John - no-one else was granted permission to visit/speak to him either, including the British Vice Consul, and other friends in Australia, who would have been happy to keep in touch with him. It would seem that at no stage was Uncle John asked what he would like, so that his wishes could be taken into immediate consideration - he is the most important person in all of this.

I believe Uncle John's son must hate not only us, but his Dad as well, to isolate Uncle John in such a way. Depriving him of any spending money, meant he couldn't buy anything for himself; Uncle John couldn't ask anyone to purchase a newspaper for him, some sweets or a birthday card for Mum's 100th birthday - and not even batteries for his hearing aids.

I know so well, if you take a deaf person's hearing aids away from them, you effectively imprison them in a silent world. I grew up with my Grandma (Uncle John's and Mum's mother). She wasn't born deaf, but started losing her hearing when she was about 25 years old, so by the time I was born, she was - as she put it, in a very politically incorrect way - "As deaf as a post!"

 29 July 2019:  I received an acknowledgement from the OPG, to say the investigation would begin, but that it could take a long time to complete the enquiries. I would be entitled to a copy of the report, when it was ready.

As the months rolled by, it seemed to us that the investigation was proceeding at a snail's pace, with no account being taken of the great age of both Uncle John and my Mum, or that time was of the essence.

January 2020: I couriered forms to the Queensland Civil Administrative Tribunal (QCAT) in Brisbane, making an application for an Administrative/Guardianship Appointment (which I was told could take three months) as well as an application for an Interim Order, which would take only 6 weeks; I opted for both. I had the name of the person in charge of the case, and a number to quote in correspondence. Over the following three months, I rang QCAT several times, speaking to various people who answered the 'phone, and asking how my application was progressing. They took messages, but nothing happened. No-one came back to me.

9 March 2020: I e-mailed the Office of the Public Guardian (OPG), to say Mum had been admitted to hospital, and that the doctors were very concerned about her.

12 March 2020: I had a reply to say the investigation was complete, and the report was up for review, which would be done as a priority.

30 March 2020: I wrote to the Queensland Civil Administrative Tribunal (QCAT) again, to tell them Mum had died on 23 March. I added:

"It is now too late for my Mother, but could you now please expedite my request for you to investigate the problems we  have had with my cousin exceeding his powers of attorney.

At the very least: Please could someone from your office find out if my Uncle still has his hearing aids, and full batteries, to allow him to have some communication with the staff at Jindalee Nursing Home? We are very anxious to speak to Uncle John, before it is also too late for him. He will be 97 years old on 28 April, and is terminally ill. We are concerned that with no money to buy batteries, and therefore unable to hear, Uncle John will remain totally isolated. Being deaf is a lonely disability."

I received no reply.

29 April 2020: I e-mailed the OPG again, to tell them Mum had died on 23 March, without ever having had the chance to speak to her brother again. Until the day she died, she was always asking to speak to him, and I said I thought it was a disgraceful situation that my Uncle's son, Johnny Stephen Woods, could prevent this from happening.

1 May 2020: Today I received an e-mail from the OPG, saying they were very sorry to hear of my mother's death, and unfortunately, after her review of the investigation report, there were further inquiries required that had now been completed and included in the report. This would be finalised as a priority next week... (I won't hold my breath!) and that I should have correspondence forwarded to me on Tuesday, 5 May.

Have the authorities no sense of urgency, especially when the enquiry concerns very elderly people, diagnosed with a terminal illness? Have they no heart, no compassion?  I was talking to a legal friend in Germany, and when I said, "I just think they are waiting for Uncle John to die, and then they won't have to bother!" he replied, "I think you're right!"

And now here we are, waiting with breath bated, for the report from the Office of the Public Guardian to come through: due tomorrow, 5 May. I hold out no great hopes that they will have found in favour of us maintaining contact with Uncle John, but we shall wait and see, and I hope to be proved wrong!

As I have said so often before, I need only one person to pick up the baton and run with it, and then maybe we'll be lucky and have the chance to make contact with Uncle John again before it is too late. If thoughts and wishes can cross oceans and continents, he may get some feeling we are all trying our very best for him.

Am I Becoming A TV Addict?!

Am I Becoming A TV Addict?!

Growing up in East Africa, there was no television; and then living in South Africa, television was not available in that country either. There were cinemas, theatres,  concerts to go to, and of course dear old "steam" radio - to my mind, after seeing a stage play, the next best thing was to hear it on radio. The most perfect leading man, the most beautiful leading lady, were to be found in your head, in your imagination - seeing a photograph of the cast could then prove to be a horrible disappointment! so better just to rely on their voices, and the atmosphere and sound effects created by the radio theatre workshops.

With this background, I never thought I would get particularly seduced by the goggle box; even when I came back to England in 1970, got married and had our daughter, Wendy, a telly was not high on the agenda of essential purchases. The first thing Bob and I did was to get a telephone - a shared line in those days, as there weren't enough lines to provide a private line to everyone! - and a piano.  We played, sang, I accompanied Bob when he played the clarinet and violin - it was wonderful, creating our own entertainment.

Then there were the times when Bob was away at sea; so that I would have something to watch, a kind friend offered us their old black and white t.v. - they had just gone on to colour, and as we had no set at all, we said "Yes, thank you!"

It was nice to have the chance to see as well as hear the news. I also enjoyed the wildlife programmes, but with a young baby to look after, there wasn't much time to become reliant on the box in the corner of the room.

Eventually, even we succumbed to the lure of colour programmes and with only 3 or 4 channels to choose from, we remained very selective; we still played, sang and our parties round the piano were very popular!

Now there are so many channels to choose from, I find it quite terrifying. No-one is going to live long enough to watch everything that might (just might!) interest them; so again, I tended to drop out of getting into all the various soaps and "must see" series that came along.

Looking after Mum also channelled our choice of programmes. When Mum couldn't concentrate long enough to enjoy a film or series on t.v. (she used to follow Murder She Wrote and Colombo) but later on she liked Homes Under the Hammer, which were short enough for her to remember what she thought she would do with a particular house to renovate it. Whilst she was having her dinner, we would watch a couple of quiz programmes together, Tipping Point and The Chase being two favourites. Wildlife films went down a treat, especially if they were about Africa; she could really relate to them, if they showed the deserts or jungles and the wild animals.

There were some programmes I quite fancied watching, but if they started at 9.00 p.m., even if they were on for only an hour, with the time schedule we had for looking after Mum and making sure she had eaten her dinner, it was usually impossible for me to watch them at the transmission time; a huge number of programmes were recorded, for me to watch later - whenever "later" might be.

The result is, there are dozens of films, series and single stand-alone programmes all sitting in the black box, just waiting for me to watch them - even those I have probably gone off by now anyway.

Since Mum died, these past weeks have been hectic, getting all the letters written, advising people, authorities, banks, etc., what has happened; but suddenly I found I was getting to the end of that very long list of things to do, and I actually had time for other interests.

And so now, with more time to spare: Am I turning into a TV addict?

In the past three weeks, I have watched the three 1-hour episodes of "Quiz," the programme about the first million-pound winner on Who Wants to be a Millionaire, who was then found guilty of cheating; and three 1-hour episodes of "A Very English Scandal," about the leader of the Liberal party back in the 1970s, who was accused of trying to have his lover murdered.

I have now watched 5 films:

Victoria and Abdul; a James Bond outing with Spectre; a very young Richard Burton in The Robe; Richard Burton again, in The Spy Who Came in From the Cold; and Cabaret, from 1972 - which I saw in a cinema in Portsmouth, when it first came out! (All that's missing now (with the earlier films) is the usherette in a frilly pinny, walking down the aisle during the interval, carrying a large tray with a halter neck ribbon around her neck and shoulders to support it, offering the audience "Ice creams! Cigarettes! Chocolates!")

I remember my Grandma telling me in Dar-es-Salaam, that she had read a book called The Robe, written by Lloyd C Douglas, and there was a film being made of it. The film came out in 1953, but I wasn't taken to see it; all these years later, through the wonder of television, here was my chance to watch it, and think back to my Grandma.

The patterns are changing, and we are winding down; what other treasures await - or lurk! - in the black box of recorded programmes?

It's very nice being able to sit down and relax and watch something uninterrupted; but with all the hundreds (?) of programmes sitting patiently in the queue - and yet more coming on screen every day - am I becoming a t.v. addict? Will I ever go to watch a film at "the flicks" again? Will I ever go to see a play in the theatre? Well ... (when the problems with the virus are over, as we all hope one day they surely must be, and we can go out and about more freely again) ... I jolly well hope so!

Words That Heal

Words That Heal

It's just over a month since Mum died, and we have had cards, letters, e-mails and phone calls from the four corners of the earth; all of them kind and loving and sympathetic, and every message welcome.

One dear friend reminded us Psalm 91 holds words of comfort, whilst other friends have included wonderful poetry, reminding us that there is great comfort to be found in the understanding of other writers of the human condition. Here is a selection of some that our lovely friends have sent to us:

Death is only an old door
set in a garden wall.
On quiet hinges it gives at dusk,
when the thrushes call.

Along the lintel are green leaves,
beyond, the light lies still;
Very weary and willing feet
go over that sill.

There is nothing to trouble any heart,
nothing to hurt at all.
Death is only an old door
in a garden wall.

Nancy Byrd Turner

A Scots Farewell

When I come to the end of the road 

And the sun has set for me

I want no tears in a good-filled room

Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little but not for long

And not with your head bowed low

Remember the love that we once shared

Miss me but let me go.

For this is a journey we all must take

And each must go alone

It's all a part of the master plan

A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick of heart

Go to the friend we know

And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds

Miss me ... but let me go.

A quotation from Joyce Grenfell:

If I should go before the rest of you

Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone,

Nor when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice

But be the usual selves that I have known.

Weep if you must,

Parting is hell,

But life goes on,

So sing as well.

And that poem brings me to the wonderful folks who have sent us anecdotes, clever puns on words, amusing photos they've seen; witty and funny messages which also cheer us all up, and remind us life does go on. To all the kind and loving people who might be reading this: please don't stop!

We shall sing (and laugh) as well. 

Blackie Comes Home

Blackie Comes Home

On Saturday evening, 18 April, we brought Blackie home from the Vets' surgery.

We are allowed to bury our pets in the garden, and we had a special place in mind where we could lay Blackie to rest. There is a space at the back of the patio, with a deep trench; it's surrounded by a high wall at the back, and low walls at the front and side, so a really lovely place for him to lie, and where we can think of him and how he loved to act "Lord of the Manor," prowling his precinct every evening.

It took some time and effort to prepare everything, and at last we could lay Blackie to rest. We know that not even a sparrow falls without God knowing about it, so surely He will know that a well-loved pussycat has died. We said a little prayer to thank God for sending Blackie to us, and for his companionship and having the sheer joy and pleasure he has given us all, having him as part of our family for so many years.

When we can organise my Mum's funeral, one of the hymns we will sing is "All Things Bright and Beautiful, All Creatures Great and Small..." Mum loved that hymn, and it seemed appropriate to sing some verses for Blackie, and remembering "... The lord God made them all."

It is truly amazing and wonderful, the positive impact one cat can make on our lives.

Blackie's resting place.
Covered in Forget-me-not flowers,
we'll always remember him

Blackie Bows Out

Blackie Bows Out

I think grief is the price we pay for love. You have a choice: close your heart, and refuse to let anyone, or even allow a beloved pet to come into your life, because then, when they die, you won't be upset; or else you can decide to be open to all the joy that loving and being loved can bring, and be thankful for all the happy times you have spent together. Yes, it's harrowing when they are no longer there, and you have to come to terms with the fact they aren't going to come in through the door anymore, but I've found so much comfort in being able to remember them with love.

My Grandma used to say, as we get older, we live on our memories. We can't live charmed lives with no trials and tribulations, but I try to make as many happy memories as possible, and focus on them. They carry you through.

It is only 26 days since Mum died, and now we have to say goodbye to Blackie.  With Mum, it was quite a long goodbye, and in some ways it helped having time to prepare for it; it wasn't such a shock and Mum went gently and peacefully.

Blackie's sudden collapse was different; less than 48 hours on, I keep thinking how could he have been fine on Friday morning, and then so ill at 7.00 p.m that evening? Well, it's no good asking that question. It is what has happened, and now we must think of all the wonderful years when we were blessed to have a cat companion like Blackie.

As he grew older, he had a couple of ailments - a bit of arthritis here and there, and he had a slight heart murmur, along with a kidney that was not functioning as well as it should have been. We bought special renal food for him, and hoped that would help. He developed hyperthyroidism, which we treated with transdermal medicine, rubbed into the pinna of his ear. He wasn't keen on that! and was clever at flattening his ears down to horizontal pitch, but it only took 30 seconds to administer, and he put up with it.

When I look back, we had noticed some slightly different behaviour, and now I wonder if it could have been a precursor to his collapse on Friday evening. For some time, after Blackie had eaten a lovely fresh sachet of food (although he would often just lick at the jelly or the gravy) within a very short time he would be back at his dish, complaining loudly that he wanted feeding. Maybe he hadn't had enough to eat the first time round, so we always put out more for him, but latterly I began to wonder if in fact he was becoming a bit like Mum? Mum could eat a big dinner, and finish every morsel, then half an hour later, forget she had eaten, and start asking when her dinner would be ready.

Cats and dogs can get dementia, so could Blackie have been displaying symptoms of it? The Vet said it was possible, although in Blackie's case, his collapse was more likely down to a cancer in his brain, or one pressing on his spine. Maybe it was a combination of all of this, and his great age.

From the minute he materialised in our garden to when he eventually decided we would provide a good home for him, he has repaid us with undivided devotion. To begin with, he would come in the house and sit for a while; when he had had enough of our company, he would ask to go out, and we would watch him trot down the path, hoping he would soon be back. He returned every day, and late in the evening would sit with me on the sofa; being such a long cat, he could not get all of himself on my knee, so he would put his head on my lap, and the rest of his body would be draped over the next seat, and sometimes I'd fall asleep whilst stroking him! Usually, after an hour or so of being fussed, he would want to go back to the garden, but one night, as I was fussing him and talking to him, I felt Blackie take huge big breath in, and as he breathed out, his whole body relaxed completely, and he just snuggled in a bit closer. I believe that was the moment when he realised he was safe, and could stay forever; he never went back to sleeping out of doors again.

From then on, we began to learn what a sensitive cat he was. If someone wasn't feeling very well, he would be there, curled up beside you, emanating warmth and soothing purring. He spent so much time with Mum, and sometimes jumped up on her bed to spend the night with her - he was strong then! and could leap! - and Mum loved his company.

He joined in with us on everything; he was a Railway Cat, and got inquisitive about Romulus; if you were involved with something on the line, Blackie would not be far away, sitting atop one of the coaches, watching what was going on.

Every evening, he would go out on the patio, to "patrol his manor." The patio is filled with pots and tubs of flowers, and Blackie would examine each one, sniffing and looking, checking there were no interloping mice lurking and ready to make a dash for it. After making sure all was well, he'd come indoors to settle down for the night.

During the day, he had certain places he loved to sit. There is a "conversation set" on the patio, which is a table and two chairs, shaped to fit at an angle to the table, so a couple can chat and look at each other without having to turn the chairs around, For Blackie, the table was a high perch where he could survey all that was going on around him.

Blackie was a wonderful cat, and a very special pet. He knew he was loved, and he returned that love to us unreservedly.

His Majesty Blackie
looking very regal and lording it over the patio

Blackie with Mum -
Always a reassuring paw on the arm of her chair

Mum with Pushkin and Blackie
Cat Companionship for ever!