Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts

Thursday, December 31, 2015

Sept 1969 - filming for TV in Edinburgh

30.9.69

Dear Mum, just got your letter in which you mention your many history-making exploits. I hope while you’re concentrating on making history that you’re also concentrating on getting well. I don’t know if you will still be in there when you get this ˗ I’ll send it to the hospital anyway, and put a wee note on it where to send it if you’ve gone home by this time. Glad to hear however that as usual you’re enjoying yourself thoroughly, though I do think it’s about time they found someone else to pick on for their experiments ˗ they always seem to find you such an interesting case, don’t they? Wonder why you’ve been given so many little peculiarities? Glad to see also that everyone is looking after you so well; funny, isn’t it, how both you and I seem to be considered quite helpless and everyone seems to rush to help. I often have dear old ladies helping me to buy things in shops, and others seem to find a good old sounding board in me for all their troubles. I know more about complete strangers’ troubles than anybody else’s! It’s nice also that you’re in hospital in the Spring;  you’ll be able to see all the trees and flowers coming out into bloom from your own private window.

We’ve had our first touch of Winter today; I was staying overnight at Mike’s (it was his birthday yesterday, and he invited me around for a meal ˗ and very nice it was too, and we just spent a very quiet evening sounding like two under-under-graduates according to Lindsay!) and when I went last night it was quite pleasant and mild, and I only had a jacket on over my shirt. This morning however there was a distinct chill in the air ˗ even though the sun is still shining quite pleasantly, and it looks very pleasant as long as you’re indoors, but I was feeling a little like a slightly refrigerated person by the time I got home.

I don’t think I told you any more about Edinburgh, did it? (I’ve written to Hazel who is away at the moment, and I think it was her that I told the rest of the story to.) Anyway on Wednesday morning when we were supposed to work solidly for about three and a half hours we arrived and rehearsed (after about half an hour’s wait) with the cameras, and then went and sat about and then were made up and then sat about, and then filmed it quite casually in about ten minutes! And it was apparently so right (a piece of commentary had to be fitted over the last part of our performance and it was so well timed that it ended exactly as we did!) that we didn’t even have to do it again, which they’d expected to. I think they felt they wouldn’t get it right again if they did do it.

So we finished quite early in the day, and after we had a huge salad each in a place that Ande Anderson (the producer) knows, we went our separate ways, and I wandered off to see some more of the place that I hadn’t yet taken in. I wandered around the East end of the town, I think, and this brought me to Holyrood House [Palace] eventually, which I investigated. Unfortunately they didn’t really show very much of it to us ˗ only about one floor, out of three or four, and not all of that I suspect. Still it was interesting, though like many other things it no longer exists as it did when it was first built, and only parts of rooms are as old as the entire establishment. A ceiling here, a or a door here, or a staircase here. Still the room where Mary Queen of Scots was having dinner with a couple of friends the night her secretary Rizzio was murdered about two rooms away is there, and the spot where he was left dying ˗ though the little private dining room (about as big as our kitchen!) has a telephone in it these days! And the bed her husband slept in is still sitting in his room, made up, as though he were just away in England for the day.

There are lots of fascinating little curiosities, and even more that we couldn’t see, I think ˗ you seem to have to go around with one of the guides who only shows you what they think is necessary. Though they are fairly knowledgeable about the place, and conversation with them is rather more fascinating than actually listening to the talk, which leaves dozens of little details out.

The setting for the House (like that of the Castle, which had about the magnificent setting possible on top of a sheer rock) is fabulous. It’s at the other end of the Royal Mile ˗ walk straight up the road and you eventually come to the Castle gates ˗ and is sort of the end of the world; all at the back of it is a great roll of hills, with a huge scar down the side of the closest. I first saw the House from above, in the sort of park area (Calton Hill ˗ correct spelling incidentally) which is full of overpowering monuments to long forgotten leaders of the town, and up there you can really see the setting. Everything is heavily built in Edinburgh; one imagines it would take an atom bomb just to shake the foundations let alone knock it down.

Since I got back I’ve had to work all the four remaining days of the week; Thursday through to Sunday, morning noon and night. I was nearly up the wall at the end of it. Fortunately I’ve had two full days off to compensate. Still, as employers they’re fairly good, in that I only seem to need to ask for a certain time off and they say, Oh, I think that can be arranged!


Lots of love and keep progressing!

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

18.8.69 - Back to London

18.8.69 [handwritten] Back at Bethune Rd
Came home today to a bonanza of letters from you, and also Korea, and the Home Office (I’m now free to stay here, apparently for an unspecified length of time) and a long overdue postcard from Michael T in Rome ˗ I’d seen him back in London before I left! I’m very pleased to hear that you’re doing so well, and I was quite delighted with the slightly ‘droopy’ letter of the 12th! Sorry that you weren’t sure what to do with the mail ˗ I did get two letters (I think that was all) in Hastings, via the flat, but the others might have all arrived here after the date when I said not to send anymore on. It’s great that, as usual, you’re making so many friends and seeing all those others you haven’t seen for years. Have you had that race down the Ward yet? Or are you leaving such trivial things to those who are fairly new to this hospital business?
The flat here has started to look quite lived in ˗ I was quite glad not to have had to go through the transition period of getting everything into place once the others moved in.
My foot, I’m afraid, is misbehaving somewhat though it can hardly be expected not to be upset after what I did to it yesterday. As it was the last day, I went in twice (in the water, sorry) and almost ran on it. The result was, naturally, that I could barely walk on it when we finally got home and it’s been feeling fairly tired all day today.
Mrs S fell flat on her face going to work the other morning (she works three days a week in a typing office) and has a chin slowly going purple. She's really very sweet and we get on very well. I was quite sorry to leave this morning in fact, though I had thought, up till then, how nice it would be to get back to London again. I’ve been invited back again anytime ˗ which seems a fair enough criterion, doesn’t it? [More to the point it was extremely generous, since I doubt that I contributed anything to my board while I stayed there!]
If my foot clears up sufficiently to be able to walk comfortably before the end of the week I’ll try and get a job. I don’t know if I’ve already said I’m thinking of trying a job working front-of-house in some theatre ˗ that way I should have quite a bit of the day free to study in. It seems to be full of disadvantages ˗ there’s so much I won’t be able to see, but I can’t see any other way of working. If I get thoroughly fed up I’ll just have to try something else.
Keep getting well, Love, Mike. 

Monday, December 28, 2015

12.8.69 - Back in Hastings

12.8.69 [handwritten]
Dear Mum, I’ll address this and the next few I write to the hospital, although there should be a couple lying at home for you if someone hasn’t already collected them. By this time I suppose you’ll have had either one or both of your ops, and will be well on the way to organising races up and down the Ward with anyone else who cares to take you on! There’s one thing I must sort out ˗ I meant to do it last time but forgot. I received a notice to pay my next lot of Francisco money recently and I have a Postal Note for £3 here to do it. What I want to say is that I hope you haven’t worried about it, because I really think it’s up to me to pay it, even though I’m still not earning anything especially. Just in case you’ve been the usual Good Samaritan that you always are and have paid it, I’ll put a note in to Mrs O’Flaherty saying that she should put the extra £3 onto the next quarter. Will you let me know so that I know how things stand?
Today it is raining, although it’s still very warm (temperatures have been in the 80s and upwards for over a week!) This is the first rain since I arrived here. David’s fourth friend did come to the beach on Sunday. His name is John and he’s about to do his final two years at a Theological College before becoming a Minister. He’s much the same age as all the other friends ˗ between twenty-two and twenty-three ˗ (it’s amazing what a variety of youths you can get at that age) ˗ and quite the liveliest of the four. He’s also the most popular with the Syrus parents (David reckons I come a close second!), but it seems that the other three boys I met don’t bother to try and communicate with an older generation.
We went in the sea four times that day, and stayed longer than usual because for the first time we had a ball to play with, and that kept us all playing around a lot more. John and I seemed to be the most energetic of the lot (!) ˗ we stayed in longer than the others on at least one occasion and were at the forefront of the various other activities that went on (like building a sandcastle (my second childhood this!) and playing a sort of catch-ball on the sands.) David’s father came in too (as he had at Camber) and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He’s much more cheery when he’s in the water (!) and laughs and clowns around pretty energetically. The previous night he and Mrs and David and I had stayed up discussing religion till 2 am ˗ the parents are Methodists, and David leans towards Anglicanism. (He’s been to Church with me both Sundays. The discussion didn’t really get anywhere ˗ except perhaps to clear up my own ideas. Mr S is pretty staunchly Methodist. Love, Mike.