My Dad’s a Goldfish – New Year, Old Post

Happy New Year!

Lots of blogger friends use this time of year to look back at the stats for the previous months on their blog – which were the most popular, which worked, which didn’t do so well. I thought about it but I because I so hate numbers I dismissed the idea pretty quickly.  I decided instead to have a look through old posts from early in this blog’s life and share one which I particularly enjoyed writing – because it was such a happy day – and which didn’t get many views as so few people followed the Goldfish back then.

A friend invited the Goldfish to visit his farm so he could get up close and personal with cows. Did I mention, before retirement the Goldfish was an AI man – artificial insemination? Of cattle – that is. I smile writing that because living here in what was the heart of dairy farm country saying AI is enough, everyone understands you mean cattle insemination but once, when the Goldfish was in hospital, the doctor asked the DH what the Goldfish’s job had been. DH said he had worked in artificial insemination. The doctor, looking a bit startled, asked: “In humans?”

Anyway, when the Goldfish was the AI man he went to my friend J’s father’s farm. J always remembered how nice the Goldfish was to him in those far off days and he invited him to visit – only someone connected with farming would understand what it would mean to the Goldfish to be amongst cattle again.

It was a dreich day but dry. J had fastened a sort of carriage thing – made from an oil drum – to the back of his quad bike. It had a seat – quite small as it’s mainly used by his granddaughter. We managed to install the Goldfish in this and I sat on top of the quad bike – feeling grateful for my years of riding sidesaddle on the pillion of motorbikes in Pakistan – and off we went. My years of being the AI man’s daughter mean I like cows and have no fear of being amongst them and the Goldfish was delighted.

J kept up a running commentary about everything we saw and whenever I looked back at the Goldfish, who couldn’t actually hear a word being said, he looked happy, alert and interested. In one field we stopped amidst the cows and J asked the Goldfish what breed he thought they were. The Goldfish studied them for a moment and said: “They look like Ayrshires.”

J nodded. “They do, don’t they? In fact they are Montbeliard cows, originally from France,” he said. A discussion about the breed and milk yields followed and it was so good to see the Goldfish totally engaged in the conversation.

There was a bit of a problem when J stopped the quad bike back at the house and we tried to get the Goldfish out of his carriage. He was stuck fast and it took our combined efforts to prise him upright and then he started quivering from top to toe, all his muscles in spasm. I was terrified he would topple over and didn’t see how we were ever going to get him out and safely on the ground. Finally he was able to stand upright and somehow J managed to get him down and he tottered into the house, none the worse for his shakes.

J’s wife had put on a lovely afternoon tea and the Goldfish tucked in with gusto, scoffing pancakes and scones with jam and cake and several cups of tea.

Driving home I asked what the step-monster (of course I didn’t call her that. I gave her real name) would think when we told her he’d spent the afternoon driving over fields on a quad bike.

“Oh,” he said, “have you been on a quad bike?”

“You have, too,” I said.

“I don’t remember.”

Even so, it was a really good outing. With these kinds of trips out and interaction with other people talking about things with which the Goldfish has a connection, it’s the lasting feel-good factor which is more important than the fact he forgets the event almost immediately.

My Dad’s a Goldfish – Glimpses from the past

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.

Dad and Mum on a picnic on Islay

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

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

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!!

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.

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.

 

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

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.

My Dad’s a Goldfish – our last Christmas with him

Christmas 2013

 

I suppose the approach of Christmas will always now be tinged with sadness. Our last Christmas together was 2013. From time to time during 2014 we thought he’d make it to the next one – and he almost did, dying three weeks before.

Christmas 2013 was unforgettable for several reasons. For one thing, Wee-sis and I felt it might be the last Christmas in which the Goldfish would be able to participate and enjoy it all – how right we were. However, at one point it looked as though we wouldn’t even see the Goldfish over Christmas because the step-monster’s daughter decided her mother and the Goldfish should come to her on Christmas Day. As they always go to the step-monster’s son on Boxing Day we were not going to see him other than a quick visit.

Much discussion and gnashing of teeth followed this announcement and Wee-sis (because she is so much more diplomatic than I am) was sent to negotiate with step-monster’s daughter. It was agreed Christmas dinner would be at my house. The step-monster decided to go to her daughter’s house instead, which rather pleased us. She would only spend the time moaning about how she hates Christmas and how glad she’ll be when it’s over.

Then, two days before Christmas the step-monster dropped a bombshell by announcing she was leaving the Goldfish and going to live in her own house. She’d inherited it from her mother and had been letting out for many years. She wasn’t going to say anything to the Goldfish! Nor was she going to move out until the end of January because she needed to get it decorated.

Throughout the last minute organisation for Christmas – the wrapping of gifts (nothing for the step-monster this year), shopping for food, planning the day – the worry of what was going to happen kept intruding. However, we put our fears for the future to the back of our minds and planned a lovely Christmas Day for the Goldfish.

The much-loved Yorkshire terrier – with her head balanced very precariously!

 

He had a wonderful time opening his gifts. His favourite was a toy Yorkshire terrier we’d seen in the garden centre. The previous year he had admired it but in those days my ignorance of dementia was limitless and I had dismissed the idea of buying it for him. The following year on our regular pre-Christmas jaunts to the garden centre there were piles of toy dogs – but only one Yorkshire terrier. I didn’t hesitate. It went into the basket along with the Guinness chocolate he (and I) loved.

All through the day, he petted and talked to that dog as it sat on the arm of his chair. When we took him home, we put the dog beside him. Next day, it had been moved out of reach. I put it back on the arm of his chair. Next day, it had been moved out of reach. The step-monster couldn’t bear to see him stroking it as if it were a real dog, couldn’t bear to see the Goldfish behave like a child. I still have the dog. He sits on the back of the sofa. His head his hanging off now but he was hugely loved by the Goldfish for many months.

The Goldfish had a really happy day, surrounded by people who talked to him, grandchildren, nephews and nieces and partners came to visit him and he thoroughly enjoyed his Christmas dinner (with wine) – and had two puddings – and a couple of drams of malt whisky to finish the evening.

I, along with Wee-sis and my son, watch with pleasure – and some amazement –  as the Goldfish tucks into his last Christmas dinner.

Now, with Christmas rapidly approaching I am so glad we made the last one we had together something really special to remember.

My Dad’s A Goldfish – Having fun

Looking back over my last few posts they seem unrelentingly gloomy. I have made it sound like life with the Goldfish was totally miserable when, in fact, we often had fun and shared lots of laughter.

I have gathered together quite an assortment of games including jigsaws and large-sized dominoes, Snakes and Ladders and magic painting sets. The jigsaws are wooden with large pieces. The base on which to make the picture has the shape of the required piece drawn on it to help put it in the correct place. The Goldfish quite enjoyed the one of a small child playing on a beach with bucket and spade. The child looked a bit like Wee-sis when she was that age – well, small human with blonde hair is enough for the Goldfish to see the resemblance. Unfortunately, on the front, just below the picture – so very prominent – is a notice saying the jigsaw was ideal for people with dementia. When the Goldfish read that he no longer wanted to do the jigsaw. I contacted the makers to let them know and they replied thanking me and saying they would take my comments on board when designing new ones. I hope they do.

The Goldfish loved playing Snakes and Ladders, especially with DH and would chuckle with amusement every time DH had to slide down a snake. For some reason the Goldfish could throw a six several times in a row, which pleased him greatly. I don’t know how he managed it so often. He’d furiously rattle the dice in the cup, tip it out – and there would be a six – frequently the exact number to take him to the bottom of a ladder.

Best of all, though were the balloons. These were larger and thicker than usual balloons. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to the idea of playing with them – too childish, perhaps? I batted one towards him and he reflexively batted it back to me and we were off. It was exhausting because the Goldfish never moved from his chair so whenever the balloon went off course I had to chase after it.

Sometimes he would bat it with his hand but other time he would head it or use his elbow – all moves he once must have done when playing football. Who knew? The great thing was that, even though he was sitting down throughout, he was giving his upper body quite a workout plus showing he still had pretty good eye to hand co-ordination.

Some evenings Wee-sis would come round and join in the fun. One night, the four of us were playing fast and furiously when a shot from the Goldfish sent the balloon up to the light shade, which was made of glass panels. There was a collective drawing in of breath as the balloon made contact and a panel came shattering down. Then, breaking the stunned silence, the Goldfish roared with laughter. Wee-sis and I looked at each other. “Can you imagine the reaction if one of us did that when we were kids?” I asked.

She nodded. “He wouldn’t have been laughing then – none of us would.” This only made the Goldfish laugh all the more.

I bought the various games hoping they might provide some stimulation for the Goldfish, never expecting all of us to find so much enjoyment in playing together. I still wonder about it. Many of them are things I used to play as a child; the Goldfish (who wasn’t a Goldfish then) played with me. Is there some shared memory of childhood fun? They are childhood games but adults played them with children – now, in our case, adults were playing the same games together.