FIRST
[Silence] VOICE (_Very To begin at the beginning:
softly_)
It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courters’-and-rabbits’ wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboatbobbing sea. The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine to-night in the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows’ weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now. Hush, the babies are sleeping, the farmers, the fishers, the tradesmen and pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher, postman and publican, the undertaker and the fancy woman, drunkard, dressmaker, preacher, policeman, the webfoot cocklewomen and the tidy wives. Young girls lie bedded soft or glide in their dreams, with rings and trousseaux, bridesmaided by glowworms down the aisles of the organplaying wood. The boys are dreaming wicked or of the bucking ranches of the night and the jollyrodgered sea. And the anthracite statues of the horses sleep in the fields, and the cows in the byres, and the dogs in the wetnosed yards; and the cats nap in the slant corners or lope sly, streaking and needling, on the one cloud of the roofs. You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing. Only _your_ eyes are unclosed to see the black and folded town fast, and slow, asleep. And you alone can hear the invisible starfall, the darkest-beforedawn minutely dewgrazed stir of the black, dab-filled sea where the _Arethusa_, the _Curlew_ and the _Skylark_, _Zanzibar_, _Rhiannon_, the _Rover_, the _Cormorant_, and the _Star of Wales_ tilt and ride.
Dickie
This is Richard Davies, or Dickie as he is better known to his family and friends. He was born on the 25th January 1926 in Dowlais, Merthyr Tydvil, in South Wales. Whilst essentially a coal mining area, his father was a railway guard and only his elder brother Ron, actually ‘worked down the pit’. He spent his childhood roaring about the hills riding bareback on his pony, playing chicken on the ‘cwbs’ (coal trucks that run to the end of a line to tip coal), and sliding down the main road in winter on a tin tray, which earned him a beating from his dad. From a young age Dickie was set on breaking the rules and his most hair raising stunt involved setting fire to brush wood which he and his chums used to encircle their local youth club when the adults took it over for the evening. They then sat on the roof watching the panic ensue. He moved on to bigger things again after getting involved in drama at his local youth club. He eventually moved up to London where he began his acting career. The same local youth club, whilst hardly a formal drama school, produced some of the greatest British male acting talents of the 20 century; Richard Burton, Anthony Hopkins and Roger Moore all started in the same youth club. He took his stage name from his first radio performance as Dicky bach dwll’.
His first job was with the Pilgrim Players during the war, and he married the daughter of his landlady, Beryl and had a son, Colin, before the army caught up with him, and he was sent to train for the military police, riding a motorbike, and destined for Burma. The captain of the CSEU, Combined Services Entertainment Unit, who Dickie had met earlier in the war, pulled him out, and he spent the rest of the war entertaining the troops with plays. Shakespeare wasn’t popular, and they would hear the squaddies stamping out, loudly half way through. He came back to London, and appeared on stage in ‘Carrington VC.’ He made a film, later, ‘The Night my Number came up’ with Michael Redgrave. In 1952, he toured South Africa with the Old Vic, and met his 2nd wife on a one week engagement on the Isle of Man, in 1955. They have two children and four grand children.
Dickie is probably best known for his performance as the exasperated schoolmaster, Mr Price, in the popular London Weekend Television sit com - Please Sir! The show ran for 4 series and a total of 55 episodes between 1968 and 1972. He also appeared in the spin-off series The Fenn Street Gang. He used a broad Welsh accent for much of his work, and often played Welsh stereotypes. Dickie played Idris Hopkins in Coronation Street between 1974 and 1975, and appeared in several science-fiction series, among them Robert’s Robots, Out of the Unknown and a well-received performance as Burton in the 1987 Doctor Who story Delta and the Bannermen. He played Mr White in Fawlty Towers, in the epic episode “The Kipper and the Corpse”, and also appeared in Yes Minister. He impersonated Clive Jenkins in a spoof edition of Question Time in a sketch on Not the Nine O’clock News and also appeared in One Foot in the Grave. He has appeared in films such as Zulu (1964), the musical film Oh! What a Lovely War (1969), the film adaptation of Please Sir! (1971), and Under Milk Wood (1972). His last film appearance was in 1988 where he played the schoolteacher in Queen Sacrifice. Apart from occasional appearances on radio and TV adverts, and ‘bit parts’ in TV light comedy, Dickie started to wind down his career during the 1990’s largely retiring from acting by the turn of the millennium. He moved from London to Hampshire in 2001 to live closer to his family.
Dickie was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2004 and is now looked after in a care home local to his home in Liphook, Hampshire. His diagnosis came about following cognitive tests after a series of car accidents, which resulted in him surrendering his driving licence. They found that Dickie was experiencing the early symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease. From this point on he became progressively more dependent on his wife Jill. Dickie, scared of the prospect of being ill, stopped drinking and became a vegetarian in a bid to stave off the disease although he could still be caught eating sausages and bacon which he insisted, ‘didn’t count’. The disease began to become more prevalent from this point, characterising its self in noticeable symptoms such as wandering, memory troubles and, in particular, sleepless nights. His trouble sleeping had the most impact on those around him and took the biggest toll on his wife Jill. For Dickie, the disease manifested its self in some of his frustrations and insecurities. Having never been one to use a credit card, Dickie always had cash in his pocket, but the sudden prospect of not having money in his pocket, due to his illness and his tendency to lose things, caused him to worry constantly whether he had money to pay for his room and his food. He also has trouble walking, due to Arthritis, which fuels fears of falling, resulting in loud shouting matches as he accuses various relatives and care givers of ‘trying to kill him’.
Caring for Dickie at home began to take its toll on his wife Jill, who is not in the best of health herself. The endless fetching of cups of coffee along with difficulties getting him out of bed became too much and reluctantly she was forced to admit him into a local care home which specialises in care for dementia patients. Dickie is now 88 and a popular resident of the Silver Birches care home where he lives. His disease is not progressing fast and he still remembers much although these tend to be distant memories like his childhood, and he often mistakes children and grand children for his brothers and sisters. Remarkably, he can still recite word for word, much of the narrator’s part (although he never played it) from Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood. Aside from these small surprises he only remembers select members of his family. Tragically Dickie’s confusion continues as he has mistaken one of his fellow residents for his wife Jill which at times causes him and her some distress. Despite the confusion he is still a character, lager than life, and still a bit of a tearaway often getting away with a ‘shouting and hollering’ session with a cheeky smile, and the line, ‘I was only joking…’
“No knowledge of who’s good, who’s bad, who’s here to help you or who’s here to hurt you.” “Thats a scary world to live in.”
I’m not
A huge challenge faced when caring for people with Alzheimer’s is the unpredictability brought about by this lack of consistency in a person’s life. If a person cannot recollect what they did or how they felt earlier on in the day they don’t have a constant mood. As a result sufferers can have drastic mood swings. Many patients with more advanced symptoms aren’t aware that there is anything wrong with them. This makes reasoning and consoling them very difficult. The confusion faced on a daily basis can leave patients stressed and they can become aggressive in some cases. Although it feels wrong, the telling of white lies (redirection) has become a useful tool in dealing with Alzheimer’s sufferers. They are used to distract and overt a patient’s attention to calm them. It’s a hard practice for some people but deception isn’t the intent. It is a topic open to debate and something people caring for Alzheimer’s sufferers face every day; whether you deceive a person to keep them happy or whether you’re honest with them and face causing them potential distress.
The social impact of not knowing who the people around you are, can affect a person’s personality greatly. Many patients suffering with Alzheimer’s become very introvert and removed from their surroundings. The frustration and sometimes embarrassment of not knowing names and faces you should know, is difficult to deal with and some people become depressed as a result.
On the outside many Alzheimer’s sufferers, particularly in the early stages of the disease, appear normal; they can converse normally and very often lose very little of their basic skills like reading, writing and numeracy skills. It is what is happening on the inside that is the problem. It is in conversation when the discussion moves to recounting past experiences where the Alzheimer’s sufferer is often left out because their recollection is scant or maybe there is no recollection at all – you can’t join in if you cant remember. Places, names and dates all become more and more difficult to recall, and then eventually not at all. As a result the Alzheimer’s sufferer can feel more and more isolated, embarrassed and alone whilst struggling to come to terms with their disease. Once diagnosed sufferers pick up a label that leads to more humiliation “its ok he forgets things”, “He’s not the same man I married”, “it’s ok he won’t understand”. All innocent comments but with a wounding and degrading effect on the person. Sufferers are often treated as if they can’t understand any thing at all, when they actually understand nearly all of what is being said – they just don’t remember. When Alzheimer’s becomes more severe, patients often lose track of time and place. Not knowing where you are often creates the greatest frustration in patients “where is this?”, “when are we going home?”, “do you live here as well?”
With thanks to Jill Davies The staff of Silver Birtches residential care home The Alzheimer’s Society And of course Dickie
_Curlew_ and the _Skylark_, the _Cormorant_, and the
_Zanzibar_, _Star of
_Rhiannon_, the _Rover_, Wales_ tilt and ride.
Listen. It is night moving in the streets, the processional salt slow musical wind in Coronation Street and Cockle Row, it is the grass growing on Llaregyb Hill, dewfall, starfall, the sleep of birds in Milk Wood. Listen. It is night in the chill, squat chapel, hymning in bonnet and brooch and bombazine black, butterfly choker and bootlace bow, coughing like nannygoats, sucking mintoes, fortywinking hallelujah; night in the four-ale, quiet as a domino; in Ocky Milkman’s lofts like a mouse with gloves; in Dai Bread’s bakery flying like black flour. It is to-night in Donkey Street, trotting silent, With seaweed on its hooves, along the cockled cobbles, past curtained fernpot, text and trinket, harmonium, holy dresser, watercolours done by hand, china dog and rosy tin teacaddy. It is night neddying among the snuggeries of babies. Look. It is night, dumbly, royally winding Coronation cherry trees; going through the Bethesda with winds gloved and folded, and tumbling by the Sailors Time passes. Listen. Time Come
closer
through the graveyard of dew doffed; Arms. passes. now.
Only you can hear the houses sleeping in the streets in the slow deep salt and silent black, bandaged night. Only you can see, in the blinded bedrooms, the coms. and petticoats over the chairs, the jugs and basins, the glasses of teeth, Thou Shalt Not on the wall, and the yellowing dickybird-watching pictures of the dead. Only you can hear and see, behind the eyes of the sleepers, the movements and countries and mazes and colours and dismays and rainbows and tunes and wishes and flight and fall and despairs and big seas of their dreams.