Buddies

 

Although most of our guests embark on their holidays with determination to extract the utmost enjoyment from the week (which is fortunate for us as this contributes four-fifths to the success of the project), there can be flaws in the arrangements.

 

Possibly the most common cause of discomfort is to discover that one’s bosom companion of years and years standing is not the perfect chalet partner.  So many twin souls who have accompanied each other on everyday activities are shocked to find because of night-time idiosyncrasies.  “She snores dreadfully”, one is told, or “She wakes at about two in the morning and puts on the light to read”.  Again “She can’t bear to have the window open (or shut)”.

 

How does one deal with one’s best friend when a friendship seems doomed to be extinguished?  One doesn’t, of course.  One suffers and makes a resolution never to let it happen again.  Better still, one whispers to the organiser and then it is comparatively easy to arrange a remedy.

 

“You see, Beattie, Mrs. Green’s friend two doors away has been taken ill and we have moved her to be near our helpers, and Mrs. Green is afraid to sleep on her own, so do you mind if your friend moves to keep her company?.

 

Then there are the twenty or thirty percent who believe themselves to be unique and must be given a single room because – in a hoarse whisper – “I have to get up in the night”.  Initially, the spontaneous response to this was “What for?” – a query which was met with a sheepish expression.  Were some of these folk used to night work, or had they a handy food store which had extended trading hours well beyond the normal working stint?  The subsequent explanations were many and varied.  They do not want to spoil someone else’s holiday; sometimes it takes them a long time to get back to sleep again; they often make themselves a cup of tea in the middle of the night.  The real reason is almost invariably that they do not want anyone else to know that they actually have a bladder which needs normal attention.

 

Fortunately, if the problem is tackled firmly enough, the matter usually settles itself overnight.  It is essential to make it quite clear that no-one can book a single chalet, not even at additional cost.  Not that this precludes the possibility of allocating single accommodation.  These have to be reserved for people with mental or physical conditions which would cause discomfort or anxiety to someone else in the room.  People who suffer acute anxiety about having to share a room with a companion have to be persuaded to try it “just for tonight”.  They can be promised that the arrangements can be changed if inconvenience is still apparent.  An extra late bedtime, a long interesting and tiring day, an unusual nightcap or two in the Bar, and the potential insomniac turns overnight into a sound slumberer.  It is surprising, also, that those who inadvertently forget their sleeping pills and demand a visit to the doctor for a supply, find that they have surprisingly broken the habit if their request is rejected.  Once a sleeping habit is established, it tends to continue, and many elderly guests who are convinced that they cannot sleep without their customary medication are astonished when the wake to the sun shining behind the curtain in the morning.

 

There are some unusual requests.  Martha comes to see me a few weeks prior to our departure.  She is obviously hesitant about explaining the reason for her visit and deals with some minor details, to which it is clear she knew the answers.  Then she gathered her courage and enquired, “you have had an application from Mary Jones?”.  A moment’s thought.  “Yes, I had her form in some weeks ago”.  “Did you know she is my sister?”.  “Oh, yes, I do remember now.  She told me and I will see to it that you are put as far away from her as possible”.  Thus, two sworn foes are separated.

 

Other requests are not so easy to fulfil.  One guest reported that as she had a blue bathroom and lavatory the first year and a pink one the second year, would it be possible for her to have a yellow one next time?

 

Hannah had been booked to accompany us by her daughter, who, sensibly, had reached the conclusion that a holiday with two lively teenage children and an eighty-five year old mother was a week’s hard work for Mum and Dad in the generation in the middle.  So Mum would be with us for a week while the rest of the family went elsewhere.

 

Hannah wanted to know if she could bring her friend.  Of course, we said.  Emily was exactly the opposite of large, motherly, domineering Hannah.  She was quiet, timorous and clinging.  The pair were bosom pals; they accompanied each other everywhere, to meals, to the outings we arranged, to the evening entertainment and even to the loo together.

 

We did not discover the extent of this complete dependence until an alarming incident occurred.  Hannah had been sitting on the lavatory seat in their chalet with the door wide open so that Emily should be able to see her all the time, when a sudden gust of wind blew the door.  Hannah had her hand of the door jamb ready to heave herself off the seat and the door squashed her thumb.

 

They brought her for attention in a car.  I gazed at the horrible sight in alarm.  Almost the whole nail was blackened by a seepage of blood from the nail bed.  Hannah was laughing cheerfully.  “I can’t feel it”, she chirruped.  “It’s still numb”.

 

I considered for ten seconds what I could do.  It was obvious that within minutes, Hannah would be crying and almost made with pain as the insensitivity wore off.  Within minutes ---!  It should be possible to avoid that agony with a little respite.  We found a large darning needle and burnt the tip in the flame of a lighter.  We wiped off the flash of soot with a wisp of sterile cotton-wool and thrust the needle ruthlessly down under the black nail.  A squirt of blood splattered everyone gazing fascinatedly at the operation and Hannah giggled delightedly.  We moved the needle from side to side almost across the width of the nail, tearing the tissue from it.  Hannah was now wearing a bleak smile.  Gently we pressed on the top of the nail and mopped the oozing blood with gauze.  Hannah winced and looked anxious.  We applied a large loose dressing which we attached securely to Hannah’s wrist.  Then we gave her two Panadol and put her back into the car to be taken to her chalet with instructions that she put herself to bed and have an afternoon siesta.

 

Then we noticed poor little Emily.  She stood, bereft and desolate, in the corner of the chalet.  We gathered her to us and took her to the snack bar.  We bought her a steaming cup of tea and tried to tempt her with chocolate biscuits, rolls, sandwiches or cake.  She refused them all, still blinking unhappily.  She sipped her tea and tried, unsuccessfully, to enter our conversation but she was quite preoccupied.  She seemed to shrink into her chair as though to make herself disappear.  Her tea finished, she roused herself and asked if she could go to the lavatory.  We jumped to her assistance and offered to take her but she escaped and disappeared.

 

She did not return so we looked for her.  We were beginning to be worried, when someone suggested that Hannah ought to be roused or she might be awake half the night and then we found Emily.  As we turned back the large pink blanket from Hannah’s bulky form, there was Emily’s iron grey head under Hannah’s chin.  She was curled into a bundle like a kitten beside the hump that was Hannah.  They were both sound asleep and we wondered which of them was more in need of the rest.