Southwick Stores and Tea Room - New Owners

I've just got back from popping into my local shop which is only four doors away from here.  This is probably why I have such a desire to see it succeed.

The new owners moved in four weeks ago this Friday and have transformed the store.  Richard has taken on the baking and they still sell Southwick Pasties and a huge range of lovely cakes and pies, freshly baked bread, as well as the day to day items everyone wants from a local shop.  Sliced bread, a small range of grocery items and freezer foods.  The shelves are filling up and are kept filled, Richard keen to listen to suggestions from his local customers.  Richard has also just started selling equestrian supplies.

One of the improvements is that he is now opening from 6.00am to 6.00pm on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday - with a half day on Wednesday, open from 6.00am to 1.00pm.  This half day closure is so that they can extend the weekend hours which are now from 8.00am to 6.00pm on Saturday and from 8.00am to 4pm on Sunday.

Tea Room News:

The tea room has been refurbished and seats 14 people.  The opening hours have also been extended - I need to check on these but I do know that they are definitely open until 4pm on Sundays as well as on Saturday all day.  Not sure of the morning hours though, or the last orders time on Saturday.  They also will be open on bank holidays, serving teas and coffees, with the shop open too.  Result!

I hope that this new venture will be a great success for Richard and Rachel, and for all the family.  Rachel's Mum is running the tea room and it's lovely going into such a friendly shop where all the family have a part to play.

Well worth a visit.

Before you rush off for afternoon tea on Sunday, just to let you know that the tea room closes at 3 on Sunday, not 4, as I previously stated.
Still scrummy cakes though and well worth the visit!

Looking back?

Memories are the diamond rocks
Dropping
Or the snow drifts
Which keep you wrapped up inside
Hiding from the cold -
Harsh light of the morning.

Memories can be surprises
Old lost hopes rise again
Dreams that came true
Or not
Some leading to disappointment
Some pure relief
Old beliefs revisited -
With regret
Or just laughter at your own younger self
Or maybe pride at what you've achieved
After all.

Don't dwell too long on memories
Not so much to forget
But to live the day
Making memories for tomorrow.
Then when you're old
And past creating
You will have richness in your last days
Maybe read these words
Remember
And smille into the distance of time.

The story that has to be read...

I've realised quite quickly that you only have to put the thought out there for things to happen to start the ball rolling.  Of course, you sometimes just need to get on and do something first - like being brave enough to meet people and talk about what you've created.

It was a pleasure to watch the faces of people as I read snippets from my novel to them at the museum on Saturday - and even greater pleasure to sell them copies afterwards and to hear their own experiences.  People say that they are impressed with what I have done - but it's been easy to do - it just takes perseverance.  'Never give up'  is probably my catchphrase.  I know what I've written isn't perfect and certainly not a masterpiece of literature.  It's just a story that had to be told and has to be read.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Karen was feeling cold inside. The night had been long and lonely. Peter had come home late again, rolled into bed and had slept without a word. She almost wished he’d been like his old self, demanding her attention, wanting her. Anything was better than this emptiness. She craved for loving attention. She had lain awake all night, thinking and worrying about her future, trying to analyse the feelings she was struggling with. By six o’clock she’d given up trying to sleep and got up.

She was making coffee when she first felt sick. Her stomach churned the worry over and over until she vomited into the kitchen sink. As she washed it away she was aware of Peter standing in the doorway.

‘What the hell are you doing now?’ He looked at her in disgust.

‘I just feel sick.’ Karen wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘I told you there was something wrong with you,’ he snapped. ‘What have you picked up now?’

‘It’s just a bug. I feel better already.’

‘God it stinks in here. Have you thrown up in the sink?’

Karen nodded.

‘That’s disgusting!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Karen turned on the tap again. ‘I’ve cleaned it up.’

She turned back to look at him, but he’d gone and seconds later he left the house, slamming the door behind him.

Karen sighed to herself. She still felt queasy as she sat at the dining table with her coffee and a slice of toast. She forced herself to nibble at the toast, but something about the coffee made her feel even more sick. It tasted disgusting. She took it to the kitchen and tipped it down the sink. The thought of tea was almost as unwelcome so she finally decided just to drink water.

She sat and looked around their little home. She remembered the new beige carpet when they’d moved in and how the new furniture had echoed their hopes for the future. They’d painted the walls a trendy green and decorated them with pictures of sunsets. A gilt edged-mirror hung over the gas fire in the sitting room. Now the walls were just a shade of sickly olive, the carpet, which had once seemed so full of promise, was a dirty brown where their footsteps had worn a trail from the front door to the kitchen. The mirror above the fireplace was tarnished and reflected a life Karen no longer recognised as her dream.

She felt as though she was caught in a trap. Standing in the sitting room, gazing through the net curtains into the street, she felt her mind drifting. She could see herself standing there, detached from her real self. Her mind was numb. A feeling of panic was rising from somewhere deep inside.

Karen shook herself and ran up the stairs into the bathroom. She gripped hold of the wash basin as she felt the bile rising again. She caught a glimpse of her white face in the mirror and tried to swallow it down before vomiting violently into the sink.

The nausea was still floating in Karen’s stomach when she started the journey to work later that day.

She watched the world pass her by from the bus window. The houses and streets were shouting mantras to her senses, all seemingly filled with happy little families. She saw young mothers traversing garden gates with their babies in prams or toddlers in push-chairs. Everything she saw was a slap in her face. Each woman out shopping was a reminder that she should be the good wife that Peter wanted her to be.

The bus passed the park which was filled with children playing with their mothers. Mothers who were doing the right thing by staying at home to care for their families. The factories she passed were full of husbands working to pay the mortgages and bring home money to keep their wives and children in the manner which was expected.

Outside the factory door, leaning against the wall, women smoked, chatting to each other, some excited about what they’d spend their pin-money on, others worn out and worried about making ends meet.

‘Why do I feel it’s all wrong?’ Karen’s thoughts were draining her, dragging her down into some depth that she knew she was already dangerously out of.

The bus arrived in Fareham and Karen was like an automaton, walking from one stop to another, unaware of the bustle of the market-day shoppers. She sat at the rear of the bus and leaned her face against the window. Soon they were moving through the town.

At the next stop the bus filled with passengers - women on their way home from the market, and workers making their way to the hospital for the late shift. As the bus pulled off again Karen felt herself relaxing into her role as a nurse, slipping into her comfort zone, jostling together with people who understood her.

The bus moved off and soon the town was left behind as they wound their way through the countryside. She wondered what it must have been like a hundred years ago when the County Asylum first opened. In those days, once you made that journey as a patient it was rare that you ever made the trip home. She could feel the echo of despair that the poor souls must have felt.

‘It’s not like that any more,’ she thought. ‘This is the twentieth century.’

Shaking off these feelings of doom as the bus arrived at the gates, she stepped down onto the drive, turned towards the clock tower, and made her way into the shadows of the corridor. Her mood lifted as she climbed the now familiar staircase, the odour of the ward now almost a welcoming sensation in her throat.

She smiled inwardly and opened the door, her keys rattling in the lock.

The smells which had been seeping into the hallway hit her with a vengeance. A mixture of Paraldehyde and boiled cabbage churned in her already delicate stomach. She ran for the staff toilet and slammed the door behind her just in time to vomit into the basin in the small room.

Karen looked at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her face was white and drawn, her eyes deep and filled with pain. She’d seen that look in some of her patients and was afraid. She splashed her face with cold water, dried herself with a green paper towel, the rough material scratching her face, the chill of the water bringing back some of her strength. Scraping her hair back into a pony tail, she fastened it with an elastic band. Then, taking a deep breath, she gathered up her bag and emerged from the toilet, walking briskly towards the ward office.

Evelyn was watching from the doorway of her room. As she passed, Karen turned and smiled at her. Evelyn nodded, her head tipped to one side as she looked back, her mouth forming into a strange lop-sided smile.

Book Event at Westbury Manor Museum, Fareham

What an interesting time that was!

I arrived at Westbury Manor slightly stressed following the drive through that bizarre roundabout which was designed and built at the same time as the new Tesco.  I sat in a queue waiting for the lights to change to green.  They finally did but the traffic remained static because the lights a few yards ahead were red.  Eventually after the lights changing four times to and fro, the queue started to move.  I felt relieved for a moment only to find that the next set were also red.  Got through these only to find myself stuck behind a bus which was also at the next lights which were also red.  By the time I got the the museum I was breaking out into a sweat.  Having allowed myself half an hour to set up - this was now down to 20 minutes.  I swung into the gateway only to find that the way was blocked by a post.  I then had to park in the disabled spot outside the gates, run in and dump my first box of books.  The volunteer in the reception apologised to me saying that she was on her own that morning and the people who were meant to be there to help me weren't going to be there after all.  Eventually I parked the car and got everything in ready to set up.

I was kindly given a coffee and rushed about setting things up whilst hoping that the rush we were expecting didn't all turn up too early.  I needn't have worried.  Despite my publicising on twitter and facebook and telling everyone I could think of about the event, it was a little disappointing as far as numbers were concerned.  However, never being one to be pessimistic, I put on my best smile and got on with it.

The local News photographer turned up and took several photos of me signing a copy of Caught in the Web for a lovely lady who had come along to hear my talk and buy a book.  Once he'd finished with the pictures I started the talk which was really just a bunch of my memories of growing up with parents who worked in Knowle Hospital and my reminiscences of working there in the 1970s and 1980s.  The small audience was great, interacting and chatting about their own memories.

I also met some old friends and spent quite a time sharing news with them about people we'd not seen or heard from for years.  I have to say that publishing Caught in the Web had brought some unexpected things into my life.  When I was writing it I had no idea that so much interest would be generated about life in mental hospitals in the last century and I certainly didn't think I'd be revisiting the past as I have.

Although there was only a handful of people at the event on Saturday, I think it was a success and would recommend anyone who is interested in Knowle Hospital history to drop into the museum over the next few days and have a look at the display.  Don't go today though, as the museum is closed on Mondays.

Event at Westbury Manor Museum - Fareham

I am quite excited about this one.  This morning I am appearing at the Westbury Manor Museum in Fareham where I shall be doing a short talk about life in Knowle Hospital in the 1970s - followed by some readings from my novel Caught in the Web. 

The event starts at 11.00 and I will be there for a couple of hours for the talk which will be followed by a book signing.  The Museum have worked hard at putting together a display of artefacts and information from life and times at Knowle so it should be quite an interesting day.

And I get to meet lots of lovely new people.....

For those who are following the novel - here is chapter 28 -

Chapter Twenty-eight

Evelyn was lying on her bed staring at the ceiling. Things were changing in her world. It had started with that new nurse. Something terrible had welled inside her head the first time she'd seen her.

They thought she'd never looked at people or noticed when they came into her room. But she did. She always looked. Out of the corner of her eye so that no-one would notice. She didn't want them to notice in case they hurt her. If you pretended that you were deaf and dumb and blind, you’d be safer, she knew that. Then they couldn’t hurt you.

She'd had ECT once. She was sure it had happened, not because she remembered, but she'd heard them talking about it outside her room. They said it was for her own good, but she couldn't remember what she'd done to be punished like that. Had it hurt? She couldn't even remember that. In the end she stopped trying to remember, just like she'd stopped trying to remember her mother and the last time she'd seen her. Had it been last year? Or many years?

Then that new nurse had come. There was something about her that made some of the memories come back - the daffodils on her birthday and the pink wool. It all hurt so much that she'd been unable to bear the pain. Only screaming had helped to make it all go away. But it only went away for a short while, then it was back again, as terrible as ever. And they didn't like her screaming. They came into her room with medicine and stopped her, every time.

But as she saw more of that nurse she seemed more able to bear it. She felt different when that nurse came into her room. Even to the point of wanting to see her. She relaxed in her company. Trust. That was a word she'd not believed in for so long. Once she'd trusted her mother but had been proved wrong. Her mother just believed what she wanted to believe.

Maybe things would be different from now on. She wondered if that nurse would be on duty today. Karen. That was her name. Evelyn lay in her bed and waited.

The door opened and Karen called in to her.

'Morning Evelyn,' she said. 'How are you today? Did you sleep well?' Her voice was like a song.

Evelyn opened her eyes and turned to look at Karen. 'Hello nurse,' she whispered, her eyes searching Karen's face.

Karen smiled at her but there was something wrong. Evelyn knew just by looking at her. Her face was bruised, but it was more than that. There was something going on behind her eyes, like a deep sadness. Evelyn recognised the look but couldn't find the words to describe it even in her own mind.

'Don't mind my bruises, Evelyn.' Karen seemed to have read Evelyn's thoughts. 'I had a bit of a mis-hap the other day, but I'm alright now. Fit and ready for the day.'

Evelyn said nothing. She quietly sat up, pushed the sheets from her legs and swung them over the side, sitting there for a while, watching Karen as she busied herself getting clothes from the wardrobe.

'I though we might go for another walk in the garden today,' Karen suggested. 'It's a lovely morning.'

'Alright.' Evelyn felt her heart lift a little.

Karen beamed at her. 'Lovely,' she said. 'Come on then, let's get you to the bathroom before the rush.'

*

Later that same morning Evelyn was sitting in the gallery waiting to be taken out into the garden. She was thinking about how things had changed since she'd been brought to this place. They used to call the garden the “airing court”. She wondered why they'd stopped calling it “airing court”. It sounded as though it was no more than a prison yard, an apt description, and now it was called a garden. The space was still the same, with the same high walls and the same locked gate at the end of the path. They had planted flower beds and there were benches scattered about the place but the old covered shelter was still there, rusted into disuse. She remembered sitting there with her mother a long time ago. Evelyn had been unable to say anything to her when she visited. How could she have told her mother what she'd been thinking and feeling, when she knew that her pain would never be believed. How long ago was it that she'd last seen her mother? The past blurred into the present as she sat waiting for Karen.

When the young woman arrived at the door, her keys jangling in the lock, Evelyn dragged herself back to the present and stood up. The door opened and Karen ushered her through. As they stood at the top of the stairs, Evelyn hesitated.

'Come on Evelyn.' Karen was already half-way down the stairs before she turned.

Evelyn looked at the smiling young face and something inside her lifted the veil which had been draped across her heart for so many dark years.

'I'm coming,' she said, as she stepped onto the staircase, gripped the rail and found herself moving towards the light flooding through the door at the foot of the stairs.

The sun was bright when they moved away from the doorway into the enclosed garden. The fresh smell of the summer morning engulfed Evelyn's senses. After years of being drenched in the inner mustiness of the ward, it was overwhelming. The last time she'd been out here with Karen and that other young nurse she hadn't even noticed the freshness of the air. She'd been too pre-occupied with something else. Today, it was the smells that affected her first. Then she noticed the warmth of the sun on her skin. And the colours so clear and bright.

Grass had never been this green, the sky so endless - the occasional white fluffy cloud passing overhead only added to the contrast of the depth of blue the sky wore. Shrubs were in full bloom, the deep purple of the buddleia contrasting with the pale pink of the mallow. Butterflies were in abundance flitting around the shrubs in an array of colour, deep reds, blue, green and yellow.

The two women walked slowly along the mossy path. A feeling of light-heartedness was seeping through Evelyn as they walked. She glanced at Karen and felt again the shadow that something was amiss in the young woman's life. She wanted to share her feelings with Karen but hesitated. The young woman would be offended, or worse, might assume it was part of her madness. She had no words to explain or question.

They walked in silence.

Karen was feeling uncomfortable, out of her depth. Walking with Evelyn was something that she'd longed to do. To get closer to this woman that she felt such a connection with was important to her. But now that she was alone with her and away from the safety of the ward, she was nervous.

The meeting with Grace was on her mind, but something was holding her back from mentioning it to Evelyn. Karen still felt guilty - she knew she’d overstepped her boundaries. Her thoughts were in a turmoil as she walked with Evelyn. She tried to shake them off and dragged herself back to the moment.

Evelyn was looking about her, smiling at the flowers and the butterflies. It was as though the summer sun was reaching in and healing something inside her. Karen felt the same warmth and realised that the feeling was a gladness to be alive, with hope for the future. As she was pondering these thoughts, Evelyn turned to her and laughed. It was a shocking sound, snapping Karen back from her internal world.

‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ Evelyn chuckled.

‘Are you happy?’ Karen persisted.

‘Happy.’ Evelyn frowned, turned away and walked a few paces along the path.

‘Wait for me.’ Karen hurried to catch up with her. They walked side by side and sat together under the shade of an apple tree, the sunlight dappling through the leaves. A feeling of uneasy companionship seemed to settle between them.

‘I went to see your mum.’ It was out before Karen could think any more about it, as though her brain was not connected to her mouth.

A sharp intake of breath was Evelyn’s reply.

‘I don’t know why I did,’ Karen babbled. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I just wondered why no-one ever came to see you.’

Evelyn’s eyes flashed.

‘Evelyn?’ Karen said. ‘Are you alright? Look, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. Your mum is a nice lady.’ She paused. ‘I think she would like to see you one day.’

There was a long silence.

‘No she doesn’t.’ Evelyn spoke at last. ‘She stopped coming. I thought she was dead.’ Her voice was flat.

‘I don’t know why she stopped coming to see you. She found it very hard, I think.’ Karen tried to find the words. ‘It can’t be easy having your daughter in a place like this.’

‘Easy for me being here?’ Evelyn said. ‘She never believed me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Uncle Bob.’

‘He died a long time ago,’ said Karen. ‘Do you think he stopped her coming?’

‘No! I don’t know.’

‘What happened to you, Evelyn?’ Karen needed to know.

Evelyn said nothing for such a long time that Karen wondered whether she’d actually asked the question out loud. Then she turned to Karen and looked at her straight in the eye.

‘A baby.’ She spoke so quietly that Karen wasn’t sure that she’d heard correctly.

‘What?’

‘You’re having a baby,’ Evelyn said, clearer now.

‘Me?’ Karen was confused. ‘No, you had a baby,’ she said.

Evelyn stared at Karen, then stood up and began walking back to the ward. Karen hesitated a moment before jumping up and followed her quickly along the path, shaking off her confusion as she went.

Book Signing One Tree Bookshop 2/2/13 - & Chapter 27

Another big day tomorrow - I am preparing myself for the next book signing.  This time it's at The One Tree bookshop in Petersfield.  It has taken me several months to get this one set up.  It was originally going to happen on the 19th January but the snow storm which covered most of the South of England put paid to that!  Luckily, the bookstore manager was happy to give me another date - so it's tomorrow. The down-side is that all the publicity I put out about it was kind of lost in the melted snow.  I am just hoping that people will still come along and buy the novel.  This means so much to me.....

Here is chapter 27 to whet your appetites - and if you haven't been following this blog - you will find the earlier chapters on here also.

For those who have already read Caught in the Web and keep asking me how the new novel is coming along, I have to say that I've been very lax in writing lately although I am now back on track and working on it again.

Chapter Twenty-seven

The music was loud. Someone had tried to dim the lights to make some kind of party atmosphere by leaving off half of the strip-lights. Balloons hung gaily from the ceiling above the high counter which was laden with Panda Pops, a jug of orange squash, paper cups and a display of sweets and chocolate bars. A tea urn had pride of place at one end.

Karen ushered her little band of women into the room.

‘So this is the famous League of Friends Disco?’ she laughed.

Time at work had passed quickly. John and Andy had moved on and two new students were starting in a few days. Karen was getting to know the routine - her initial uncertainties were fading - there was just no time to dwell on things that made her uneasy. More and more she enjoyed the work - loved the adrenaline rush that was constantly there. She couldn’t get enough of the excitement of never knowing what would happen next. And working long hours was an escape from the chill which greeted her at home each night. Work was the only thing that kept her sane.

Today she was working with Sheila, a new nursing assistant who was the same age as Karen and already had children. Karen had liked her on first sight, a down-to-earth young woman with an open, friendly smile.

‘Go and grab a table over there,’ Sheila was saying. ‘I’ll get us some drinks.’

‘Don’t want to sit down,’ Millie complained.

‘You don’t have to sit down,’ Karen said. ‘Do you want to dance?’

‘No.’ Millie replied. ‘Can I have a fag?’

‘Alright, but let’s just get everyone settled down over here first.’ Karen pulled a couple of extra chairs to the table and the other women sat down. Dolly rocked in her seat, watching Sheila cross the room carrying a tray of drinks towards them. Millie stood, moving from side to side, waiting impatiently. Karen took a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and slid one out, handed it to Millie and lit it with a flick of her lighter. Immediately Annie’s hand shot out in expectation. Soon all three women were puffing furiously on their cigarettes, each one adding to the already mildly foggy atmosphere.

Sheila passed around the drinks and sat down next to Karen.

‘So this is the highlight of their social calendar?’ Karen looked about the room.

‘Well it gets them off the ward for a couple of hours,’ Sheila shrugged. ‘And it’s somewhere to go where they can mix with the male patients. Some of these long-stay patients have been here a long time. It’s not that long ago since all the wards were completely separate with no integration at all apart from the annual dance at Christmas. Oh - and the pantomime. Even then they had to sit on opposite sides of the hall.’

‘Camberley Ward’s still segregated.’

‘But most of the other wards are mixed now. Apart from Buxton Ward - that’s the male equivalent of Camberley - and the geriatric wards - they’re still separate. It’s different on the admission wards. They’re mixed now. Sometimes I wonder if it’s a good thing or not.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well - if your relative came in here with some kind of breakdown - say hyper-mania - they could be quite un-inhibited - sexually, you know. Sometimes they strip off and run around naked. You could cope with that sort of thing in a single-sex ward, but it’s a different matter when you have men and women all in together.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Still - it’s progress I suppose.’ She shrugged.

They sat and looked about the room. A group of men had shuffled in and were milling about near the counter.

‘You’ve got children, haven’t you?’ Karen asked.

‘Oh yes,’ Sheila smiled.

'How do you cope with working shifts and having kids?' Karen asked.

'It's not easy,' Sheila said. 'My husband works here as well. He's a staff nurse on Blake ward, male geriatrics.'

'How do you do it?'

'We do opposite shifts so that there’s always one of us at home. It makes it difficult to have time on your own together, though. But that's what having kids does to you. Your time's not your own any more.'

'Your husband must be very understanding,' Karen said. 'He doesn't mind you working here?'

'Brian? Why should he?' Sheila asked. 'We couldn't manage on his wage and this is probably the only place I could work where the hours suit us both.' She took a sip of her tea. 'I supported him through his training and when the kids are at school I'm going to do mine. Then he’ll do nights for a few years so that he can be at home during the day.'

'That sounds good?' Karen wondered.

'Well, it won't be great. We'll seen even less of each other, but it's what you have to do, I suppose. I was doing my training when we got married, but then I got pregnant and had to give it up. Once we'd had one baby, we decided to carry on and have the full family in one go. My two are a bit of a handful, one of three years and the other one’s only eighteen months. I'm determined to go back to my training as soon as I can though.’

'Why do you want to do psychie nursing?' Karen thought about Peter's views on her choice to work with the mentally ill.

'It's exciting. No day’s ever the same,' she said. 'I never wanted to do all that hands-on physical stuff. I wanted to work with people who are hurting, to feel I was helping in some small way. I think you get to know the patients as people in this field, and when they get better you get such a good feeling, knowing that you’ve really helped.'

'That's exactly what I feel,' Karen smiled. 'I'm starting my training in October, but my husband’s not too happy about it. He wants to start a family now, but I'm not ready for that yet.'

'You'd be better off training first,' said Sheila. 'If I had the choice, I'd have done that. I don't regret having my two babies though,' she added. 'You just have to do what's right for you at the time.'

'That's exactly what I think.'

Karen looked across at the group of men who had settled in a clump around another table. In the dim light of the room she could make out the silhouette of two younger people sitting together at the edge of the group. She recognised the outline of John’s face, leaning closely towards the female nurse he sat with. Karen swallowed and looked away.

‘Does anyone actually ever dance?’ she finally asked.

‘Not often,’ Sheila laughed. ‘Not unless you drag them up and promise another cigarette. It’s amazing what they’ll do for a smoke!’