Wheelchairs

All shopping trips for our wheelchair people are arranged in the Minibus with small spare van working in conjunction to take wheelchairs.  Since every shopper has to be accompanied by a pusher, no more than five can go at a time.  All these prospective shippers are identified and contacted during the first twenty four hours and a rota arranged.  Sometimes a few wheelchair folk can be slotted in with a coach load of passengers who have requested a trip to Newport perhaps to visit the market.  It is a puzzle to know why the market has such an attraction; seldom does anyone return with a bargain.  But the crush of people, the alluring patter of the stall holders and the discomfort and inconvenience seems to have a sad fascination for most of them.  Perhaps it is just as well that the market is not considered a suitable outing for our wheelchair people.  Firstly, because the surface of the site underfoot is cobbled but of more importance is that we cannot risk the possibility of damage to others from a wheeled vehicle forcing its way through the seething throng.

 

But other outings which might be considered out-of-bounds for our wheelchairs sometimes because of the initiative of our resourceful helpers are found to be surprisingly enjoyable.  Such is Carisbrooke Castle.  This stands on a tore above the little town and is surrounded by steep grassy slopes, except for a gravely road ascending at about an incline of one in five.

 

In dismay, our willing helpers gazed at this intimidating spectacle.  One brave soul pushing a small wispy woman embarks on the ascent.  After the first twenty yards, he reverses his position and, facing his apprehensive passenger towards the descending incline and attaching himself firmly to the handle, toils laboriously, with more than half a dozen frightening pauses for breath, gradually reaches the beginning of the plateau.  He turns the wheelchair sideways and flops, still grasping the handle, till another reaches him and helps him to a more stable level.

 

The rest of the wheelchair party meanwhile are experimenting with other likely tactics.  They try, like the yachts in the harbour, taking backwards and forwards across the sloping ground, advancing a few feet at each turn on the chair.  After about five minutes of this, no more than about ten feet had been conquered and the total climb seemed likely to encompass all the time left to the party.  But one bright spark has another suggestion.  Hardly had our initial passengers been hauled with enormous energy, to the top, the astonished wheelchair propeller sees an astonishing vision.  Two of his colleagues are ascending the track at an astounding speed, a wheelchair apparently following them of its own volition.  The jubilant passenger, slightly worried but smiling and grimly clinging to the arms of the chair, is hauled to the top at full speed.  The two, a walking stick each, had attached the two hooks firmly to the sides of the chair and with little more than exertion than would be required on level ground, had towed the exultant passenger to the top between them.  So the rest of the accompanying party turned themselves into similar beasts of burden and everyone arrived at the top with no more toil.  So Carisbrooke Castle was included in our lists of venues possible for wheelchair people.

 

But on other trips we are less fortunate.  Osborne House, for instance, is supposed to be a ‘must’ if one is holidaying on the Island.  So the coaches are booked and the passengers crowd around to book their seats and pay their fares.  Florence pulls up with husband James in his wheelchair, all anticipation.

 

“Oh! Not suitable for wheelchairs”, says the booking clerk.  Florence demonstrates disappointment.  James, twisting his head round to look at her, swallows his own disappointment.

 

“You go, dear”, he urges her.  “I’ll stay here” and with a gallant attempt at disconcern, adds, “I don’t really mind”.  But Florence knows better.  It is James who has initiated the idea and it is his chief enjoyment of the day.  So Florence refuses to be persuaded.  Until later in the day when one of the Angels, hearing about the snag contrives a compromise.  “You go!” she urges them.  “It’s a lovely ride and you, Florence can make the visit and we will wheel James and the other wheelchair people round the grounds to see the flowers”.

 

So some of the wheelchair people are booked and are loaded with the usual anticipatory excitement on to the coach.  It is a beautiful day and it is a picturesque ride.  The massive house looms in sight and the walking passengers alight while a posse of ‘pushers’ start to off load the wheelchairs.  An official uniform approaches.

 

“Can’t take any wheelchairs up there”, he announces firmly.  “No! that’s all right”, says the confident Angel.  We know we can’t.  We’re just going to walk these around to see the grounds”.  “Can’t do that”, declares the uniformed personage, “unless you all pay the admission fee”.  Astonishment pervades the group.  “What? An admission fee just to walk round the grounds?”.  “Sorry, afraid so”.  The smart uniform seems to crumple.  The gloom on the faces of the onlookers almost seems to have him in tears.  For a second several of the rejected group stare at him in disbelief.  One alert wispy little wheelchair passenger ventures a final scathing comment.

 

“Huh! I bet the queen doesn’t know”, she declares in a scathing voice.  All the rest of the group back this assertion.  So the wheelchairs stand form a weary hour in a dark brown car park with nothing much to see except the empty coach.  No cups of tea! No stick buns or expensive sandwiches!  But it was a good ride.

 

Next time we visit, Osborne House will not be on the programme of trips.  But it is James who tops the incident with his usual wit.  “I bet dogs aren’t allowed in, either, he declares.

 

But sometimes the welcome and hospitality is almost overwhelming.  British Rail with its endeavour to achieve economy has to warn us in advance of possible omissions.  We are warned, there is no longer any manning of Lymington jetty, we are told; can you be sure that your helpers can manage.  Yes, we assure them, we’ll manage and we will do our best to let the ferry depart on time.  So everything is arranged with meticulous care.  All the wheelchairs have to be off loaded from the train before the impatient walking passengers are allowed to alight.  All the passengers are hoisted off in double quick time and taken down at a sprinting speed and on to the ferry.  Then and not until the first wheelchairs have departed are any of the others allowed to alight.  A clear passageway on the side of the station platform is to be kept clear and as soon as the wheelchairs have collected another lot of passengers, the pedestrians have to stand aside and wait.  It is all arranged.  But all our plans are superfluous.  The train pulls slowly into the station and a cautious head peers around.  But what has happened!  Instead of a bare empty platform, there are a dozen or more peaked hats waiting on arrival.  As soon as the trains stops, the big luggage van door is opened and several practiced pairs of hands grab our wheelchairs lift them down and with nonchalant ease, open them out and tour down the length of the train looking for an occupant.  We stare in astonishment.  What has happened?  This station is unmanned.  Quite true but British Rail with benevolent intent and with experience of our needs in previous years, has drafted in ten or a dozen good hefty staff for the occasion.  Once on board, the commandeered staff stand in a small dark blue knot on the edge of the platform waving good bye.  We are too astonished and too slow to even say thank you.  But more is to follow.  Some of our arthritic cy people are leaning themselves against the walls or sitting on the steps leading to higher decks.  In no time at all chairs appear and the weary folk are seated in a sheltered corner on the vehicle deck.  But even more is to surprise us.  Suddenly, a cheerful face above a tray of steaming cups descends the stairs and a hearty voice declares, “Who would like tea”.  Everyone gazes incredulously.  But the tray is carried around the seated folk.  “Sugar?”, is the next query.  “No sugar just coming”.  So we stand scarcely daring to believe our eyes or our ears.  The Treasurer regains her equilibrium first.  She approaches the seaman with alacrity.  “Thank you so much”, she assures him, “I’ll pay for them all”.  But her self possession evaporates as quickly as it has materialised.  “No charge”, says the seaman and tipping a few drips from his tray on to the deck, he returns to the refreshment deck for another tray of welcoming brew.

 

So our hospitality begins even before we have crossed the Solent.

 

On the other side on the tiny Yarmouth jetty, more waving and jubilant hands assure us that we are awaited with impatience.  The Camp staff have deserted their posts for half an hour of their precious time to let us know that everything is prepared.