Wellcome Collection blog

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

One of the nicest but potentially derailing aspects of the writing group was our love of chat. Towards the end of the course, I asked the writers to reflect on how the sessions had been. With characteristic insight, Guncho wrote: “the more we are asked to write, the more we want to speak. It’s like we are starved of company – myself included”.

Jo loves to chat. She’s someone who is as interested in you and what’s happening in your life, as she is in herself. One week, talking about the book her son has published, she breaks the conversation to ask if I have a new kitten, noting the scratches on my hand (inflicted, in fact, by a cat old enough to know better). In the group, she smiles as she writes, remembering the past. As she reads out her words, she paints great tales of the sixties, especially the fabulous clothing and shoes that she couldn’t even think about wearing nowadays.

One week I was circling the day hospice, corralling the writers into our room. In the corner, Jo was cocooned in a large chair that gave the appearance of almost swallowing her up. Puffy faced, she opened her eyes. Her left check was swollen with a dark, woolly-edged bruise. She spoke slowly and a little slurred, telling me she’s had a fall and is going to stay in the main room and rest today.

The day hospice has a fluid population – any given week, people could be absent because they’re on a break from day hospice, too ill to visit, on holiday or at a medical appointment. Even so, the week after, when I didn’t see Jo, I panicked a little. After the group, though, as people found their drivers and made their way out of the day hospice, I saw her in a wheelchair. I knelt down to say hi, noticing as I bent the white plastic wristband around her arm.

Her cheek was still dark grey and now (she reached up to take off her glasses) there were two black eyes to go with it. She tells me that she fell out of bed and has been in the hospice as a patient since last week. “I’d rather be here than at home, though,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Do you they treat you well then?” I asked. “Ooh yes,” she smiled.

Rose is a statuesque, elegant, white-haired woman. She is always immaculately dressed, often in brightly coloured suits. Even though one foot is bandaged, she wears a matching high-heeled shoe on the other. On our first meeting, the rest of the group dared me to guess her age. I was at least 20 years under the correct number and refuse, still, to believe she is in her 80s.

Jo’s friends from day hospice were delighted to see her, departing with heartfelt orders for her to take care and be well. On the way out, Rose passed behind the wheelchair and said goodbye. As Jo replied, cocking her head back, Rose cupped Jo’s face in her hands, kissed her on the forehead and left.

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A self-portrait‘ is open until 28 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Filed under: Stories from the day hospice | 4 Comments »

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

I’d been going to the hospice for a couple of weeks and hadn’t yet met Brian, but I noticed him straight away this particular Tuesday. An older man, he reminded me of the granddad I knew only when I was a child. He has a wide smile and twinkling eyes and was resplendent in a patterned Hawaiian-style shirt, evidently one of several such items in his wardrobe

Everyone that saw him greeted him with affection, chatting excitedly, catching up on his news. In the writing group, he came up with some fascinating tales from his childhood, including the time his dad went what he described as ‘rootling’ on holiday in Great Yarmouth. Scouring the rocks on the sea edge, he found an iron BC coin – you could still make out the head on one of its faces. Brian still has it today.

Discussing what we might put in a ‘museum of me’, Brian told us about the ‘easy tree’. “The whole gang used to go up there,” Brian said, describing a hawthorn tree that was so loved, the spikes were soon worn away, rendering the tree smooth and no longer painful to climb. Its name came from the fact that it was so easy to climb, even girls could do it.

We asked whether the tree was still there, imagining Brian erecting a plaque next to it. “No,” he said, shaking his head. For a reason he still can’t work out, he and his friends got together when they were around 15 and destroyed it.

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A self-portrait‘ is open until 28 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Filed under: Stories from the day hospice | Leave a Comment »

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

Jackie and I arrived at Princess Alice at around the same time. Softly spoken and thoughtful, she brought a sensitivity and calmness to the writing group. Her stories outlined the importance of the countryside and, in particular, horses in her life.

She didn’t like to be upset and tried hard to suppress any negative emotions she felt. In the Post-its exercise, where we each wrote down a word that we felt had been particularly pertinent to us over the last week, she was the only person to give two words: one she perceived as negative, and a positive one to balance. The positive word was ‘foal’, reflecting a new arrival in her family.

She said being part of the group had helped give her a bit of confidence about writing. “My head’s such a muddle,” she said. “This showed me that I can still get my thoughts down on paper.”

This piece is about her son. When she read it to the group – tearfully – many of us found ourselves welling up too. Jackie said that her family loved the poem, especially her mother, who read it aloud to everyone.

Untitled by Jackie

A huge hug is given, engulfed in love,
A family relationship.
My son,
The very light of my life.

Warm, familiar laugh that warms me through and through
Eddie Murphy’s double.
Country odours, animals and leather,
All is soft, natural browns, warm woolly jumpers
Mixed with stubbly cuddles from a hurried shave.
Never enough time.

Mobile phone – never stops!
No trouble, catch up with you later, sounds good to me.
Always on the go.
Craggy, weathered smile.
Works so hard, my boy.

You ready mum? Car’s outside
What first?
Bedding, duvet and pillows for car journey? Any.
Separate ones for the van?
Case?

Medication, water.
Wait til you see your garden,
Shrubs, trees are in bud waiting for you.
All’s good.
Weather’s on the up.

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A self-portrait‘ is open until 24 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Filed under: Stories from the day hospice | 1 Comment »

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

It was a gorgeous day outside. In the corridor of the ward, I stood, back resting on the pale walls. I was waiting for the nurse to come out of Jack’s room so I could go in and start writing with him.

Across from me, the door of another room was open. In the background, through the patio doors, I could see people working in the hospice gardens, strolling in the sun or sitting on benches, sandwiches unwrapped on their laps.

On the bed was a man. An electric shock of adrenaline shot through me in response to how grey, ill and near to death he looked. Breathing with loud, laboured inhalations, he was otherwise still, eyes closed.

With her back to me, a woman was sitting at his side, head turned towards someone at the end of the bed that I couldn’t see. She had a puzzle book open across her lap. Above the distant drone of a lawnmower I heard them discussing anagrams for the word ‘sulphur’. Further up the corridor, towards reception, a young man with the same face as the man on the bed was pacing up and down.

Three weeks later I was in a similar room in a different part of the country. Sat on a turquoise chair with a spongy seat I was having a low-volume argument with my husband about whether I was going to eat half of the egg salad sandwich I’d just bought from the hospital shop. Between us, his dad lay: eyes closed, breathing quietly, the day before he died.

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A self-portrait‘ is open until 24 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Filed under: Stories from the day hospice | Leave a Comment »

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

Generally, when I arrived at the day hospice, lunch was finished. Around the room, people in various states of post-prandial relaxation would read, chat or doze. I’d been visiting over the summer, so sometimes the doors that line the back of the room were open to let fresh air in, sometimes they were shut to keep the torrential rain out.

Whatever the weather, though, you could guarantee that some of the group would be drinking cold drinks, bathing in the cool air of a fan, while others would be huddled in thick layers and hats, strategically positioned out of the way of the draughts.

Take the Margarets. One of them, more often than not, would be zipped up in a brightly coloured fleece, arms and legs fully covered. A few seats down, the other would be in short sleeves, reclined in her chair to feel the breeze on her face.

One particularly warm day, feels-the-heat Margaret and her friend were sitting in their usual places, heads back, feet up. A few inches from their faces, they held battery-powered pocket fans that were whizzing away. “Flipping heck, ladies,” said one woman as she passed. “When I heard that buzzing start, I thought you’d got something else out of your handbags.”

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A self-portrait‘ is open until 24 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Filed under: Stories from the day hospice | Leave a Comment »

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

I didn’t meet Rory until fairly late into my time at Princess Alice. It’s hard to miss his beaming smile, shaved head and bright eyes. On meeting, we shook hands and Rory tapped at the iPad he was holding. A jaunty electronic voice explained that he has a neurological condition and communicates via a text-to-speech app.

In the group we were working on an exercise about a relationship with someone we knew well. We started by thinking of all the things we associated with them: the smells, textures, sounds, tastes, colours and objects. We then thought of a specific event that involved them. From that, we let ourselves write.

Rory’s initial list evoked some strong images of his late father – a man with a sharp sense of humour who would go to football wearing a tie and whose claim to fame was appearing on TV playing the spoons. Rory tapped out the piece below and shared it with the group, bringing smiles around the circle.

In response to this piece, he wrote: “I am quite a basic person and describe things as they are – nothing too deep – and that way quite a vivid picture can be built up of how I see things. I think I have captured the many attributes of a great father, friend and mentor.”

Claude made us laugh by Rory

He made us laugh,
He made us cry
Because we were laughing so much
We would have tears in our eyes

As a young chef in his early twenties
It was war, and he joined the Navy
As the bombs dropped on his ship, The Welshman,
He said, “Sod the bombs, just make the gravy!”

He worked hard all his life,
A man, not born into wealth
His hard work was always hampered
By his continual bad health

High blood pressure, diabetes, ulcers and phlebitis
Irregular heartbeat, in-growing toenail and rheumatoid arthritis
Swollen knees and ankles aching
And not to forget that awful bronchitis

He made light of his ailments
And tried to be merry
By making others laugh
In fact, so much, it hurt my belly!

He joined a small entertainment group
Supported ably by Lily, his wife
Then to our surprise he was nominated
To play the spoons on Esther Rantzen’s That’s Life!

He was a fantastic father
And husband as well
A blend of discipline, guidance and laughter,
How much pain he was in, we could never tell

His treat was to go and watch football
His team was Ipswich Town
He wore a tie, not scarf,
The adverse results never got him down!

He passed away at 81
Having given laughter to many
He was very careful with money
But he would give you his last penny

Whilst his life was, at times, a struggle
He put on a brave face and could at times appear quite daft
He gave to others the gift of humour
And his aim in life was to have a damn good laugh

Claude, we will never let the humour and memories die!

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A self-portrait‘ is open until 24 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Filed under: Stories from the day hospice | Leave a Comment »

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

Fourteen of us crammed into the room. The aircon was fighting noisily against the clammy July air, bodies arranged in a variety of chairs in a very approximate circle.

I pulled an assortment of things from a carrier bag and spread them along the length of the table. There was a long, gold-coloured key, a small wooden box painted in bright colours showing a chicken, a round paperweight containing dried flowers, a small piece of driftwood full of tiny holes and a red die.

Pick an object and describe it. What questions would you ask it? What answers would you give?

Freddie* didn’t pick an object but created a story that incorporated them all – the box was opened by the key, and inside sat another object, too big in reality to fit. He’d made sense of all of the things presented in a way he was comfortable with, even if his logic wasn’t shared by everyone. Always ready with a crack, Freddie stumbled as he read his writing aloud and declared: “I’m a great writer, but not a great reader.”

Eileen, who has a degenerative neurological condition, rolled the die around her palm. “I chose it because it’s exciting,” she said. The driftwood captured several people’s imaginations, prompting one person to talk about their own life living across the ocean in Ireland. Brian loved the box and decided it was one of a set, yet this one was the special favourite.

At the end, as we left the room, some of the group asked me where the box was from, but I couldn’t give them the answer – I can’t remember when I got it, or where from. Their answers were better, anyway.

*This name has been changed.

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A Self-portrait‘ is open until 24 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Filed under: Stories from the day hospice | Leave a Comment »

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

I’d been asked to go to the ward to see one of the patients. Here, people are given inpatient care, either as respite for them and their carers or to support them at the end of their life.

Jack’s* mum walked over next to me and put a wide, shallow box on the bed. She opened it and inside was a jumble of cards and envelopes: pink princesses, glitter and hearts alongside the navy, gold and khaki of football, beer and cars. There was a card ready for each birthday of his young son and daughter, all the way until their twenty-firsts.

A breeze from the open patio door flapped the floor-length net curtains. Objects were scattered on the windowsill: a card from a friend, a pouch of tobacco, an empty water bottle, an inhaler.

Jack sat in a wheelchair, his muscular arms decorated with swirling tattoos. His red, swollen legs showed below his shorts, weeping, fluid-filled feet and ankles wrapped in absorbent pads.

He started to dictate a letter. One line in, he breaks to tell me about the recipient, a short summary that explains how he wishes he’d have more time with this person, who has come back into his life relatively recently. He continues, thinking about each line and how best to put what he’s feeling.

His head drops forwards and his breathing becomes more pronounced. Is he just thinking? Sobbing? Sleeping? “Jack?” He wakes up and we pick up from the part we got to, but he nods off again. Heavy inhalation, short exhalation and a small wobble of the head.

A quiet knock on the door is followed by a louder one. His daughter, son and partner are outside. The little girl, who has a large gold foil medal around her neck, asks politely if they can come in. They walk through, see their sleeping dad and bound onto the large lawn to kick a ball and do handstands. I take the notebook and its 33 words and leave.

*This name has been changed.

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A self-portrait‘ is open until 24 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

Filed under: Stories from the day hospice | Leave a Comment »

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

Aldona was on a break from day hospice for much of my time there, but her sense of humour and intelligence was obvious from our first meeting. She has a very sensible, practical air and looks younger than her age (over 80). She enthralled us with stories of her life, travels and family.

She now finds it hard to read and write – a clear source of frustration for her. As we chatted about which person she would like to think about for an exercise in the writing group, the story below started to form. I transcribed her speech and read it back to her. Aldona spoke with great fondness of her mother, recalling her beautiful soprano voice, her red hair and even the perfume she wore (Chypre by Coty).

This piece finishes with Aldona saying how her imagination was affected by the war. When I read this to the group, Aldona added that she did begin writing a journal in her adolescence and has enjoyed a lifelong love of reading and writing.

During my final week at the hospice, Aldona gave me four handwritten sheets of paper accounting her experience of seeing the Himalayas for the first time, written as a follow-up to the previous writing session. In sloping, black felt-tipped letters, she concluded: “I have been lucky enough to see them once more…and the impact was the same – absolute joy and awe”.

A memory of my mother by Aldona

I was an only child and wasn’t really separated [from my mother] until I was 13. I was evacuated and I found it very, very traumatic. I was possibly too close to my mother.

Evacuation was as hard for her as it was for me: torn between trying to look after my father and look after me. I suppose I spent the day crying a lot. My mum didn’t get the opportunity to see me very much until later. It was the first really traumatic time of my life. The first real upset I’d ever had.

When the war first started, the weather was very good – it was a hot summer. I was probably wearing school clothes – navy blue, school blazer. I had a small case with a few clothes in, the usual thing.

Evacuation was a new experience and I was very lucky as I was with a good friend of mine. We were billeted to the local lady librarian. She had a small private library, which was good as we could read any books we liked. That was one of the things I remember most – it made a big impression. It was mainly fiction, I suppose, but if it was printed, I’d read it.

She was a spinster, very kind. She looked after us pretty well. We were not there very long, we were moved on. I made such as fuss that I got sent to some relatives. It was not much of an improvement as I didn’t like it there either, I was too much of a miserable kid.

That had a very – I realise now – bad effect on my imagination. After then I couldn’t use my imagination, it placed a block on it. I used to make up stories etc. My imagination came back again, but never to the same extent.

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A self-portrait‘ is open until 24 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

Filed under: Stories from the day hospice | Leave a Comment »

Illustration by Marianne Dear

Throughout the summer of 2012, Chrissie Giles spent time at the day hospice at Princess Alice Hospice, Esher, running a creative writing group. In a series of posts accompanying our exhibition Death: A self-portrait, she reflects on her experiences there and showcases some of the writing produced by group members.

One of the nurses sat in with the group, revealing in our ‘one thing about me that might surprise people’ opener that she trained to be a baker. The first writing exercise and Freddie*, an ex-cabbie with a keen, dry sense of humour, began: “I’m on a roll to become a baker”.

We were writing letters and Margaret was thinking about how to start hers. “Well,” I asked, “How do you address your son?” “I don’t,” she replied, without missing a beat, “He dresses himself”.

Audrey, as ever, was bursting with things to say – she was so keen that she’d already done the subsequent stages of the letter-writing exercise without any prompting. She wrote a letter to her own “dear lonely heart” and read it out with flashing eyes, the words rolling in her rich accent from pinky-purple painted lips.

She’s a compelling storyteller, often regaling us with stories of her upbringing in South America. In one session, she clasped her book to her chest, proclaiming, “I get it all out into here. I have written my life’s story!” In another, she told us that she’d once lost a job for talking too much.

Freddie, the cockney ex-cabbie, wanted to write a letter to his mum, who – he said – held everyone together during the war. You didn’t have friends then, he explained, because you kept running away from one bomb, then another.

Talking about the best presents we’d ever got or given, he began a story: “All cabbies love a bit of bent gear.” He described giving his wife a top-of-the-range food mixer that she rejected because of her suspicions about where it came from. Apparently, she’s still using it today.

An ambulance siren went off in the distance. Margaret said, “Oh, I don’t like that sound, go away.” She tells us how she was waiting outside the hospital for her taxi the other day. Being a self-confessed chatterbox, she got talking to the man next to her. Just then, a hearse pulled up in front of them. “Is that mine or yours?” she asked.

*This name has been changed.

Chrissie Giles is a Senior Editor at the Wellcome Trust. ‘Death: A self-portrait‘ is open until 24 February 2013. Find out more about Princess Alice Hospice at www.pah.org.uk.

Listen to Chrissie read this piece:

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