Fishy Business

Some like to fish and there are many ways of pursuing the pastime/sport. Some like to focus on a particular species of fish, others are content to take what bites. A few will go to sea and seek out game fish. They like the challenge of hauling in a giant Tuna or Shark or whatever the choice may be.

Wilf belonged to the Salmon fishing fraternity. Though that is not the strict truth, he went alone. He would get upset if another turned up on ‘his’ stretch of water, so 'fraternity' did not enter into it. The Country of Wales was his preferred area and he rented a site where he kept his caravans, which was another of his passions. The second caravan was something he was restoring. These things took time and it was (to him) a labour of love; To others it was a botch job at best, simply because he would use whatever materials came to hand. The outside of the ‘van had, over the years, been patched with tin cans that he would split open and flatten out before using his pop-rivet gun to place them. Spray paint was anathema to him. A large brush and a tin of Dulux was his preferred method.

That Wales was a six hour drive away from where he lived did not deter him and, on his days off and for the holidays he was entitled to, he would drive overnight or leave early morning if he had been on the night shift. To most people the drive was only three hours using the motorway but Wilf serviced his own car and it was in similar condition to the caravan that he had spent so long restoring. Therefore, motorways were out and slow driving with frequent stops to fill the radiator, along A & B roads was his idea of heaven.

We dreaded the return of Wilf from his holidays or weekend excursions because we all knew what we would get when any of us drew the short straw and shared a shift with him – Tales of his exploits and nothing more. Being a slow talker with a slight accent, he was himself Welsh, which explained his passion for the place, he would tell anyone, anywhere, at anytime that he liked to fish and explain that there was no finer way to spend a day. When Doctors came to ask for keys – they Had to be told. A visitor looking for directions? They needed to be informed. A nurse looking for post? They would often be seen recoiling in horror as Wilf would talk AT them whilst he searched through the letters and parcels. Wilf, in his way was a bore, a twaddler, a tiresome individual.

Nevertheless, Wilf could fish; he had told us this on many an occasion and one day he proved it.

The ITU (Intensive Therapy Unit) held a fundraising day every year. They would push a bed around the town and the Nurses and Doctors (all in full uniform) would shake plastic buckets under the noses of the townsfolk and beg for money on the premise that you never know when the services of ITU might be needed… It is a very successful way of money-raising and over the years has bought many benefits to the Department. They would sell raffle tickets to as many as they could and relied on local stores and business to provide prizes. Wilf donated a catch he had made. The donation to the raffle was a simple act and something that he could talk about for years to come. As a prize, anyone would welcome a heavyweight salmon. It did look very tasty..

Wilf related (many times) about how It had put up a fight and, upon seeing the size of the fish I could well believe it; It was a giant! I had to endure the tale more than once because we shared the Saturday morning shift. Many others heard it that day and, as I was in his company, I heard it over and over.. Once the Salmon had been landed he had run back to the house nearby and after gutting and preparing it, dropped it in the freezer that belonged to the Landowner. For the journey home he had filled a large plastic container with ice and placed the fish on top and then covered it with more ice. As soon as he got home (he had driven non-stop) he had placed it into yet another freezer… Which is where I had seen the monster fish.

From time to time Porters are asked to do, shall we say… ‘unusual’ things. Things that on the face of it are clear cut, but the properties of the items in question are sometimes not the sort of thing that sits easy on the mind if one cares to dwell on it for any length of time.

The request was reasonable enough – Could I take an item from Theatre and deposit it in the freezer in the Path Lab? – Simple enough and it took only a few minutes to perform said task. The item in question was a section of bowel from a poor unfortunate who had cancer. It is often the case that sections of tissue are removed and put aside for investigation at a later date. Research is always ongoing and visible evidence that is available for study can be beneficial.

I took the small plastic container and wandered down to the Lab. Normal specimens of blood are put into a smaller fridge beside the reception. Items of an historical nature needed lower temperatures for fast-freeze so I bypassed the reception and made my way down into the labyrinthine set of Histology Labs. There, right at the back sat the enormous, green chest-freezer. It had a big chrome handle to open and close it and I had to give the lid a hefty heave to overcome the seal on the lid. Eventually it popped open with a sigh as cold air escaped..

And there it lay. The scales glistening through the plastic bag in which it had been placed, the one visible eye staring vacantly. The freezer was five feet long and the fish left only 18inches or so room!

Just how the winner of the raffle would feel if he or she knew how the leviathan had spent its time amidst a jumble of plastic containers filled with a range of human parts all neatly labelled to show their history is a question that (hopefully) will never have to be answered.

Footware

In the event it turned out not to be broken but merely heavily bruised. It came as something of a relief, but the pain was awful and equal to anything previously experienced. The Doctors had given their opinion and there it was – Strap it up, rest it as much as possible; but mostly - bad luck, look where you are going in future.

I look back and wonder at the silliness of it. I can see it happening and thinking – there, it was bound to happen. My excuse is I wanted to get out there. I wanted to experience some of that ‘wilderness’ that is supposed to occupy this planet. The forest looked inviting and it beckoned. So we went in.

Eduard Besson was born with the spirit of the mountains in his blood. His Father had climbed and conquered them and Eduard followed. His record of climbs growing with his years. When his brother died on a climb he lost the taste for the perilous predicaments he put himself in and he moved away from his home town and settled in the forests that surround Basle. From there he could take a short trip in the car and gaze upon the awesome peaks at his leisure and take comfort from the knowledge that they endured. It was habitual and almost ritual with him to take a walk in the forest at some point during the day. It didn’t matter what time particularly, just as long as he got at least an hour in.

He set off at lunchtime, taking a sizeable hunk of bread and a thick slice of cheese with him. By 3pm he had covered a good few kilometres and when he spotted a fallen tree he stopped and, sitting astride it, he had a late lunch. Languishing in the warm sun that filtered through the gap in the tree canopy where the tree had fallen. The sun and food and the delicious quietness of the forest turned languid into an art-form and he dozed as the forest life went on all around him.

There is something about an Old Forest. It has a presence, a sense of wonder that is apparent when the canopy closes overhead as you enter. Once embraced in the arms of the woodland it becomes incumbent to let the fears go. All those Issues or Worries we carry with us; dissipate as we adapt to the chronology of an Endless Forest. We learn to whisper and still manage to hear above the cacophony of sound that the woodland reveals in return for our impudence in entering. Birds call out a warning that humans are abroad. Deer prick up their ears and follow the heavy-footed humanity by sound as the alien species tramp through. Insects and bugs feel the ground tremble as we pass.

The airport was a relative ‘quiet haven’ after Heathrow, where we had embarked. The flight itself had been relaxed and short and within five hours from setting out from home, we had been safely ensconced in the flat and itching to get out to get a grip on the local surroundings; try to get a handle on the geography on the land; Switzerland.

We saw the forest approaching as we walked across the allotment area that is in use by the local tenants and farmers of the district. We had slipped our way through the labyrinth of paths and byways (each clearly marked with signposts and distances) with some degree of authority. We knew the name of the place we had come from so it would be easy to follow the signs pointing the way back. Meanwhile, the sun made itself known by filtering through the lush growth of summer and lit our way as countless footpaths opened their way for us.

Yes, I know…, we should have waited. We should have changed into more appropriate attire.. We should have stocked up on glucose tablets and a supply of water and a decent pair of walking boots and all those things that make a trip out - a Journey. Nevertheless, excited, we embarked outward… we were on a holiday, a trip out from base camp was essential to get a perspective on the local topography. WE didn’t even know of the forest until it presented itself, As we crested a sloping hill we looked down upon the vast woodland that smothered the valleys below. In the far distance we could see mountains rising, a grey presence against a green foreground. The nearest thing available to shelter from the warm sun was the forest and we ventured within. The climate changed as we walked and we felt the cooler air that gathered in the valley surround us as we descended in the fringes of the forest.

Just a short way in the path forked; WE turned to the right. At the next fork we turned left. Very soon we encountered a crossroads that presented a dilemma, so we took a chance and turned toward the direction of the silence… It was to the right I think… The birds sang all around us and we paused to listen and I adjusted the strap on my shoes. We kept the pace slow, the path was by no means an obstacle course but with the wrong shoes it became close. An hour later we paused to simply soak in the sound of a forest at work and that simple act caused the fall as my heel caught and over went my ankle resulting in the worst pain I have ever known. I screamed out and my continued cursing and ineffectual efforts to get up only served to scare the whole woodland area with a flurry of activity as animals ran and bird took flight. I think I was crying in pain.

Eduard came to from his doze, aware that not all he could hear was wildlife. His suspicion was confirmed almost instantly when he heard human voices. In his head the voices represented a violation of what he had come to think of as His forest; in reality he recognised the sound of someone in pain. He became fully awake and tried to locate the sound and succeeded when another cry came from his left just down the path. He set off to find the source of the anguished sound.

His German was of course excellent. My English is Very good. but the reverse could not be said. Whilst I can count to ten in German and say hello, goodbye and a smattering of swear words; My conversational skills are, sadly, lacking. Eduard, I think would agree.

He carried me. After a quick inspection of my ankle he hoisted me to my feet and almost slung me over his shoulder. I sort of protested but he could NOT understand me at all. I thought that maybe he thought his luck was in and he was carrying me off to his lair… Z hurried along behind. Trying to keep up with fast pace he set and trying to keep her feet to prevent another incident with a wayward ankle.

There was a firm purpose in his step and in short time we came out of the forest and past a few houses that I looked at with some longing thinking of a simple bathing of my ankle in cool water. He ignored the suggestions I made and continued with purpose until we came to his car, a rather battered Mercedes, parked at the end of a field of sunflowers, each of which seemed to watch as he dropped me into the passenger seat and waited with some patience for Z to arrive before starting the car and heading off to the nearest Hospital.

The Doctors tutted and shook their collective heads at the stupidity of an Englander in the forest wearing stupid shoes for such an excursion. Or, that is what I surmised from the way the efficient, but rather ‘cold’ way my treatment was conducted. Nevertheless, I have no complaints about the outcome. No bones broken and with it strapped up well I was able to hobble. I could expect some discomfort for a while but the painkillers would help there. All I need do is keep as active as possible and NOT let the foot atrophy through neglect. It was a lesson in humility – You went to far, now start again. And, wear suitable clothing!

The rest of the holiday was spent without incident. Visits to Basle and Lucerne and the walks around the two places revealed a delight of food and drink and friendly people who responded well to a crippled Brit in, by now, a semi-fit state and the whole served to make up for a rather splendid aside from the everyday life ‘back home’.

On the day before we were due to fly home we decided that we just had to take another walk across the fields to the forest. Despite the injury, which by now was a shadow of its former self and was fading into the mists of time, a nice walk would be good and allow us to catch up with the magic that the forest had presented. I donned a pair of trainers designed for the arduous task of walking (it said so on the box, and should anyone doubt the Brand with the swoosh?).

We spent the day well. We had taken our lunch with us. We even had a good supply of water. We walked for miles. And the return journey proved even better as we trusted the signposts and veered some way off course. We came upon deer. We stopped and attracted woodpeckers by tapping the trunk of a tree with a stone. The deer seemed to keep us company as we slowly made our way back through the vast expanse of woodland. They knew that we posed no threat and continued their browsing without regard to us. The woodpeckers got agitated by spurious signals (sent by us) and gathered around argueing among themselves… The sun shone though a filtered layer of leaves and all was well with the world.

All days end and as we left the forest and wearily trudged our way back for the last night in Switzerland, the fields near to the flat gave way to the houses and, as evening closed, we gave thanks for the sight of electric lights.. It would mean a warm bath and clean sheets on a comfortable bed.

We waited at the pedestrian crossing for some time. In Switzerland and Germany it is considered BAD form to cross against a red light even if no traffic was about. So we waited. Just before the lights changed and the green Go light came on, a silver, battered Mercedes that looked familiar somehow, came up the road. We waited for its passing but instead the driver drew to halt beside us. We tutted at the silliness of this and proceeded to walk round. The window came down and a voice called out in broken-English. The voice was known to me and carried with it a message.

After delivering the words the driver pulled away. Though not before recognition arrived, and NOT, sad to say; before the window was closed and the car drew away leaving me unable to respond and utter thanks to a Good Samaritan.

Eduard waved out of the window and vanished around the bend. Each syllable was carefully enunciated and hung in the evening air; The words still echo in the mind. "Those are Sensible shoes!”

Hands of Time

We all have those moments when the past reaches out and touches us. Sometimes the memory is painful and we hastily brush it aside. Other times we smile and put our head to one side whilst we pause to recall. On occasion the past stands in front of us and will not be ignored. At such moments we are suddenly aware of the fact that TIME passes and we look up to see how the years have fared..

<<>>

That the woman was pregnant was NOT in doubt. Her belly was in danger of busting open right there in the ER room of A&E as the kicks and movements of the baby confined within displayed a yearning desire to rid itself of the barrier that held back the life that was yet to be.

The Mother-to-be grunted in pain from another source. She had been a sufferer of rheumatism for some years and had not really expected that one day this, ‘Miracle that was Life’, would be something she could experience. But her delight was self-evident and she stroked her belly trying to soothe the rage within. Her hands had become at the age of thirty two, something that she now referred to as claws but she used them to great effect as she talked to the baby and continued to stroke her swelling.

Sister explained to me that we needed to get her over to the Labour Ward where she could have her baby in the proper surroundings of a specialist unit. She had been admitted because of an almost severed toe. Alice, the Mum-to-be, had dropped a pair of kitchen scales through her hands and they had landed on her toe which though broken, was now the least of her worries. The loss of blood perhaps or the trauma of the excitement had brought on the immanent arrival of baby who, despite the eye-catching evidence of the swollen belly was not in fact due for three weeks!

Whilst we waited for her notes to be written up I stood and chatted with Alice. She held onto my hand and I tried in my way to reassure her. Truth to tell though, she was calmer than me, if perhaps a little excited that she was going to have her baby at last. We got on well, she told me all about herself and I responded in kind by telling her about me. We swapped tales of gardening and cooking and shared in the moment by being friends in what is after all a rather hostile place – A Hospital.

To get to the Labour Ward from A&E was quite a long trek. Corridors, lift up three floors, more corridors, a link-bridge to the Maternity Unit, another corridor, a lift down one floor and the final corridor to the Labour Ward itself… The warm coloured paintings on the wall, the soft music that played in the lobby area, the big-hearted laugh of the Ward Sister gave an immediate feeling of calmness as we wheeled Alice into room one. Light and airy with minimal furnishing it could have been cold and clinical but instead held an almost Zen approach and everyone breathed easier for being there. Sister Rose, who hailed from the West Indies had been in charge of the ward for more years than anyone cared to remember, she WAS the Labour Ward. All others bowed to her knowledge and common-sense approach to the delivery room.

Alice asked if I would stay. Her husband was a salesman and was somewhere in Leeds at the moment, though following a phone call he was more than likely to be halfway down the motorway by now; And she would appreciate the company and if I could hold her hand she would like that very much…

Despite her best intentions Alice did not have a good time. She screamed a lot during the delivery and despite the pain she had in here hands she crushed my fingers and swore a great deal. Sister Rose ignored it all and simply told her that all was well and told her when to push and when to relax and Alice tried hard to follow orders. She still uttered the occasional expletive though! And then all of a sudden there she was – Eve arrived. Her screams and protests far louder than her mothers. The wet hair on her head lay quite thick across her scalp and her wrinkled face creased even more as she bellowed her welcome to the world. Her pudgy little fingers groped as the midwife passed her to Alice who beheld the squawking bundle with delight and tears and pressed the tiny body to her bosom. The mouth that yelled soon became the mouth that suckled and silence, save for the heavy breathing from Alice soon overtook the room and the midwives left her to settle for a while.

Alice looked at me at smiled a weary smile. “I did it”, she said. “Thanks for staying.”

I sat with her for another hour. I held the baby in my arms while the midwives did their bit with Alice by washing her and changing her blood-soaked gown. All to soon it was time to leave because the bleep gave a signal that I was required elsewhere. We exchanged a hug and a kiss and said goodbye and I went about my job. I wondered how to write up the occasion in the Report book.

<<<>>>

I was on my way to the Canteen to grab a bite to eat. The day so far had been busy and I thought that if I grabbed a sandwich or, if they had any left, a baguette I could take it back and eat whilst I finished off one of the reports requested.

Outside the Pharmacy a whole host of people waited for prescriptions to be made up and I had to negotiate my way through the throng. My way was barred by an attractive, twenty-something, year old woman who stood foursquare in front of me. “Hello”, she said.

I looked and saw a complete stranger. Nevertheless, I said a rather brusque ‘hello’ in return and tried to step round her. She sidestepped and was still in my way. “You don’t know me do you?”, she asked rather unnecessarily. I had to admit that she was correct in her assumption. But then she asked me another question. A question that threw me a bit and I paid attention.

I listened to her question and it seemed harmless enough and truth to tell, I could use the event to take my mind off work. So I followed her as she led me across reception to meet her Mother as per the request.

The figure in the wheelchair had her head bowed so I could not see her features. But I could see that she was disabled by her twisted hands and feet. The younger woman spoke again. “Mum, I think I found her.”

‘Mother slowly twisted her head to one side and lifted her face to look at me and she smiled . “Hello Amanda.”

I tried to be calm and courteous but the puzzled look on my face gave me away and the woman laughed a delightfully musical laugh. “I suspect that you do not remember me. But I remember you.” Then she burst into song, the first line from Sgt. Pepper by the Beatles. “It was twenty years ago today.” And she laughed again. “You helped me make the world a better place. You stayed with me while I gave birth to the beautiful child beside you.” She indicated her daughter.

She went on at length about what a delight her daughter was to her and she had grown up into a wonderful woman and was good to her Mother. The girl blushed and muttered warm words of admonishment to her mother, she was obviously used it. I learned that Eve Cared for her Mother in almost every way because of the disabling disease that had reached far into her body and limbs. But the warm smile was always present, she smiled fondly when she told me of the passing of her husband and how the two of them had attended the funeral, Eve supporting her Mother as by now she walked unsteadily.

Mother went on, “I was a bit wrong singing that song you know. It was Twenty Two years ago actually. Twenty Two years ago, you and I shared a moment. Remember?”

And the years rolled away and I rubbed my hand at the memory of her vice-like grip.