See end of this post for a reference to the photograph taken at St. Pancras Station last Monday.
I've not contributed for a while. That’s not because I haven't been volunteering, but I've had less time to put my notes into print. This Monday, just gone, has forced my hand. Every now and again I leave the hospital knowing my visit has uplifted me, that patients have shared stories, amused me, or I've told a joke or two. Whether it is me playing music to a patient or just chatting away or giving time to a patient to chat. I am forever reminded that conversation for a patient is such a vital link to feeling normal. You cannot ordinarily chat to a doctor or even a nurse. Nurses are busy and there are less of them about. Doctors too are busy and more often than not, are asking you medical questions. That’s not a conversation, more like an interrogation.
So I listen, and I chat. Usually, patients are in a bay of 4 beds. Occasionally I am able to engage with 2 or 3 patients at any one time, especially if I’m playing music on my Bluetooth speaker.
This Monday gone was a case in point. At one bed was an elderly and jovial man from Northern Ireland. He could have been a Father Christmas look-a-like., though difficult to imagine with a Belfast accent. (Apologies to NI.) And this guy was a bit of a rough diamond. He didn’t particularly want any kind, not particularly bothered. He seemed more intent on getting home. He was sitting on his bed, half dressed and seemed a little agitated and ready to go home. (Sadly, I meet many patients who are desperate to go home: some even dress in the expectancy of going home.)
This Monday just gone, in the first bay I visited, I came to a man lying quietly on the top of his bed sheets. I will call him Peter. Peter took great care in speaking, choosing his words carefully as if the words were being picked from a tray in front of him. He was slow and deliberate and had a clipped way of speaking, often using words of single syllables and accentuating the consonants. I can imagine him saying “I’d like a little bit of butter on my bread." One thing I noticed about Peter was his right foot, as his right toe seem to curl over his second toe. I’ve heard of crossing fingers but not crossing toes. .
Sometimes I get a musical request that I didn’t expect and Peter was a case in point. Yes, he told me that he used to go to dance halls as a youth and was a follower of big band sounds. He mentioned a few dance halls I knew of, one being the Orchid Ballroom, Purley. Then there was the Empire Ballroom in the West End, and the Locarno in Streatham, South London, but I think Peter’s main interest was in the bands that played and not the girls.
When I asked Peter which band he would like me to play, I was in for a surprise for he said Woodie Herman and even named the track: The Third Herd. Well Woody Herman is the top end of the jazz scene in the States and he had a reputation for loud, fast, contrapuntal rhythms and explosive brass orchestrations. And so I had to ask the other patients if they minded me giving this a blast! The Belfast guy was dismissive saying “do what you like mate” but the other patient opposite him gave me the thumbs up for he too liked big band sounds as he gave me a broad smile. The vote was swung by a majority of 2 to 1 as the 4th patient had been wheel out and was off homewards! home! .
This next paragraph attempts to describe Peter’s reaction on hearing Woody Herman’s The Third Herd. As soon as the music blasted out of the speaker so Peter seemed electronically charged. It was like he was being plugged into an electric circuit. He became animated, ecstatically happy; his whole body was jerking about as if he was dancing. He could not believe how immediate that sound was, as if he was in the front row at a concert. The whole experience brought him back in time, even to his youth, it was the best tonic any doctor could have given him. Peter’s feet were kicking away at the food of the bed, twitching and turning like car-windscreen wipers going berserk. The whole bay seemed to be transformed into an entertainment centre. I pointed the Bluetooth speaker right over Peter’s toes, as if I was conducting the movement of his feet. Even the Belfast Father Christmas guy started laughing and joined in the dance theme with some jiggling movements whilst sitting on his bed. And to cap it all, a male cleaner did a soft shoe shuffle with his feet, whilst mopping the floor – all in time with the music!
Peter then went on to choose “The Way You Look Tonight” and “The Nearness of You” by the Nick Ross Band. He seemed very knowledgeable, mentioning the fluid understated style of Stan Getz on tenor sax as well as the chemistry between Billie Holliday and the sax player Lester Young. He also mentioned Ted Heath and the Teddy Wilson Octet.
Peter kept saying “This is my best day” and “You’ve made my day.” His voice was charged with emotion and he couldn’t thank me enough. But I think such heights were reached by a willingness of two or more people to make light of the surroundings and just unwind with the help of music. I forgot to say that I too was be-bopping around the bay. Nurses came by and laughed and clapped. the bay
PS The photo was taken at St. Pancras Station this Monday gone. So what do you imagine the guy was playing whilst looking at a crossword puzzle propped up on the music stand? Did he do that for attention or was he looking for a clue? Come on Don, what do you think? I will respond to all musical answers!
