My Dad’s a Goldfish – Glimpses from the past

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I know, I know, I’m hopeless at posting regularly! I really meant to put a new post up days ago but I’ve been doing a bit more rummaging through photos and papers in what the DH calls the Dad Archive.

As well as finding lots of army photos, I’ve come across paperwork from those days including the order of service when the Lovat Scouts were stood down in Greece, a lovely reference from his Commanding Officer and his Lovat Scouts cap badge.

I’ve not found any photos for the period from when Dad left the army to when he went to live on Islay where he worked for the next eight years. He took many, many photos on Islay including colour slides (not sure how to deal with them so happy for advice if anyone knows) and he loved life on the island. I think if it hadn’t been for me, he’d never have left. In those days – 1950s – the school only went up to Primary 7 after which pupils had to go to the mainland and be boarders. Mum wasn’t keen on this idea (to think I might have had the opportunity to fulfil my dream of going to boarding school –  though in fact I’d have been at an ordinary secondary school and staying in lodgings) and when a vacancy on the mainland came up, Dad applied and we moved in 1960.

This time, I’m leaving the army days behind (though I’ll come back to them) to show some of the photos from the Islay days. This is where I was born and lived for the first seven years of my life.

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Dad and Mum on a picnic on Islay

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Dad with Betsy the dog, who growled if Mum tried to chastise me, and Blackie the cat named with enormous originality

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Dad on the peat bank on the back road between Bridgend and Port Ellen with Innes McLellan whose mother was my Godmother

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In full song at a ceilidh in our house, Bowmore, Islay. Dad with his arm round someone who was not his wife! Both of them smoking!!

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All the best parties happen in the kitchen. Beside the packet of Corn Flakes is our tea caddy which had a picture of the Queen on one side and Prince Phillip on the other. I always thought (when I was young) Dad looked like Phillip.

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Now, he’s got his arm round yet another woman not his wife! I was going to say it was possibly before I was born but I think that’s a tin of baby powder on the mantelpiece.

 

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Christmas or New Year – whichever, a good time was being had.

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I love that they still wear their ties however wrecked they are! And the man in the front is sitting on Paddy, my dog on wheels with which I learned to walk.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this glimpse into Dad’s past on Islay. When I look at the ceilidh pictures I’m reminded of when I found a Gaelic CD at Dad’s. I put it on and within minutes he was singing along, though it was about sixty years since he’d last heard those songs.  The power of music and song.

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My Dad’s a Goldfish – Going back

cropped-goldfish-87-1254566814ncva1.jpgSince I put up some of Dad’s army days photos on my last post I’ve been digging through the boxes of unsorted photos and am now in the process of scanning them. I’ll put some up soon, including one I found of the football team I posted last time which has names, in Dad’s handwriting, on the back.

I’m also scanning some very interesting photos of ceilidhs from the years on Islay – alcohol was clearly involved. Whisky, for sure. On an island of eight distilleries it would have to be!

The project to turn the Goldfish blog into a book, which I’ve mentioned before, is taking time. I had originally begun it with the diagnosis but wasn’t really happy with that starting point. I toyed with beginning at the end of Dad’s life or with when the Step-monster walked out on him. However, I think I’ve decided the best place to begin is the point at which my life changed – the day the Step-monster announced she thought it would be good if the Goldfish went into residential care one day a week.

My life totally changed that day so I thought I’d repost it – and you can tell me if it seems like a good place to begin. Funnily enough, Facebook reminded me today I posted this three years ago. I think it was about the second post on my blog.

Obviously, in the book, it won’t be exactly as this post.

over-the-bath-showerAfter some time the step-monster announced she thought it would be a good idea if the Goldfish went into the local residential home – “only one day a week so he can have lunch and a shower.” Wee-sis and I were horrified at this thin end of the wedge being shoved in. He’d hate residential care.

Since the dementia started he has become terribly confused – to the point of hallucinating – whenever he’s had to go into hospital, not knowing where he is and not understanding why he is there when we explain he is in hospital. We’ve had some of the most bizarre conversations when the Goldfish has been in hospital. Once, he was convinced the nurses’ station was a bakery and told Wee-sis to go and ask for a cake as they were just about to take one out of the oven. On another occasion he thought he had been taken to a hospital in the north of Scotland for blood tests and had been away overnight. “You’d think they would be able to do the tests here,” he complained, “instead of wasting all that time and petrol to go to Perth.”

In residential care we knew he would deteriorate fast. It was not an option Wee-sis and I were even going to consider. We could, though, understand step-monster’s difficulty in getting dad to clamber into the bath to use the over-the-bath shower. Apart from the dementia, he has serious mobility problems caused by an arthritic hip which gives him a lot of pain.

It was time to get social services involved, despite the step-monster not wanting anything to do with them. The decision was followed by much running around on my part talking to social services, getting referrals (nothing, I have learned can be done without a referral: it can be a doctor’s referral, a social worker’s referral, even a self-referral but the all-important referral must be made) An OT (occupational therapist) came along and suggested removing the bath and installing a walk-in shower. This will make life easier. Then someone else comes along to measure up, discuss colour schemes, the ordering and placement of handrails – and the costs involved. We are told it could be free if the Goldfish’s income and savings are below a certain amount but we know he isn’t eligible and decide not to go down the means-testing route. I could imagine him deciding to do without having the shower in rather than have someone asking personal questions about his pension and savings. There is, we are pleased to hear, a substantial discount available without the means test being necessary.

The CC (care co-ordinator) from social services came to confirm the work was going ahead and offered to provide a commode to be used while the lavatory is unplumbed during the day. We’ve been assured it will be plumbed in again and usable overnight. The step-monster didn’t think a commode is necessary. “We already have a facility in the bedroom,” she said.

“Oh, you already have a commode?” asked CC.

“Well, no,” this said with a wee self-deprecating smile, “but we manage.” What she means is she makes the Goldfish pee in a bucket if he needs to go in the night. I said it might be nicer for him to use a proper commode instead. CC agreed. “Oh, well, whatever you think. You’ll know best,” the step-monster said.

Commode duly arrived and the step-monster put it in the garage. Said he could use the ‘facility’ in the bedroom and if he needed a ‘number two’ she could take him up the road in her car to the supermarket!

As well as organizing the shower installation, I arranged to take the Goldfish out one day a week to give step-monster a break. We don’t actually see what difference it makes as she goes out and does her own thing every day anyway… Leaves the Goldfish parked in front of the telly. At least it will be something he will enjoy.

I hope Wee-sis can help out with some outings, too. We all – Wee-sis, DH and I – have to work for our living. Wee-sis is a support worker and does day and night shifts, DH runs his own business and I am a freelance journalist and writer. As I have no fixed hours (thought very definite fixed deadlines) I am the one who can most easily do this. In everyone else’s eyes at least.

On the first outing the Goldfish and I made together, the rain started as I pulled up to collect him. He was less than enthusiastic about going out in the rain and I understood why when I realized walking is so painful it takes him ages to go walk the twenty yards to where I’d parked. The rain didn’t stop until we came home.

Our first stop was at an art gallery/shop in a nearby town. There was a ‘country pursuits’ exhibition which I thought the Goldfish would enjoy. He sank onto the first seat he came to (which was in fact an exhibit and not intended for customers actually to sit on; the owner kindly turned a blind eye) and looked at the pictures he could see from where he sat. He liked the ones depicting hares.

Coffee and cake was next on the agenda which he devoured with relish before I drove along a coastal road, the two of us peering out through the rain at the glorious scenery. The Goldfish kept up a running commentary, naming trees, guessing their age and repeatedly saying: “I’ve driven along these roads a few times in my day.” When I say repeatedly, I mean roughly once every minute. We stopped for lunch at a café where he consumed – very slowly but with obvious pleasure – a huge bowl of soup plus a sandwich, coffee and an ice cream. There’s certainly nothing wrong with his appetite. Back in town I called in to see Wee-sis so the Goldfish could enjoy patting her dog. He always had dogs and misses having one around. Wee-sis also has cats, one of which really likes the Goldfish and made a beeline for his lap where he lay, purring and shedding masses of orange fur.

Wee-sis asked the Goldfish what he’d been doing, to which he replied: “Nothing. I’ve not been anywhere.” Six hours touring around, £50 on petrol, lunches and coffees and he doesn’t remember a thing about it!