very pleased indeed. Yes, and you, Charlie.
Now let’s have some relaxation. Attention please,
everyone! Stay where you are,
sitting round the long table, and we’re going to
play Pass the Parcel. You pass the parcel from
one to another, and when the music stops whoever
has it tries to open it. When the music starts
again, the parcel must be passed on. And so on.
And what a lovely surprise the last one’s going to
get, the winner! Here we go then. You start off
with the music, Sarah. Off we go!
Music on.
Stop
at Mrs Ridge.
On again.
Music stopped at Sarah. Give her
a treat, she’s worked well, give her a bit of ex-
citement. On again.
Oh my darlings, how I love you!
Pass it on, Mrs Ridge! While the music’s playing it…
I should think so. Stop the music.
Who’s won, then? Yes, it’s Ron! Ron’s the lucky winner!
You’re right, Ron, first time. It’s SHIT!
But whose shit is it? That’s the question! I’ll sing it
for you: Pass the parcel, pass the parcel.
See what comes from RALPHIE’S arsehole!
How disgusting! you must be saying to yourself,
friend, and I cannot but agree. But think a bit
harder, friend: why do I disgust them?
I disgust them in order that they may not be
disgusted with themselves. I am disgusting to them
in order to objectify their disgust, to direct it to
something outside themselves, something harmless.
Some of them still believe in God: what would
happen if they were to turn their disgust on God
for taking away control over their own sphincter
muscles, for instance, and think, naturally enough,
that He must be vile to be responsible for such
a thing? Far better for them to think
handling and smelling and seeing doggie’s turd is
disgusting! Do you not agree?
Right, everyone! Attention please! The game is
over and now it’s our Travel Time. It’s so
much more tasteful an expression than Exercise,
don’t you think, friend? Travel Time. Yes, I
know your old bones protest, but you know it’s good
for you. Those of you who can walk push round those
in wheelchairs, those in wheelchairs move everything
you can move as you go. Off we go now!
There are worse conditions and worse places, friend.
I have worked in geriatric wards where the stench of
urine and masturbation was relieved only by the odd
gangrenous limb or advanced carcinoma. Where confused
patients ate each other’s puke. Where I have seen a
nurse spray a patient’s privates with an aerosol
lavatory deodorant. Even worse, people like
these can be put away in mental wards and homes
when they are perfectly sane, simply because they
are old: they don’t stay perfectly sane long.
They are stripped of their spectacles, false teeth,
everything personal to them. They are shut away,
visits are rare and discouraged anyway, no one cares;
they are forgotten and wholly in the power of nurses
who have been known to make them alter their wills,
to scatter the ward’s pills for everyone to scramble
for, and to put Largactil in the tea unmeasured.
This is a happy House, friend, a holiday camp,
compared. Here I give them constant occupation, and,
most important, a framework within which to establish
— indeed, to possess — their own special personalities.
Here we respect their petty possessions, so important
to them but rubbish to us.
This is the time when the bearing surfaces of the
joints begin to wear seriously, when the walls of the
veins and arteries harden, when the nervous system
loses much of its subtlety. It has always been so.
Today we can give them more time, by nylon balls and
sockets, drugs to thin the blood, Largactil to lift
nervous depression: but ultimately these are nothing.
You should understand the
simple fact that they are all approaching death very
quickly; and one must help them to do so in the right
spirit. It is what used to be called a holy duty. I
did not invent this system: I inherited it. And in
the end death will come to me too, probably.
There. They enjoy it. Sometimes for a change I
have them doing Travel in the form of bizarre sexual
antics. As-if-sexual, that is, in the case of some
friends. And now I give you — SPORT!
Yes, it’s Tourney Time again, friends! Remember how
you enjoyed the last Tourney we had?
Of course you do! Get the wet mops, Ivy, please. And
Charlie, you wheel Mrs Bowen to one corner, and
you, Sarah, wheel George to the opposite corner.
That’s it. One mop each,
Ivy, thank you.
On the word, then, steeds and knights, you thunder
at top speed towards each other, never flinching,
like bold and parfait gentil knights, and try to
lance each other. No stopping! Straight on, turn,
and back for another joust. Ready then? And may the
best knight win! One! Two! Three!
Well done. Mrs Bowen! A palpable hit!
One more time, then. Off you go!
Another hit for Mrs Bowen! Sarah, see if George is
still awake, will you? He doesn’t seem to be trying
very hard. Last joust, then. Away you go!
At various times in the past we
have had Balloon Races, Polo, Folk Dancing and Archery.
Mrs Bowen the Winner! Back to the table, now. The
Knobbly Knee Competition was very popular, too.
So after all our exertions let’s just have a quiet
discussion session, shall we? And as always our
subject is HOW I WANT TO GO and its related topics MY CHOICE
OF COFFIN or WHAT I WANT DONE WITH MY EARTHLY
REMAINS. First of all, let us remember first principles.
Death may be seen as the price paid for what the body
is — that is, the very biological functioning of
the body, its very nature, inherently implies and
contains death; this debt is paid in instalments;
and the period of old age is that in which all
arrears must be settled. Death indeed may often be a lot
less painful than life: the actual dying, that is.
There are various ways of facing this death. Whether you