The Death roll verses the Pitchpole

I like yachts.  Love messing around in them like my dad loved airports. It is that spirit of movement and sense of adventure they embody. The smell of salt water, the tinkle of the halyards against masts set the pulse racing. Not that I am sailor I got my first job in my 20’s and spend my salary on a sailing dingy - a Topper. That year I lived and worked in Cowes, which is quite a sailing Mecca. I seem to capsize in front of the posh sailing club every time I had to turn direction. Do you remember learning to ride a bike? For me it was riding in straight lines that came first. Every time I had to take a bend, off I came with knees, elbows and hands bearing the brunt of my mistakes. Eventually, I learned to corners on bikes. Unfortunately, in sailing I never mastered certain manoeuvres.  The two main reasons for my capsizing have wonderful names.  One is called the Death roll and the other is called the Pitchpole. 

“Death roll

This is an interesting setup to the broach.  Sailing downwind can cause an oscillation of the boat rocking back and forth.  An inexperienced helmsman will tend to try to correct this by steering away from the "roll" but this will cause it to get worse.  Once the roll gets to strong the boat broaches.

Pitchpole

This is a different sort of hydrodynamic problem.  The boat is going at a certain speed and the sails are under enough pressure to maintain the speed.  When the hull suddenly slows down the sail "keeps going" and the boat pitches over the bow in a spectacular summersault.  This is usually because you're racing down the back of a wave and when your bow hits the next wave it slows down abruptly.”

When in either position and moving fast  I invariably managed to capsize the boat. I didn't let it stop me sailing. One colleague from work who foolishly came sailing with me abandoned ship after the third capsize.  I watched him flee for shore as if his life depended on it. 

I didn't belong to any sailing club and I never minded the Hurrah Henrys looking on with their irritating nasal laughter, canvas shoes and wine glasses. It was the wind, waves and adventure that had me mesmerised. There is a feeling being really in the moment that confirms you're really alive not spectating or waiting for life to begin. My Topper taught me that.  I learned to right the boat again with remorseless painful practice. It's not the end of the world to find yourself in the water with the sail on your head. Sometimes, you have to work out which way is up and down. You can be that disorientated. Breathe as much air as you can before working on getting the boat upright. Before you can get moving again you will need to find your bearings and get above water.

At times life will do that.  It will take the feet from under you. Don't waste time worrying about who is watching you. Focus on deep breaths and conserving your energy for the task in hand. Wind direction changes, waves can come in all sizes and at times your skills don't quite meet the challenge. There is no shame in that. You're not responsible for what comes your way. Only for how you choose to respond to it. We need to remember that! Don't waste time on being humiliated by life. Instead, fill your days with times worth remembering.

"It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live."

Marcus Aurelius (Roman Emperor from 161 to 180 AD)

Art in Valetta, all shapes and sizes

Entered the St James Cavalier Centre and was rather confused by an art exhibit.  But to be honest, I am no artist so take my opinions with a pinch of salt.  So here goes...

I found the rather long explanation on video by the artist unconvincing.  I reckon if you have to emphasis simplicity and witter on about the hidden meaning in each brush stroke you are stretching the margins of artistic endeavour a little too thin.  Looking carefully at each one I searched for what I could find and came up with very little.

Moving onto the galleries upstairs I really enjoyed the photo display on exhibition.  I urge all who haven't been to check it out before it goes.  To entice you I am showing a few with my own captions (apologies to wonderful photographers whose work this really is).

Running down sand dunes with kites is something only kids think of doing - but we all should.

Children make such wonderful subjects of photography.

Real beauty cuts across all cultures and boundaries.

Some photographs are so good they become paintings in our heads.

You can never have enough colours.

A whole new meaning to the expression, "The train was packed this morning!"

A new way to use old bottle tops and carry it off with style.

Making art is about getting down and personal with your creation and becoming part of the joy of it.

Transporting nuclear warheads in an ecologically sound manner. (only joking)

Why are you looking at me? it is purely circumstantial evidence, I am totally innocent.

Leaving the galleries I am confronted with the beautiful square outside and wonder why someone thought it a good idea to put a pillar with what looks like part of someone's colon on top!  (see white monstrosity on black stone underneath) There are some modern art sculptures that seem criminal in their ugliness.  The surrounding beauty serves to only stress its hideousness.

On leaving Valetta through its main gates I check out an exhibition in the Parliament Building on diversity and loved the Maltese children's take on this topic.  Their pure hearted expressions won me over completely and filled me with hope for the future of us all.

A Love Affair

I have a deep and abiding love of libraries.  My father had his own extensive collection of books and I can remember lifting a green book from his shelves unable to read at that early stage but burning with curiosity.  Many libraries often began as private collections.  For example Pierpoint Morgan's Library in New York was made by the financier Pierpoint Morgan (1837-1913) during the years of 1902 - 1906.  Eleven years after his death his son J P Morgan converted it into a public institution.  It is startlingly beautiful.

So lovely to have this resource available to the public, mind you they have to pay 20 dollars to get in.

You don't have to pay to get into the New York Public library.  It was created from the private libraries of Astor, Lenox and Tilden being amalgamated into a new library in 1989.  The new library opened in its present position in 1911.  The building itself is grand enough.

 But it is the Rose Main Reading Room which lies inside that makes my heart beat, despite never having had the delight of visiting it.

So during a visit to my son in Manchester, this summer, I took advantage of both the huge bookshops and lovely libraries available.  Rylands library in Manchester is a Gothic structure strangely imposing from the outside.

Despite its deceptively aged exterior look it was constructed and took ten years to build, opening in 1900.  It was built in memory of Manchester's first millionaire John Ryland (1801-1888) by his widow.  It has a somber beauty to it.

With strange dark corners and bookcases that hint of mysterious contents.  The Rylands Library contains a fragment of St John's gospel, only 3.5 by 2.5 inches in Greek dating from the second or early third century. Recently, one team of researchers stated that they may have found the oldest-known copy of a gospel within the papyrus-wrapped mask of mummy. When wrapping mummies scraps of papyrus from all kinds of sources were used including it turns out stories from the the Greek poet Homer to mundane business/personal letters etc The writing on this scrap is thought to be a part of the Gospel of Mark and dates back to around 90 A.D.—decades earlier than any other previously discovered gospel text.

But by far my favourite library is the Public library of Manchester.  The Public Libraries Act was passed in 1850 and in response Manchester was the first local authority to provide a free lending and reference library.  The official opening of the public library was attended by Charles Dickens in 1852. The present existing public library was opened in 1934 and was based on the Pantheon in Rome.  It is wonderfully impressive from the exterior.

Having gone through much restoration the inside is equally delightful.

High above this dome there are inscribed the memorable words from the bible,

“

Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom, and with all thy getting get understanding. Exalt her and she shall promote thee; she shall bring thee to honour when thou dost embrace her, she shall give of thine head an ornament of grace, a crown of glory she shall deliver to thee.Proverbs 4:7”

What a wonderful reminder of what libraries should be all about.  I found the library full of people from all walks of life.  There were media booths, archives, maps, computers, coffee shop, study booths and books in all languages.  I felt strangely touched watching a Chinese couple choosing from the extensive Chinese bookshelves.  How wonderful to find yourself in a foreign country and yet discover your culture respected and acknowledged so openly.  A down and out character with holes in his socks and no shoes sat in comfort staring at the ceiling but enjoying the warmth and company around him.

Moving to a different level of the library I discovered the music section with pianos, drum kits, mixing decks and other musical instruments all available to members of the public. This is the Henry Watson Music Library. Henry Watson(1846-1911) was originally an errand boy in a Blackburn music store and by six had taught himself the dulcimer.  By ten he was a session musician and by fourteen he was touring the county as an accompanist to an antislavery show.  At 18 he was part of a booming instrument repair business.  He went on to get a doctorate from Cambridge and was a prolific composer and arranger.  He founded a library of 15,000 rare scores, 300 instruments and 200, 000 volumes of printed music.  Despite being completely self taught this errand boy ended up a professor of the Manchester College of Music.  He would have been delighted, as I was, to come upon an African teenager with headphones playing the set of drums with intensity and concentration in a library donated by him.  A famous composer was curious about a detail in the horn part of the slow movement in Beethoven's 4th Symphony.  Fortunately this library contains the 1st edition of the full score and band parts.  He was able to find the notes never performed in modern editions but there faithfully recorded as it was originally played.

If ever you are in Manchester check out this amazing building and soak up its wonderful atmosphere.

"There is no force on earth that can equal in its conquering power the force of justice and wisdom. "

from Baha'i writings

Cities of bodies

Thanks for calling yesterday and truthfully sharing your feelings. I appreciate your honesty and openness. May you ever remain so translucent. You have no idea how you are missed, how you fill every space with light, love and music. So many people were touched by your presence here. I never got to meet the magic/fighting/colleagues at work but I did meet teachers/Belgium Nadine/Catherine etc and they all speak of you as if you are belonged to them! I have no idea how you worm your way into people’s hearts but it is a mighty capacity. You had it at a young age. I remember Ursula returned from a long absence from the island and she spotted you across the room and both of you run to hug each other. I must admit to feeling jealous. I wanted her to have missed me as much! 

My mum loved having you in her home. “So easy to live with and love”. Not a bad verbal portrait. Remember her telling you the story of the bird? Difficult, painful days when you were broken physically. I remember thinking how often can someone be de-cored like an apple until they bleed on a regular basis and not lose their very sanity. Life has been full of trauma for you. But your radiance has never faltered. You will ever be loved. As a wise man so eloquently put it, “if I was in a lost place and you were a complete stranger I'd want you to be my friend”. Likewise, if I was facing hell, I'd want no one else by my side. 

I heard what you said about the Big city and the people. Don't underestimate big cities. I've always felt, even while visiting for a few days, in big cities, as if there was a glass ceiling and, not only could I not really pray but, God felt so distant. I know it wasn't because God moved away, so I put it down to that toxic big city effect. Perhaps, they are places so filled with pain, loss and suffering they hurt the heart. So totally the opposite of Jimmy and the Eleni’s vegetable garden and barbecue space in Rhodes. Remember that dirty, lonely space you are living in now, is surrounded by all the lovely places around the world filled with people who love you deeply and sincerely. Whose love you have had a chance to bathe in year after year. Then, feel for those city dwellers, “cities of bodies” rather than the “country of souls”. They may not have experienced Ursula's hugs, Jimmy’s roasted goat balls (and yes, they were real goat’s balls!), mum’s soda bread and pancakes, your nephew’s hugs (albeit squeezed out of him), grandad’s endless teasing or your dad’s wonderful food. Your family and friends are bound to you in ways that the lonely can only howl in anguish that they know not such brotherhood. Bonds tested in battles, blood stained with backs against the wall, against all odds. 

I sat down at a table at Bucharest surrounded by strangers from Poland, Bulgaria, Kosovo and got talking to a young woman from the south of Poland. As we spoke, she looked familiar and I asked a few questions. She said she knew Sarah. Our Sarah! Then, I remembered visiting her home with Sarah on a two week trip in the 1990s in Poland. Suddenly, it was as if Sarah was sitting at the table beside us. My goodness the coincidences in life surprise and bewilder one. I am so grateful for having knowing Sarah and having seen her ability to love others. I remember us sitting together in a car and she confided to me that she missed her breast so much after the operation. Wondering what they had done with it. Burnt it, dumped it? We both sat and wept together for this lost breast. We can't do much for each other in this world at times. Sometimes we must just feel each other's pain and loss and just weep.

The Philosopher's stone turning copper to gold, thousands of years of endeavour

It’s been said that there are three signs of the coming of age of humanity. 

• transmutation of the elements - a scientific break through were every element can be made to acquire the density, form, and substance of each and every other element
• one universal language and script will be chosen this will be the cause of unity, and the greatest instrument for promoting harmony and civilisation.
• kingship, no one will accept to bear the weight of kingship. Kingship will remain with none willing to bear alone its weight. This will be a sign of wisdom among mankind.

The hunger for gold goes way back.  Tombs have been discovered in 1973 along the lower Danube valley in Bulgaria which turned out to be the largest and most ancient assemblage of gold artefacts in human history.  

Dated from the 5th Millennium (4560-4450 BC) there were 3000 gold pieces among 62 grave sites.  Obviously, mankind has long had a yearning for gold.  There is something about this shiny metal that retains its exciting golden glow despite burial, time or even being submerged at sea.  There are reasons so many cultures around the world used gold as their form of money.

Aristotle (384–322 BC) (who knew a lot!) defined the characteristics of a good form of money:  He reckoned it should have four characteristics. 

1. It must be durable. Money must stand the test of time and the elements. It must not fade, corrode, or change through time.
2. It must be portable. Money hold a high amount of 'worth' relative to its weight and size.
3. It must be divisible. Money should be relatively easy to separate and re-combine without affecting its fundamental characteristics.
4. It must have intrinsic value

Obviously gold satisfies all these important criterion.

Such was the desire for this metal that from the Bronze age there has been the practice of alchemy - a quest to transmute base metal like lead into gold.  Indeed in the third century BC Greek and Jewish scholars were able to study ancient scripts on alchemy in the great library of Alexandria.  Although most of these alchemists were charlatans who claimed falsely the ability to transform base metal in to gold, many were actually also wonderful chemists and scientists including Robert Boyle, Paracelsus and Isaac Newton.  Tradition said that the transformation could be carried out by the use of the Philosopher’s stone, a dense red waxy substance that, it was thought, enabled transmutation of lead to gold.  

In fact so worried did people become about alchemy, laws were routinely passed banning it. 

Pope John XII issued a papal bill against counterfeiting currency by means of alchemy in 1217.  King Henry in 1403 banned alchemy in England.  Warnings about the Philosopher’s stone are found in the Canterbury Tales, published in 1478 (“any man may come upon that stone, I say, as for the best, let it alone”).   

Hunger for gold was pretty universal but can have dire consequences.  In 1532 when the Spanish arrived in Peru, the local Incas thought they were Gods and offered them gold as gifts.  The Incas referred to gold as the “sweat of the sun”. There is an account of the response such gifts had on the Spanish invaders from an Inca account. 

“They picked up the gold and fingered it like monkeys; they seemed to be transported by joy, as if their hearts were illumined and made new.  The truth is that they longed and lusted for gold.  Their bodies swelled with greed and their hunger was ravenous, they hungered like pigs for that gold.”

The Spanish Conquistador Franciso Pizarro captured the Inca leader Atahual and demanded a ransom of a roomful of gold for his release.  Despite gold flowing in huge amounts Pizarro reneged on the deal and put Atahual to death anyway.  The exquisite priceless golden artefacts were melted down into bars to be sent back to Spain. In addition, within  a few decades of the Spanish arrival, thanks in large part to the diseases they brought, the 16 million population of Peru was reduced by 93%.  The Spanish desire and hunger for gold had disastrous consequences for the native population of South America.

Perhaps the Philosopher’s stone was really Cinnabar, mercury II sulphide which was used in gold processing.  It certainly had the right colour.  

Cinnabar, mercury II sulphide

Mercury reacted with the gold in rocks to form a mercury-gold amalgam which was then heated, vaporising the mercury to obtain the gold.  It certainly did not transmute the base element into gold but its ability to extract gold from ore made it very popular and must have been an impressive sight.  Unfortunately, the fumes of the mercury were highly toxic and caused shaking, loss of sense and finally death to those exposed.  Being sent to a gold mine was a dangerous occupation as a slave and their lives were all too short.

The desire for gold has long afflicted governments as well as individuals.  In 1933, the president of the US, Franklin Roosevelt, outlawed the private ownership of gold coins, gold bullion and gold certificates of American citizens forcing them to sell all that they had to the Federal Reserve.  Those who did not sell their gold would receive a penalty of $10,000 and/or 5 to 10 years in prison.  The Federal reserve bought the gold for $20.67 per ounce and their reserves went from $4 billion to $12 billion as a result of the initiative.  The price of the gold also surged to $35 per ounce creating an instant profit for the government.  Fort Knox holds 2.3% of all the gold ever refined throughout human history.  

Fort Knox

Our hunger for gold is perhaps most clearly highlighted by the scale of one of the largest gold mines in the world. 

The Grasberg Gold Mine in Indonesia

Back to the seemingly ridiculous hunt for the philosopher’s stone and achieving the mythical goal of transforming base metals into gold. The problem is that every element has a certain number of protons defining it as Carbon, lead, Mercury etc.  Each element’s atom contains a set number of protons (positively charged) in its nucleus and an equal number of electrons (negatively charged) surround it.  For example, gold has 79 protons, copper has 29 protons, mercury has 80 protons and lead has 82 protons. So normal chemical reactions which involve only the interaction of outer electrons in various bonding arrangements with other elements were never going to be capable of transmuting one element into another.  The nucleus despite the heating, mixing, burning, boiling strategies, reactions with other chemicals was never going to change the number of its protons. That essential essence which defined the element, its very heart and soul, the nucleus would remain unaltered despite centuries of the best minds throwing themselves into the task.  For years we have, in fact, sniggered at these charlatans, the alchemists, and felt a vague embarrassment that such famous names as Isaac Newton or indeed Thomas Aquinas, could have wasted their considerable talents at such a dead end task.

The truth is far more startling.  Modern science has demonstrated the existence of radioactive substances.  These unstable substances are continually irradiating their surroundings with radiation in various forms of alpha particles, B-particles and gamma rays.  Those alpha particles are like charged chunks of the nucleus being thrown out.  The B- particles are fast moving electrons which come from deep inside the nucleus not from the outer shell electrons and the gamma rays are high energy beams of electromagnetic radiation (light, X rays, radio waves are all part of the electromagnetic spectrum but the gamma rays are the most powerful and carry the most energy).  So these elements automatically transmute.  

You find them naturally in the earth’s crust. Long-lived radioactive elements such as uranium, thorium and potassium and any of their decay products, such as radium and radon are examples. If you live in an area of granite you will be exposed to higher levels of radon, a radioactive gaseous element.  Some of these elements transmute slower than others.  In fact some have what we call half-lives (the time it take for half of the initial quantity to transform into a new element) of a tiny fraction of a second to others  like Tellurium-128 (128Te) with a half-life estimated at 7.7 x 10²⁴ years.  This is much more than a billion times longer than the current estimated age of the universe.  So by losing parts of their nucleus these can transform into other elements which are lighter than the original element.  

The one we are most probably aware of is uranium because it is used a fuel in many nuclear fission reactors.  Uranium 235 has a half live of 703.8 million years but by firing neutrons at an atom we can trigger a fission of the atom which divides into two other radioactive particles Krypton and Barium which releases more neutrons which triggers more fission of uranium 235.  This run away process can be controlled by having water or graphite to soak up excess numbers of neutrons and keep things running so that the amounts of energy produced can be used to produce electricity in a sustained controlled chain reaction.  We discovered that a change in the nucleus can be triggered by firing neutrons at elements and blasting apart the original element.  

This transmutation is happening not only in our nuclear reactors.  It has been estimated that 90% of the heat of the Earth’s interior is fuelled by decaying radioactive isotopes like Potassium 40, Uranium 238, Uranium 232 and Thorium 232 within the mantle of the earth. The world is obviously weirder than we can imagine!

But back to the creation of gold from base metals. Yes, It is indeed possible—all you need is a particle accelerator, a vast supply of energy and you can make gold. More than 30 years ago nuclear scientists at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory (LBNL) in California succeeded in producing very small amounts of gold from bismuth, a metallic element adjacent to lead on the periodic table. After mockery of those alchemists down through our turbulent history we can now announce that base metal can be turned into gold!  

The group used carbon and neon nuclei at incredible speeds and slammed them into foils of bismuth.  When they examined the results they found some atoms of Bi originally with  83 protons had lost four protons and become Gold with 79 protons.  In March of 1981 the Physical Review C journal published their exciting results. However, the amount produced was so small and the expenditure of energy to achieve it excessive.  Lest this seems churlish after achieving the long sought for conversion of base metal into gold, let’s put it in financial terms in the Scientific American journal’s words on January 31, 2014.

“Glenn Seaborg, who shared the 1951 Nobel Prize in Chemistry for his work with heavy elements and who died in 1999, was the senior author on the resulting study. “It would cost more than one quadrillion dollars per ounce to produce gold by this experiment," Seaborg told the Associated Press that year. The going rate for an ounce of gold at the time? About $560.”

Note: one quadrillion dollars = 1,000,000,000,000,000 dollars

So instead of getting closer to philosopher's stone we seem to have taken one big step forward and an even bigger one back.  We can now make gold out of base metal but it will cost much more to make than it is worth.  Disappointing I know, but science is getting closer than we think to an even more exciting goal that could change all that.  

The goal of nuclear fusion reactors is to try and bring together nuclei not blast a nucleus apart.  That releases huge amounts of energy and would create no radioactive waste as a by product unlike nuclear fission.  In fact, a couple of buckets of sea water a day would supply the world’s energy needs if nuclear fusion is achieved.  The interior of our sun regularly achieves fusion of the lighter atoms like hydrogen atoms  into helium.  Heavier metals like gold are only produced when a massive star reaches the end of its life in a supernova - the largest explosion that can take place in space.  In one way that is positive, nature has proven it possible but the conditions under which it happens is pretty extreme.  In order to turn copper into gold fission will simply not do.  Gold has 79 protons but copper has only 29 protons.  For that transmutation to take place nuclear fusion is necessary. So, if we can get fusion reactors to work we would be able to provide fuel for all the world’s needs and make as much gold as we like.  Mind you, if we we crack that fusion target and choose to use the energy to make gold it will probably reduce the value of gold itself.  After all, It is the rareness of an element that creates its value.

 the Wendelstein 7-X (W7X) stellarator

We are tip toeing closer to that goal of a working nuclear fusion reactor.  "Scientists at the Max Planck Institute in Germany have successfully conducted a revolutionary nuclear fusion experiment. Using their experimental reactor, the Wendelstein 7-X (W7X) stellarator, they have managed to sustain a hydrogen plasma – a key step on the path to creating workable nuclear fusion. " This was achieved earlier this year and another contender in Southern France (involving 35 nations) using a different approach is the ITER Tokamak which runs at temperatures 10 times that found in the core of the sun. The technology is advancing and it is hoped a fusion reactor will become the next big break through in energy production.  It is strangely comforting that being able to unite elements rather than divide them could bring a healthier and safer world.  It hints that unity among nations could likewise usher in a real transmutation of our global society even more elusive than turning copper into gold.

Bossy wives, funny bus drivers and transporting and transmuting

I had forgotten the chattiness of the Irish. Not the well bred iciness of the middle class, whose mark of good manners is studiously ignoring you under all circumstances. If they live beside you, they will pride themselves on 25 years of avoiding conversations across well manicured garden hedges. No, I’m talking about the chattiness of those neither rich or middle class. 

Here I am, heading by bus from Ballymoney to Belfast. Nothing exceptional happens all the way from Ballymoney to Ballymena. The usual flocks of the over 65’s taking advantage of free transport they are entitled to. It does the heart good to see groups of elderly folk travelling up to Belfast for the day. I love the way they dress up for such excursions. On cheap airlines nowadays, people dress down. It might be the stewardesses on such flights who set the tone. They are dressed like supermarket assistants and every everyone else feels duty-bound to follow suit. In the olden days, beautifully manicured stewardesses with pristine make up and hair floated up and down the central catwalk of the plane.  People aspired to that template with varying degrees of success. But cheap airlines show their disdain for customers so obviously; making you stand in freezing corridors like cattle, squeezing you into tiny battery hen containers. Dressing up for such treatment defeats even the fashion conscious among us. 

Regarding public transport, the wealthy have cars to insulate themselves from others. Occasionally, they will commute by train but use books, iPads and mobiles to isolate themselves from their fellow travellers. Buses however are avoided and so have a different clientele entirely. As a result social interactions on buses in Ireland are startlingly different. 

The new driver who takes over the bus in Ballymena is called Marty and is a really talkative man. He greets almost all who enter the bus by name and has a friendly insult for everyone. He is small and wiry and has a great line of chat. 

“Hi Ruth, are you heading up to Antrim hospital to see your mum?”

 He asked the middle-aged woman who is missing an arm. She smiles at him and nods. He beams back and asks, 

“How is she doing, love?” As he hands her a ticket.

She answers in a strong Ballymena accent,

“She’s not so bad, Marty”.  

He responds challengingly,

“You’re up visiting that hospital so often, I reckon you’ve a bloke up there!”

Ruth blushes and giggles, delighted by his jesting. The whole company on the bus begins to perk up and some smile. This boy is a live wire! He tells us all,

“My wife is 5 inches taller than me and is terribly bossy. I'm a chatty fella on the bus but a silent wee man at home! My God! She wears the trousers in our home!”

There are titters of laughter now from the front seats. Smiles are shared by all on the bus. A rather chubby redheaded lad in his 30’s runs late to catch the bus and is scolded by Marty. 

We’re all here waiting on you. Just take your time why don't you? We have nothing better to do than sit like wallflowers for you to come along! "

He makes the lad so nervous, he drops his coins into his rucksack and they disappear into its cluttered depths. He pulls out a tenner in desperation and offers that. Marty scolds him again,

 “Now, I'll have to give you my money out of my own pocket for change.”

He hands over fiver. 

“That's what the wife gave me today for a coffee and a bun!” 

The lad grabs it and runs to his seat at the back. An elderly man called Davy, shouts out,

 “You're a wild man, Marty, I’d hate to see you with drink taken!”

 Marty responds,

 “No, I don't touch the demon drink, sure look how mad I am without it!”

Davy mentions the bad thunder and lightning of the previous night and Marty says he is terrified of lightning he points out his garden was lit up last night with flashes.

 “I was scared rigid. You’ll know if there is lightning today because you’ll find me hiding under this bus seat!” 

Davy says, 

“I loved watching it from my chair, through the window last night!”

Marty snorts,

“Sure you're an old guy, almost dead already. You have nothing to fear from anything. I’ve got my whole life to think of!”

At this, the whole bus is laughing. Davy responds in puzzled tones,

 “How did you get that woman of yours to marry you? 

Marty explains, 

“Sure wasn't she the luckiest lass in the world to get me. I am a fine fellow. If I could've married myself, I would have! I got down on my knees and asked,

“Would you like to marry me? I'm the best man in the world. When she said, “yes” I asked if she could lend me a fiver towards my rent, now that we were practically family.”

Davy laughs and says,

“Sure you're raking it in, with all the money you boys on the bus get. Marty laughs and asks Davy,

“If I find £20 in one coat pocket and £40 in the other what would I have?”   

Davy shouts out, “£60” to which Martin replies, 

“No, I'd have someone else's coat on!”

The banter continues the whole way and he lightens the atmosphere. He is careful to greet each new passenger and say a teasing goodbye to those who disembark. He tells the thin tall teenage girl that she is on the late shift today and despite her shyness you can see she appreciates that he's noticed. By the time we reach Belfast others are telling their jokes, sharing tales and teasing him back. It's another world and if you couldn't catch the strong accents you would miss the good humour that cushions all the jibes. It all feels so familiar, this quick witted repartee. But it is Marty's ability to take a somber silent bus load and bring them back to good-humoured humanity that pleases me the most. His good nature is contagious and as we disembark I want to shake his hand in appreciation. There is definitely something special about having a radiant personality.  Misery is so contagious but thankfully so is happiness.

"A gentle word, a kind look, a good-natured smile can work wonders and accomplish miracles." 

quote by William Hazlitt (10 April 1778 – 18 September 1830) English writer and philosopher

Breaks, Drunks and a distinct lack of tea

No one warns you about falling. Yet so many do exactly that. In fact for the elderly a fall is the most common entry into the hospital/residence home system. It is a sad fact of life that almost any of us who have a severely broken leg will struggle to cope. When you cannot reach things, make your own food and suddenly become dependent on others, it feels like being a helpless child again. All your plans including work of any sort is shelved. Usual routines like housework, coffee breaks, visits to friends become challenging. But however difficult for those who are middle-aged and younger, it is as nothing compare to that facing the elderly in the same situation.

Their responsibilities may well include being a caregiver for an elderly partner. Suddenly, what was a 24-hour job becomes untenable. Often a fracture in an elderly person will not just lead to their hospitalisation but also institutionalisation of the remaining partner. Added to the anguish of pain and medical procedure is is the realisation that the closest person to you has been left vulnerable and taken from your home by the social services. Confusion reigns as the elderly quickly lose a sense of where/who they are when moved out of familiar surroundings and company. Recovery from major injury can take months not weeks and always there is a very real possibility that there may be no recovery. 

In many places hospital care has been centralised. This means people are often taken far from their family, friends and neighbours.  When they most need support and care, that lifeline is severed by the long distances travelled to receive medical procedures.  Waiting time in casualties the world over are now in excess of three/four hours.  Even after you see a doctor no one tells you what has happened.  For fear of litigation or lack of staff, communication is minimised.  So the elderly are left in beds confused as to what injury they have sustained.  Not sure what will happen next and completely disorientated by this new and frightening environment.  Trained not to complain they endure in silence while others shout for attention.  I have visited relatives who have been in hospital for days and they still have not been told what their injury is. Even basic things like fluid intake are neglected.  There used to be a lovely little lady in Coleraine hospital who would come around casualty and hand out tea and toast.  In the chaos and confusion her smiling face offering hot tea and warm toast was like an angel in a war zone.  

Nowadays, she has been replaced by on duty police officers to restrain the many drunks who attack staff and other patients.  These officers are really needed. I had a young student friend, John who was in casualty for a broken arm.  While awaiting treatment for this injury a violent drunk broke his nose as well.  I must confess to losing my sympathy for such violent individuals.  It feels as if they have decided to get drunk and in that state injured themselves.  Then, when brought to casualties up and down the country they wreck havoc on staff trying to treat them and even other patients sharing the waiting room.  It tests compassion indeed when the elderly have to share such spaces with these drunks.  The injured elderly are particularly vulnerable to abuse and know it.

Regained mobility is not taken for granted by the elderly. They know like health, mobility can be gone in the crack of a bone. Who you are and how you think about yourself all can change in a single second.  The only aspiration becomes regaining what you once had and that seems an epic battle fraught with setbacks and unexpected complications. When they have wrestled and fought to regain normality they cannot easily forget this torment.

So understand when the elderly want to tell you the details of their illness even after they recover. It is a form of post-traumatic stress and having fought on a battlefield filled with pain, sleepless nights and vulnerability they need to retell their suffering. Talk through the trauma and understand their life’s journey has changed. All can play an important role in helping them, take ownership of themselves and their path in this world by just listening. With each retelling the experience becomes more of their past and less of the present. They gain perspective on what has happened to them. Your listening ear provides a recognition of what they have been through. But don't be afraid after listening, to move the conversation on. Your insights and interests are exactly the world of outside hospitals they need to rediscover. It's just for many the hospital corridors have been long and agony filled.  It takes time for them to mentally navigate and find their exit. 

Parallel universes exist in this earth. There is the life inside hospital and life outside. Two completely different worlds.