Of course I know our vicar, who is a rather gentle and affable soul, but as my contact with clerics go, a few friendly words with him, is as far as I go.
As I was driving up to my brother's house today, I got to thinking about my professional relationship with hospital chaplains. (This train of thought was sparked by the sight of two elderly nuns driving what looked like an old Vauxhall Nova through Denbigh..But that's another story)
Over the years I have known several. For nurses they are somewhat shadowy figures that lurk on the periphery of nursing care. I am sorry to say that I have not particularly found their work "useful", apart from perhaps the briefest of interventions with a dying patient and I must admit there is one Chaplain , I remember from my student nurse days in psychiatry with some irritation.
This is what I remembered today
The West Cheshire hospital . way back in the early 1980s still had a small and functioning Church. It was a rather unwelcoming, mid Victorian building of red brick, which always seemed rather more utilitarian in its design, for it had few of the period excesses and decorations one would expect from a Victorian house of worship.
Many of the long stay patients, most of which lived out their twilight years on the hospital back wards, would attend Church services on Sunday and occasionally we students would accompany them, especially if there was a "big" service on , say at Christmas or at Easter.
I remember one Christmas marshalling perhaps 15 patients from Irby Ward and with my fellow student helping out ( the trained staff would all be drinking coffee in the office) we walked down for Church service.
The chaplain was a man , I had never met, but I kind of took a dislike to him immediately for his obvious lack of warmth he showed to any of the institutionalised patients filing in to his church.
Dressed in some sort of robe ( robe in a Hospital Church?) I remember quite clearly the look of distaste on his face when one old lady chirped up loudly "Are you God?" from her place in the pews...
His reply was a short and rather sharp "No!"
Late to arrive was a patient called Pat, who was always a favourite with the students as she was "almost normal" in her behaviour and affect. Pat had been in hospital since the 1940s, and although dreadfully institutionalised , still retained a noticeable sense of humour, which was a rarity. She also took a great interest in people and would go out of her way to make a nervous young student nurse welcome on her ward, a fact that was much appreciated , especially as some of the ward staff were well known for not being THAT student friendly.
Pat always had a bad perm,an oversized overcoat with matching handbag (which was filled with fags and sweets) and too much make up on.....she also always had a strange companion in tow, by the name of Phyllis.(*)
Phyllis , too had been in hospital probably over forty years, but whereas Pat was sociable and interacted with staff, Phyllis remained in her own, isolated little world.
Today she perhaps would come under the broad definition of someone with learning difficulties.... back in the 1940s, she would have been lumped with the official title of "Moron".
Phyllis could not speak, in actual she had difficulty breathing, which she did in strange guttural gasps and she had the oddest "look" about her, as she resembled a sort of a caricature of a rhino,( this sounds dreadfully unfair and unkind but it was true!) She had great difficulty walking and would only do so by holding on to Pat's arm, and the two women were devoted to each other as they pottered around the old asylum, running errands and smoking cigarettes together.
Anyhow,like I said, Pat and Phyllis were ever so slightly late for service and as they entered the Church door, we all heard Pat cheerfully apologise to the chaplain who was just about to start his service.
The chaplain walked across to the two in silence showing Pat where to sit down with a wave of his arm, and impatient at the interruption he actually pushed Phyllis, who was somewhat slower than her companion, brusquely to her seat.
I could see a couple of female student nurses in their pink uniforms and blue capes bristle at his behaviour, and as he started his big speech about the importance of Christmas, he looked annoyed at the clip clop of Phyllis' built up shoes on the stone flags as she struggled to find her pew.
I remember thinking... well if this is Christianity in hospital well you can shove it up yer arse!
The rest of the service was nice enough.... the hymns were sweet... the lady that shouted out "are you God?"...did so only once more....and despite it's austerity the Church felt just that tiny bit festive, no thanks to the Chaplain...
But do you know what made the whole experience a memorable one for me and all of the other students dotted around the pews? it was Phyllis!
For when she and Pat got up to leave...Phyllis tottered to the front of the aisle, and just as the chaplain was being congratulated by the hospital bigwigs for a job well done... she growled like a lion, squatted down, and pee'd all over the floor like a horse!
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| The mural at the bottom of Irby Ward Steps Now demolished
* not her real name
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