Down with the old folks

‘Well it’s a job I guess, beggars can’t be choosers and all that.’

‘Are you sure you really want to take it sweetheart? We can last a bit longer if you’d like to keep looking.’

Chrissie loves her husband for this and kisses him briefly before shaking her head.

‘No, no Tom it’ll be fine. We need the money now. I’m just a bit disappointed not to have got the one I really wanted in that new creative arts hub in town’.

Chrissie sighs.

‘But, it’s only three shifts a week so there’ll be time for arty stuff on the other days and with you still working at home half the week it’s perfect for the kids as most days one of us will be around to ferry them to their after-school dates and activities, which we’re still able to afford now I’ll be working again.

They hug for a long time, experiencing comfort and a tingle of excitement, as they always do, from the touch of each other.

Entering the kitchen in search of a snack 13 year old George groans and adds the inevitable ‘get a room you two’. But it’s said out of habit and expectation rather than with real feeling. His sister, Rebecca (Bex to her friends), who of course at 14 is so much older and wiser, briefly raises her head from her computer and grins at her parents.

Chrissie is awake before her 6.30 alarm goes off. She’s doing three 8am to 8pm shifts in this her first week at Forest View Retirement Home. She washes and dresses quietly so an not to disturb the rest of the family. It’s too early even for their ageing dog Fred, who opens one eye and then goes back to sleep. A couple of mouthfuls of orange juice and she’s on her way, a banana in her pocket.

She’s not as yet entered the building that is to be her new place of work as the interview took place via zoom and the orientation day she was meant to have was cancelled as the staff worker allocated the task had a sickness bug that week. What with Christmas and all there was no time for it to be reorganised so today is a first day in all ways. New tasks to get her head around (she isn’t too worried she’s always been a quick leaner and has experience of caring work in her personal life), new colleagues to suss out and residents to get to know. A people-person (despite her need for solitude when painting) Chrissie is nevertheless anxious, as many of us are, about first meetings, and she hopes she’ll make a good impression. She’s also a little worried about being bored; for what stimulation is there to be had from tidying old folks bedroom knick-knacks and tucking blankets around arthritic knees?

The reception area at Forest View is promising. The walls are painted a pale yellow, with a few rather lovely landscapes on display. They are for sale and Chrissie assumes it’s a local artist, perhaps a son or daughter of one of the residents. She doesn’t have time to check the signature. The floor is covered by a clearly hardwearing but surprisingly luxuriously looking light grey carpet. All very tasteful. Expecting something much more institutional Chrissie is surprised by the décor, but most of all by the smell, or rather the lack of it, for there’s  no nose assaulting mixture of cooked cabbage and pee as every novel she’s ever read or film she’s seen about elderly living strongly suggests is inevitable in such places.

After signing in she only has to wait a couple of minutes before Forest View’s manager arrives to greet her with a smile and a warm handshake. Ms Barkley, or Heidi, as she insists on being called today, is a smartly dressed woman in her late forties and Chrissie feels sure she will enjoy working for her as much as she thought she would when they first met at Chrissie’s interview in early December. Heidi introduces her to Nick who she’ll be shadowing for her three days this week.

‘Longer if you feel you need it, we want you to be happy working with us, says Heidi before rushing off to prepare for an orientation meeting with a new resident and her family.

In the staff room Chrissie changes into her uniform; a comfortable and well-fitting (she’d been asked her size when she was offered the job) dark blue cotton tunic and pants set.

‘We still wear face masks when providing personal care, well actually we always did and if a resident prefers we wear a mask at other times we do.’ Nick says. ‘And, if you would prefer to mask-up at all times that’s fine too. There are regular risk assessments in line with government guidelines. Sound OK?

Chrissie nods and smiles.   

‘Right ready?’, Nick asks, his returning grin reaching his eyes.

What follows is a few hours of happy surprises. Breakfast is not long over and Chrissie is introduced to all the residents as they settle down for the morning. Most prefer to be addressed by their first, rather than their family, name and she enjoys her brief chats with them all. Donna, Geraldine and Sunita, Jack, Jon and Mrs Dabrowski seem particularly interested in her, variously asking about her background, her family her interests and passions. She can tell already that George has a wonderful sense of humour and that Twig, who is tall, thin and elegant as the nickname suggests, not only has her own sharp style but is interested in how others present themselves. She compliments Chrissie on her hair style and has a well-informed chat with Nick about male grooming products.

Chrissie had expected to be depressed by these introductions. She’d envisaged sad and tired-out looking individuals, uniformly dressed in beige (perhaps accessorised by a broach or a cravat). She’d expected rows of folk with blanketed knees or shoulders wrapped in shawls watching daytime television with rheumy eyes and dribbling mouths. Instead, there are as many styles and colours as you’d see down the market or in the pub. There is a TV room but with only three residents watching. They’re clearly enjoying their heated discussion about the news item they’ve just watched. The others are reading (Chrissie spots the latest Steven King, a copy of which is on her bedside table waiting to be opened for the first time), chatting (either to home-mates or early morning visitors), or peering at their phones.

‘That’s Gail and Carol in the garden’, says Nick, pointing out the window. ‘It’s their favourite place, but you’ll meet them later.

Chrissie turns to see two women, late 70s she guesses, not sitting on a bench or strolling slowly around the garden but both on their knees tending to the flower beds.

The rest of the morning is busy. Chrissie is talked through a typical day’s routine, although it seems there is a fair amount of variety in terms of activities (talks, art and craft afternoons, music evenings and more) and appointments (including visiting hairdressers, beauticians and chiropodists). Next she is shown the residents’ rooms and meets a couple of folk who fancied a quiet morning. All the rooms are personal with soft-furnishings, ornaments, art-work and personal bits and bobs unique to the occupant.

Just after 11.30 Chrissie and Nick return to the main lounge and a short, rather fierce looking man, whose name Chrissie can’t remember, immediately engages Nick in conversation. As she moves away she hears them laughing together so is reassured that the older man is happy enough. A couple of the women, Sunita and Geraldine, beckon her and for a moment Chrissie is worried she’ll be asked to do something, tend to a need that she is, as yet, unprepared for. She needn’t have worried as the women just want to chat and get her advice on what colour to have their nails painted tomorrow when the beautician visits. The next hour is spent chatting and tidying and Chrissie relaxes and starts to enjoy herself.  

At 12.45 everyone rises, some a tad stiffly, and moves to the dining room. There are round tables, each with four or six seats. Every table has a pale yellow table cloth (yellow and grey are dominant colours in the downstairs rooms), table mats decorated with forest scenes (a neat nod to the residence’s name) and a vase complete with snowdrops. Lunch itself looks and smells delicious; melon or tomato soup (there’s a choice) with white or wholemeal rolls, followed by lasagne (meat or vegetarian) and salad, then lemon tart or ice-cream or fresh fruit. Chrissie’s mouth is watering as she helps to serve and she is looking forward to her meal during her early afternoon break. The food is piping hot, as is the coffee and tea that most residents enjoy back in one of the lounges, although a group of three men and one woman linger in the dining room to continue their argument over last night’s football game.

After their drink a few residents retire to their rooms to read or doze and a smaller number don coats ready for a walk. Those that are left, a good 60%, stay to listen to the afternoon talk (a regular Tuesday afternoon event apparently). Today’s speaker is from the history department from one of the two universities in the city and is a kind of ‘Horrible Histories’ for adults. The topic is ‘The Six Wives’ and the talk includes informative and entertaining speculation on what might have happened to the women if not for Henry VIII and how their lives might have been different if they had been born half a century later.

Teatime is, Chrissie is informed, usually a much less formal affair than lunch although today is a little special as it’s Mrs Dabrowski’s birthday. So along with the soup and sandwiches there are some additional savoury fancies and a cake with eight candles (one of which is cut in half). Mrs Dabrowski;s daughter, granddaughter and two great grandchildren have been at Forest View all  afternoon and although Antoni is a little shy, five year old Lily sits on several laps during tea. The regulation birthday song is lustily delivered.

Chrissie is tired but happy when she returns home.

‘Hi mum, how’d you get on with the fogies?’, George is the first to greet her.

‘Great, it was really great, such an interesting bunch of people they are. And actually they don’t seem old at all when you talk to them.’

Huh, OK, good.’ George takes the stairs two at a time.

Chrissie stetches and rubs her back. She’s looking forward to a long soak in the bath.

Over the next few weeks Chrissie learns more about Forest View and those who live there and each day it seems a different age-related stereotype is shattered. Music night is disco and soft rock rather than war-time favourites (Ellie, one of the younger residents might be having some memory problems but she’s clearly not forgotten her moves), the social media use is prolific and the armchair yoga clearly demonstrates that some of the residents are more supple than Chrissie is herself. She learns too that the reception artist is in fact Jack who moved her a couple of years ago after his long-time companion Pete died. ‘I was just lonely, too sad to live alone’, he tells her. He was a vet before retiring and still volunteers one afternoon a week for a local charity that cares for dogs and cats after their owners have died. Many are rehomed, but those who are not live out their lives in comfort. Jack's donations from the money he gets from the sale of his paintings help somewhat.

Although she finds all her shifts interesting and rewarding it’s the nights that Chrissie enjoys the most. She learns so much from her chats with the insomniacs. Of course there are some who want to talk about what ails them, but mostly the discussions focus on interesting work and family histories, on celebrity faux pas and on current concerns about the state of the government, war and peace, environmental catastrophe and the like.

Gail, Chrissie discovers, is older than she looks. The 84 year old’s story of her experience as a Windrush nurse seems so poignant given current concerns about the NHS. Gail happily agrees to speak with Rebecca (who is currently completing a social history project on the welfare state) about her life and this discussion and the fuss made of her by many of the other residents leave the girl charmed. She promises to return and to bring George too next time.

There are of course Inevitable deteriorations in health and wellbeing and a death at the end of Chrissie’s second month leaves everyone, staff and residents all, subdued for a while. But life, as they say, goes on, and after a memorial where everyone shares their memories of Charlie (including his rather risqué attempts at humour and his questionable dress sense as well as his kindness and his love of Pink Floyd) the usual feelings of jolliness (Chrissie can think of no better word to describe the dominant mood) at Forest View slowly returns.

One day in early July it’s Chrissie’s turn to help with an orientation. The new member of staff is a younger woman in her mid-30s. ‘I’m not planning to stay that long’, she confides in Chrissie when they meet. ‘I expect it’s all a bit dull and depressing working with the old dears. How long have you been here then?’

‘A few months, I’ve been here a few months. Honestly, it’s the best job I’ve ever had. Trust me you’ll be surprised.’ Chrissie smiles as she hands the other, as yet to be convinced, woman her uniform.