Chapter 14

The Hospital

Lucy had threatened Rachael that if she went anywhere near the hospital she would never speak to her again. She had rung her sister Kate who had said the same thing. They both advised her to start divorce proceedings.

'Alright, alright I will but I have to go to the hospital. I have to see him and tell him face to face. Anything else would be cruel and cowardly,' Rachael had said. But secretly she held, deep down, a thought, a hope that also eased her guilt and fears. She prayed that this man who had tormented her, abused her and made her life a living hell would have changed. He would waken from his coma a new man. The guilt and fear would be swept away. He was her husband, the future would be a happy one in which the married couple of forty years, Frank and Rachael Wright would live happily ever after.

She considered for a whole day before making what turned out to be a momentous decision. So with a packed a suitcase which obviously meant that she would be staying some time, Rachael went back to her home town. Her lifelong friend Val would always make her welcome but would probably have the same opinion as her daughters. However she told herself that she had to make her own decisions. The first thing she wanted to do was to visit the hospital.

Leaving her cases in the car and filled with apprehension she walked timidly and slowly into the hospital. Filled with memories of all the years of abuse she saw a chair just inside the entrance and sat down. Her heart was racing. She felt dizzy.

I am going to faint she thought.

Am I doing the right thing she asked herself. Perhaps I'm wrong. Everybody had said so. Kate and Lucy had been adamant but deep down she knew that this was something that she had to do. She had to say goodbye. Leaving without seeing him one last time would be too cruel.

'I knew it wouldn't be easy, but it is the right thing to do,' she was talking audibly but in a whisper.

'Is that you Mrs Wright?' said a nurse who was just sneaking outside for a smoke.

'Are you alright? I haven't seen you for weeks. You know your husband has come out of his coma?'

Rachael tried to stand up but fell back down onto the chair.

'I'm OK,' she muttered. 'Just a bit dizzy.'

The nurse bent down and felt Rachael's pulse. Then she felt her forehead.

'I think we should go to the cafe and have a coffee and a chat Mrs Wright.'

The nurse seated Rachael at a table in a far corner.

'I'll get you a coffee or would you prefer tea?'

'Coffee is fine thank you, but I really ought to go and see my husband. I believe he has been asking for me.'

'He has Mrs Wright, but it wouldn't do if you fainted by his bedside now would it?'

Nurse Young returned with the coffees then said, ‘To be absolutely frank with you Mrs Wright I was hoping to speak to you before you saw your husband. I do know a little about your past-- I mean your marriage. I believe – well let's say Mr. Wright wasn't exactly the ideal husband, was he?'

Rachael was about to say, 'What has it got to do with you', but she felt dizzy again and almost dropped her cup of coffee.

'Look Mrs Wright, might I suggest that you do not go into the ward on your own. I am afraid I can't go with you, but wouldn't it be better if one of your daughters or perhaps a friend would come with you.'

'Neither of my daughters would come. They are both very angry with me and said that they never want to see me again even though I pleaded with them. I mean he is their father.'

'I am sorry to hear that. I will walk with you to the ward, and I will explain the situation to the nurse and doctor on duty. I am sure someone will accompany you. Now I don't want to hurry you, but I have already over stayed my break.'

When they reached the ward the same doctor who had admitted Frank was there and in fact he had visited him practically every day.

'Hello, Mrs Wright, would you like to come into my office. I do need to talk to you before you see your husband.'

They went into the office, and he sat behind his desk, took out some notes then looked up and said, 'Good grief Mrs Wright you look as though you are going to faint. Sit down.'

He left his chair and walked round his desk, felt her pulse and took her temperature.

'Do your feel dizzy Mrs Wright.'

'I-I-I don't know what I feel,' she stuttered.

'Look, I know this has been an ordeal for you, but you really seem unwell '.

'Please tell me about Fra-- I mean my husband.'

'First of all, I must ask some questions about you.'

'I am OK I just want to see my husband.'

'I know, I know but it is important that before you do I ask these questions. You see I have been looking through the hospital records and it seems that you have been hospitalised a few times with unexplained injuries. Do you remember these injuries? Can you tell me what happened to you?’

Rachael began to shake then she burst into tears. The doctor leapt up and gave her a box of tissues.

'Take your time Mrs Wright. There is no hurry.'

He went to the door and asked a nurse who was passing to bring a glass of water for Rachael. When the nurse came back with the drink the doctor asked her if she could spare the time to sit with her while he continued.

The nurse sat by Rachael and held her hand.

'You see, the thing is we are concerned because of what happened in the past might continue in the future if ---'

Rachael sobbed even louder. The nurse put her arm around her.

'Don't worry Mrs Wright. I think we know what happened in the past and we want you to know that you are safe here.'

The doctor began to explain by saying that Frank was now out of his coma and would be discharged in a few days and that he would still need some care. '

'How do feel about that Mrs Wright?'

Rachael fainted.

Chapter 15

 

Chapter 15 1697

Rachael opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.

'Where am I? ' she thought. Then she said it again out loud. As she sat up she saw a nurse sitting by her bedside who told her that she was in hospital.

'Am I ill? Have I had an accident? Why am I in hospital? I don't feel ill.'

'Can you remember your name?'

'Of course. My name is Rachael'

'And your last name?'

'I'm not sure .'

'I think you are married,' said the nurse. 'You are wearing a wedding ring.

Can you remember your husband's name?'

'I am married? I suppose I must be if I am wearing a wedding ring. So I have a husband? '

'Do you know my husband? ' she asked the nurse.

' I don't want to upset you Mrs Wright but---'

'Is that my name? You know my name. Why do you know my name and I don't? Why am I here. If I am married where is my husband?'

The nurse was out of her depth. She had never dealt with such a complicated problem before. She did know about Mrs Rachael Wright and Mr. Frank Wright. She knew about his accident but also his past violence to his wife. It seemed now that Mrs. Wright was protecting herself from her horrific memories and they were horrific. The nurse knew that she had been hopitalised a number of times.

'I think I have to ask the doctor to come and explain to you about your husband's situation.'

The nurse left the room to find the doctor to explain about Mrs Wright. The doctor told the nurse that Rachael had family and friends so it would be prudent to try to contact someone to come to the hospital to talk to Rachael and perhaps help her to remember.

She quickly returned and began asking Rachael more questions.

'Do you have children Mrs Wright?'

'I am not sure. I think so but I can't remember. Why am I in hospital? Have I had an accident? Why can't I remember anything? Do you know where I live?'

'I am trying to help you remember. I think you have two daughters and we have their phone numbers. Would you like me to ring them for you? The problem is that they don't live locally so I think it would take some time for them to get here.'

While this was happening the doctor was ringing both daughters. Their phone numbers were in Rachael's file because she had given the hospital her daughters' phone numbers when she had stayed with them; firstly with Kate in Chamonix and then Lizzie in London.

Before Rachael could answer the doctor came into the room and said,' I hope you don't mind Mrs Wright but I have phoned both of you daughters. Do you remember you have Kate who has a hotel in Chamonix in France. You stayed there recently. Also I phoned Lizzie who lives in London. Lizzie is unable to come before the weekend but she suggested that your friend Val who lives locally would come to see you. Perhaps she will be able to help you recover your memory. Do I have your permission to phone your friend. Lizzie has given me her number.'

'Well of course if you think it will help but isn't it an imposition asking someone to come to the hospital to help me. I mean what if I don't remember her.'

Doctor Ramanov reassured Rachael that this would be fine and it would certainly be the best way to help her to recover her memory.

So Val was contacted and as soon as she was informed of the situation she hopped into her car and arrived at the hospial in less than an hour.

Val was shown into the room where Rachael was lying and feeling confused and frightened.

'Hey Rach, what's all this about. You know me don't you? We've been friends and colleagues for years.'

Rachael sat up and stared at Val. She was bemused.

'I am really sorry. Val is it? I can't remember anything. I don't know how I got here. I don't know why I lost my memory. Nobody seems to think that I have been in an accident. They tell me that I have two daughters but I can't remember them. Do you know my daughters?'

'Yes I do. You went to stay with Kate in Chamonix and you even went sking...'

' I can ski?'

'Yes then you went to live with Lizzie in London. You got a job teaching.'

'I am a teacher? You seem to know so much about me. Do you think you know why I have lost my memory?'

Of course Val knew why Rachael didn't want to confront the truth about the past and she would be terified of Frank emerging from his coma and beginning to abuse her again.

'You are a teacher and perhaps we can – well it might be possible---- I'll ask the doctor if it would be wise for you to come home with me and --'

'I would like to get out of this place but it seems such an imposition when I don't know who you are.'

'I will go and talk to the doctor and see what the situation is.'

Val had a long conversation with the doctor. She told him that she knew the past history of her friend and Frank her husband.

'I hope you don't mind me saying this but I think she is terrified of him coming out of his comma. Her daughters begged her not to come back to the hospital but she said that she wanted to tell him in person that she wants a divorce.'

'Personally, I think that you are correct. Perhaps the best thing would be for her to recall her past slowly but she must not be left alone. Are you able to take care of her until her daughters arrive?'

'Certainly'.

'Will you also let me know if or when she begins to remember. I feel that in my capacity as Mr Wright's doctor I am treading a tight rope. I should keep Mr. Wright informed about his wife and vice versa.'

'You can't tell that --- ' Val wanted to say 'that bastard' but said instead 'that man anything about his wife. He'll stop at nothing to find her and ---'

'I am aware of that but there are certain protocols----'

'Sod protocols doctor. He will kill her if he finds her.'

Val stormed out of the doctor's office.

Val found Rachael and said, 'Get your things. Let's get out of this place. They left the hospital together, found Val's car and drove to Val's house.

When they arrived Val's husband came to the door to meet them. 'This is Dave my husband, ' said Val. 'I expect you remember him.'

Rachael looked and felt embarrassed and said, 'Sorry.'

Dave started to speak, 'Surely--'

But Val quickly stopped him and put her arm around Rachael and lead her to the sitting room.

'Make yourself comfortable Rachael. I'll go and put the kettle on.

Now let's just relax and have a nice cup of tea. Dave, see if you can find some biscuits.'

In the kitchen while they were waiting for the kettle to boil and Dave was looking in the cupboard for biscuits he said, 'I bet if we show her the video she'll soon remember.'

'Don't be stupid we have to be careful. She has obviously erased the violence of that swine of a husband. We have to wait until Lizzie arrives from London. I wonder if she can go back to her job. Wouldn't it be wonderful if she never regained her memory and just carried on teaching and playing music. She might meet someone and ---'

'And what ? Now who's being stupid Val. Perhaps we can help her to recover her memory and--'

'Maybe we can persuade her to divorce the bastard,' said Val. 'Why the hell does she want to see him. The doctor said that he is out of his coma and they are going to send him home.'

Rachael had come to the kitchen and was standing in the doorway and listening. She heard that her husband was out of his coma and that the doctors were going to send him home.

'Are you talking about my husband, was he in a coma? What happened to him? Is that why I can't remember? Were we both in an accident? Send him home? Send him home? Where is my home? Why can't I go home? Do you know where I live? Will you take me to my home maybe I will remember if I go home.'

Val and Dave were dumbstruck. Val felt like crying. She looked at Dave and said,' What shall we do?'

Val and Dave managed to placate Rachael by saying that the doctor had told them that the reason she had lost her memory was because she must have had a very bad shock and or there was something that she wanted to forget.

'What on earth could that be? Do you know what it is Val? Aren't you my best friend? You seem to know everything about me.'

Val was lost for words. She knew. Of course she knew but she didn't want Rachael to find out about Frank. What was the alternative. Could Rachael spend the rest of her life not knowing who she was, not knowing her daughters.

Dave jumped in to try to help the situation.

'Did the doctor tell you that you have two daughters. You remember your daughters don't you? '

Rachael looked puzzled. 'Do they know that I have lost my memory?'

'Well it's hard to say. I haven't spoken to them but I believe the doctor has contacted them and asked them to come to the hospital.'

Then Val butted in, 'I know, why don't we ask them to come here and then perhaps they will take you to your house.'

'So when will they be here? '

'Well Lucy lives in London and Kate lives in Chamonix. I believe the doctor said that Lucy will come this weekend but obviously it will take a little planning for Kate to come from France.'

'What on earth is wrong with me. I can't remember my own daughters and they both sound so interesting. Do they know I've lost my memory? Do you think that they will know why I have lost my memory?'

Harriot Beecher Stowe

 Harriot Beecher Stowe 

Who to choose or should that be whom to choose?

Sometimes in meetings or dinner parties or staff rooms when the conversation revolved around new curtains or fitted carpets or even someone's new car I, in my pomposity would try to introduce as I thought more interesting topics. One was ,"How many coutries are there in Africa?" Few people knew. Most guesses were way off the mark. I also  asked who wrote "Uncle Tom's Cabin"?  The answer I frequently got was Mark Twain. As I am sure that in this room you all know that it was Harriet Beecher Stowe.

This leads me to my first mini biography. 

I went to an all girls’ Grammar school and have often wondered throughout my reading life why many of the interesting world changing women never featured in my education. ‘They’ say that we stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before. I never knew and still don’t who ‘they’ are but here is one woman writer and  activist on whose shoulders we are standing.

She was a woman of tremendous insight, wisdom and compassion. She had six children, ran a large household, campaigned tirelessly against slavery and after her husband’s death supported the household financially by her writing.

In 1850 an act was passed which mandated that the slaves who escaped to freedom in the North be returned to their masters. Stowe was outraged and she was moved to write Uncle Tom’s Cabin or Life Among the Lowly. It was first published as a serial in an abolitionist newspaper, the National Era. Her aim she said was to hold up in the most lifelike and graphic manner possible, slavery in all its reverses and changes.

Unlike the modest reception anticipated by Stowe the book was a publishing phenomenon. In 1852 the year of publication 5,000 copies sold in two days and 20,000 copies were sold in less than three weeks. Estimates say that three million copies were sold in the United States and it was translated into many languages. When ‘Uncle Tom’s cabin’ was first published it sold more quickly than any book ever printed except the bible. 

She was recognised at the time. Longfellow wrote, ‘How she is shaking the world with Uncle Tom’s Cabin…..Never was there such a literary coup-de-main as this.’ The English historian Thomas Macaulay called it,  ‘the most valuable addition  America has ever made to English literature.’ Tolstoy considered it the highest achievement of moral art and put it on the same level as  Les Miserable and  A Tale of Two Cities. Theatre stages were flooded with dramatisations and continued to be performed until 1930. It was the first American best seller. Puritan prejudice which considered fiction as worthless entertainment was changed. Uncle Tom’s Cabin was used to convince the legislators of the evils of slavery. Abraham Lincoln referred to her as, ‘The little lady who had made this big war.’  

So what changed? The book moved millions but it seems that the overt appeals to emotion and it’s political message caused it to be labelled propaganda and was therefore considered of little merit. I have also heard the arguments that it is now considered racist because of the stereotyping. But her aim was to open peoples eyes to the evils of slavery and this she achieved in a forceful way.

Jane Tompkins in the Heath Anthology of American Literature calls it ‘the most powerful book written by an American’. So, why has it not come down to us as an American literary classic? Could it possibly be that it is because she was a woman? What a pity, no what a tragedy, that it has been excluded from classical literature.

Harriet was more than the woman who wrote ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’. 

‘The Life of Harriet Beecher Stowe’  was written in her life time at her request by her son Charles. He was able to use her letters and journals so she considered it to be autobiographical. In it we learn of the active life she lead, of the campaigns she fought and the interesting people of her time with whom she corresponded, George Elliot for example.  

Quotes

If women want any rights they had better take them, and say nothing about it 

Women are the real architects of society.

 "Common sense is seeing things as they are, and doing things as they ought to be."

"Most mothers are instinctive philosophers."

Introverts and Extroverts

 Introverts and Extroverts

 Introverts are often better observers of other people than extraverts, even though extraverts rely on their relationships with others in order to feel that they exist. 

I have owned this book for many years, but it was a while before I really grasped the many useful messages it contains. If you get nothing else from this book other than an understanding that introverts can be sociable and extraverts can be shy, you are likely to find yourself with a vastly increased sense of what makes different people 'tick' - yourself included - and why one man's emotional meat is another man's emotional poison. This can be particularly helpful in a world busy focusing on extravert preferences - open-plan living and working spaces, constant action, suspense, thrills and horror in popular entertainment etc., etc.. Our brains are wired up differently from each other, and it is helpful to recognize that the external stimulation which enables extraverts to thrive can easily challenge and overwhelm the senses of the introvert - however well-balanced s/he is. The converse is also true - if you want to stress an extravert, keep him/her out of social contact, and away from busy activities, lots of sensory stimulation and new environments.

The psychologist Dorothy Rowe saw introverts and extroverts  as two different ways the human mind protects itself and stays alive psychologically. Her core belief:

“Every human being has one primary fear: the fear of annihilation, of ceasing to exist as a person. We all build a structure of meaning to keep that terror at bay. Extroverts and introverts simply build that structure in opposite directions.”The extrovert’s terror is silence and emptiness. The introvert’s terror is noise and intrusion.”

An extrovert feels real when others are responding. An introvert feels real when no one is demanding a response.” Neither is better. Both are attempts to solve the same problem: how to go on existing when everything inside us knows we will one day die. She repeatedly stressed:

Trying to force yourself to live the opposite way is one of the fastest routes to depression.

The work is not to become more extroverted or more introverted; the work is to stop being frightened of what you actually are.  I have found that introverts always know what is the most important to them but many extraverts do not, usually because they find it difficult to distinguish what they do from why they do it.…

She’s clear that: ‘Either we are “people persons’, who judge ourselves in terms of how others respond to us, or we are ‘what have I achieved today?’ people.”We all know (regardless of personality) about the value of thought leadership. The blogs and articles most of us share are those that speak with authority and expertise.

They’re the ones that really add value (another overused phrase, but again, for a reason). Self-promotional fluff, written in a hurry, simply isn’t heard above the online noise.

That’s not to say that extroverts only write self-promotional fluff. Of course, there are many outstanding, valuable articles written by extroverts.

It’s simply that an introvert is less likely to get caught up in self-promotion and more likely to take the time to think ‘what use is this to my audience? What value will they gain from it?’. That builds real, deep trust that is hard to shatter.

Remembering to forget you.

  Remembering to forget you.

I wrote this to enable me to get over a very long term relationship. He was a professional violinist.

Dec.12^th 2000

Today I began writing this account of all the times I am reminded of our shared history and the depth of understanding we had of each other. Ten days ago I went to see the film 'Billy Elliot', memories of the miners' strike, your own ballet lessons and our mutual understanding of how the human spirit can be crushed.

Today I listened to the history of the 'Hot club of Paris' on the radio. This week it was Django, next week Stephan. No need to say more. You would have understood that it was special. Last week on Dec 1^st I saw a late offer in the Travel Agents. 'Seven nights, ½ board in the Algarve for £169. I almost bought a ticket and sent it to you. You always said that you wanted to go to Portugal in the winter but we never did.

Last week I met Eric through 'People to People'. Nice man but I think he lied about his age. Well educated, but probably a Tory. Well travelled, no spark, not like you and I on our first date at the concert in Leek.

Dec 13^th. Met Melanie in Tesco. Her new neighbours came in, Terry and Linda. You would have liked to talk to them. Terry is a fiddle player, he used to play in Haymaker.

Dec 14^th I went to buy a piano. I needed a musician to help me. It would have been really helpful if you had been there. In the evening It was the Xmas concert in Union St Chapel, Crewe's West End Band. I kept thinking about last year's Xmas party and wondered if you said anything to the man who put his hand and my shoulder. You were angry.

Dec15 I am reading 'All about love ' by Bell Hooks. Considered sending you a copy.

I am wondering what you will do this Xmas. Spend it with your sisters Hilary and Marion I expect unless you have met someone else.

March 26^th Haven't written since before Xmas because I was too busy. Not because there weren't many times a day when I wanted to share what I was doing with you. After the Jacques Lousier concert we got back together briefly. It was a mistake. I was beginning to get over you. Do I just need someone, anyone. No, not anyone but ? Who knows? I give up trying to work it out.

2003 I moved to France. Firstly you visited then you rented a house in a village you came to hate. Then you moved to my village, still renting. Firstly you shared my van then you bought a car. You came to my house everyday. You ate with me nearly every day. Always at my house You were reluctant to even buy me a coffee when we were out.

Once you invited me to your place for a meal. You dropped the main course on the floor. It was in a Pyrex dish so it smashed. You opened a tin of tuna and put the tin on the table and told me to serve myself from the tin. I laughed. Why did I laugh? It wasn't funny. It was insulting. I felt insulted.

I wrote you a note. We seem to have moved in different directions away from each other. I think we should call it a day. Your reaction was immediate. I believe to this day that it was what you wanted but were afraid to admit it. You returned my key at full speed and asked for your key by note, which I returned via your boite de lettre.

I saw you twice after that both times in the cyber commune. Once I asked you if you had packed because I had heard that your were returning to the UK. You indicated that you had problems and turned away. You didn't want to tell me and I didn't want to know. There was a frisson still. The second time was in the library in Broons. You said, 'Hello' in reply to my 'Hello'. Neither of us asked how the other was. There was still a fission.

Was this in 2009?

2011 August You birthday was on the 14^th and I barely remembered it. Of course it was during the local jazz festival. I usually remember you then but this year I didn't. However there was a folk band at the local chapel at Routtier, the Church fitters. A wow of a concert The audience loved it. The fiddler was not as good as you and I missed you so much it hurt. But, not the now you. It was the old you I missed.

That is mostly when I miss the old you, at concerts like the one the Orchestre de Bretange played in the theatre de Verdure. The conductor stole the show because he was so balletic. You would have been reminded,  I suppose of Paul Morris your old boss and what you called his cockroach dance when conducting. Firstly you would have said that he was great, brilliant, entertaining and then your jealousy would have crept in and you would have found more and more ways to criticise him.

I suppose that is one of the reasons I stopped loving you, that and the fact that you stopped making an effort where I was concerned. I miss you in bed sometimes. Not all the time and not for sex but it would be nice sometimes to feel your arms around me. But in the end we didn't even sleep in the same bed. You said that my coughing kept you awake.

I have grown more and more into gardening. You would hate that. Instead of enjoying my garden which by the way is beautiful and quite amazing, you would be jealous of the time I spend in the garden and away from you.

Earlier this year my family came to celebrate C's 50^th birthday. The weather was perfect and for me it was a really special time. You would have ruined it. You would have been jealous. You would have resented the fact that you were not the centre of attention and I would have been on pins in case anyone said the wrong thing to you or you felt neglected. Then you would have walked out without saying a word like you did so many times in the past. I don't think you even understood it yourself but you couldn't bear not being centre stage. Like a child without love who becomes destructive.

You need adoration and attention like food. But you also need food and lots of it too. And it had to be served to you and presented as though you were a guest in an expensive restaurant. You couldn't just muck-in. You couldn't just help. If you did help you had to be treated like a guest chef and praised ad infinitum.

People say to me ,'After 29 years, why on earth did you split up/ You should be together'. I answer,' After 29 years yes I should have left before.' Why prolong a declining relation ship. Yes after 29 years, 29 years was long enough in fact, too long.

When I think of you and feel the loss of you, I remember all the times we split and got back together because I couldn't bear to be without you. I know now why. I don't want the now you . I want the old you. It is the old you that I miss and he will never return,

It is said that arguments between couples are always about money even if superficially they are about something else but I believe that they are really about sex.

The truth is that most of the time I prefer being on my own. I am and always was independent. I never liked being considered as part (and a lesser part at that) of a couple. I always resented it when out alone people would always asked about you. It was as though I didn't exist alone. Now I know that if I am invited anywhere they are inviting me, not you and a side kick. If I go out it is me and people either speak to me or not as me not part of a couple known as Phil and Fleure. I have even heard you say on the phone , 'It's Phil, Phil and Fleure, as though we couldn't be separated. I hated that. I never signed, Xmas or Birthday cards Fleur and Phil. Always just Fleure. If you wanted to send cards why couldn't you just sign them Phil.

So I am enjoying my memories of you. The good ones of course and the bad ones too because they are the ones that remind me that, that is why we are no longer together.

2013 March

So it must be 4 years since we split. Was it November 2008 or later. You always remembered dates gone by very accurately. I didn't miss you at first in fact 2 or 3 years . Now I do miss you when it comes to music. Last night there was a programme about Rostropovich. You would have enjoyed it and talked about Britten and Shostakovich too. It reminded me of the Britten opera we saw at the Royal Opera House in London.

Last Sunday there was an enormous choir performing in Ereac church. You would have had lot to say about that.

I met a couple called Karin and Colin at the cinema and Karin said that she had played the violin. I realised that they know me and that most people I have met know me. If you were still here it would be you that they know. They would barely acknowledge me.

Post Script

Reading all this in 2025 I realise that it is 13 years since the last entry. So it really is -

THE END

Brazil Arrival

 We arrived at J's eldest son's house and were warmly welcomed. I was shown to a bedroom and I think J' had a bedroom too. The two sons were probably bunked up together.

What I remember mostly about all the family visits was the abundance of photos, not only on display but album and videos. In fact  o matter what we were doing  J's son would leap up,grab his camera and start videoing.  

Florence Nightingale

 

Florence Nightingale

She and her sister studied history, mathematics, Italian, classical literature, and philosophy, and from an early age she, who was the more academic of the two girls, displayed an extraordinary ability for collecting and analysing data which she would use to great effect in later life."

She was a pioneer in statistics; she represented her analysis in graphical forms to ease drawing conclusions and actionables from data. She is famous for usage of the polar area diagram, also called the rose diagram, equivalent to a modern circular histogram. This diagram is still regularly used in data

visualisation.

She was a prodigious and versatile writer. In her lifetime, much of her published work was concerned with spreading medical knowledge. Some of her tracts were written in simple English so that they could easily be understood by those with poor literary skills. She was also a pioneer in data visualisation with the use of infographics, using graphical presentations of statistical data in an effective way. Much of her writing, including her extensive work on religion and mysticism, has only been published posthumously.

In 1838, her father took the family on a tour in Europe where she was introduced to the English-born Parisian hostess Mary Clarke, with whom she bonded. She recorded that "Clarkey" was a stimulating hostess who did not care for her appearance, and while her ideas did not always agree with those of her guests, "she was incapable of boring anyone." Her behaviour was said to be exasperating and eccentric and she had little respect for upper-class British women, whom she regarded generally as inconsequential. She said that if given the choice between being a woman or a galley slave, then she would choose the freedom of the galleys. She generally rejected female company and spent her time with male intellectuals. Clarke made an exception, however, in the case of this family and X in particular. The two were to remain close friends for 40 years despite their 27-year age difference. Clarke demonstrated that women could be equal to men, an idea that she had not learnt from her mother.

Her most persistent suitor was the politician and poet Richard Monckton Milnes, but after a nine-year courtship, she rejected him, convinced that marriage would interfere with her ability to follow her need to work.

In Rome in 1847, she met Sidney Herbert, a politician who had been Secretary at War (1845–1846) who was on his honeymoon. He and X became life long close friends.

She also much later had strong relations with academic Benjamin Jowett, who may have wanted to marry her.[16]

She continued her travels with Charles and Selina Bracebridge as far as Greece and Egypt.

Her writings on Egypt, in particular, are testimony to her learning, literary skill, and philosophy of life. Sailing up the Nile as far as Abu Simbel in January 1850, she wrote of the Abu Simbel temples, "Sublime in the highest style of intellectual beauty, intellect without effort, without suffering ... not a feature is correct — but the whole effect is more expressive of spiritual grandeur than anything I could have imagined. It makes the impression upon one that thousands of voices do, uniting in one unanimous simultaneous feeling of enthusiasm or emotion, which is said to overcome the strongest man."

From 1857 onwards, she was intermittently bedridden and suffered from depression. A recent biography cites brucellosis and associated spondylitis as the cause. Most authorities today accept that she suffered from a particularly extreme form of brucellosis, the effects of which only began to lift in the early 1880s. Despite her symptoms, she remained phenomenally productive in social reform. During her bedridden years, she also did pioneering work in the field of planning, and her work propagated quickly across Britain and the world. Her output slowed down considerably in her last decade. She wrote very little during that period due to blindness and declining mental abilities, though she still retained an interest in current affairs.

The Royal Sanitary Commission of 1868–1869 presented her with an opportunity to press for compulsory sanitation in private houses. She lobbied the minister responsible, James Stansfeld, to strengthen the proposed Public Health Bill to require owners of existing properties to pay for connection to mains drainage. The strengthened legislation was enacted in the Public Health Acts of 1874 and 1875. At the same time, she combined with the retired sanitary reformer to persuade Stansfeld to devolve powers to enforce the law to Local Authorities, eliminating central control by medical technocrats. Historians now believe that both drainage and devolved enforcement played a crucial role in increasing average national life expectancy by 20 years between 1871 and the mid-1930s during which time medical science made no impact on the most fatal epidemic diseases.

This woman's achievements are all the more impressive when they are considered against the background of social restraints on women in Victorian England. Her father, was an extremely wealthy landowner, and the family moved in the highest circles of English society. In those days, women of her class did not attend universities and did not pursue professional careers; their purpose in life was to marry and bear children. She was fortunate. Her father believed women should be educated, and he personally taught her Italian, Latin, Greek, philosophy, history, and – most unusual of all for women of the time – writing and mathematics.

While better known for her contributions in the scientific and mathematical fields, she is also an important link in the study of English feminism.

She wrote some 200 books, pamphlets and articles throughout her life. During 1850 and 1852, she was struggling with her self-definition and the expectations of an upper-class marriage from her family. As she sorted out her thoughts, she wrote Suggestions for Thought to Searchers after Religious Truth. This was an 829-page, three-volume work, which Nightingale had printed privately in 1860, but which until recently was never published in its entirety. An effort to correct this was made with a 2008 publication by Wilfrid Laurier University, as volume of a 16 volume project, the Collected Works of this woman. The best known of these essays, called "Cassandra", was previously published by in 1928. Strachey included it inThe Cause, a history of the women's movement. Apparently, the writing served its original purpose of sorting out thoughts; Nightingale left soon after writing this to train at the Institute for deaconesses at Kaiserswerth.

She died aged 90 in 1910.