Lads and Gentlewomen, Care in the Community Needs Women of Conviction to Succeed

I first went to Hungary in 2005. One of the people I met there was a psychotherapist who specialised in working with troubled children. She was one of the most peaceful people I have ever met. Possibly in her late 60s (and I know, it’s always dangerous to try and guess a woman’s age) she was the gentlest women I had met in a long, long time. She worked with the most difficult troubled children and their families. She was modest, quietly spoken and so skilled. I spent only an hour with her, but she touched my inner being in a way that not many others have managed. Our encounter provided me with a lasting memory of something good.   

And last week I met a couple of other gentle women of conviction. The first was Ethel. I met her at our local walk-in centre. Having failed to get an appointment at my GP’s, I took myself and Kindle down to the local Urgent Care Centre, presented myself and settled down to wait. I had been suffering with an ear infection, and being a man, I had of course not sought help until the pain and irritation was so bad it was keeping me (and certain other people) awake at night. Anyway, no sooner had I settled down and found my place in my book, when a little older lady sat down beside. There was a pause before she asked me if I happened to know what the day was. I said I did, and would she like to know? She paused for a moment and said she thought she would. It’s Monday I said. She thanked me and I turned back to my book. I suppose you don’t happen to know what date it is she said, poking me in my side. I gave her a smile and told her it was the 10th February 2020.

She pulled out a rather crumpled yellow appointment card. That’s good, she said, looking at it. I am supposed to be here today. I closed my Kindle down and decided to have a conversation instead. She had a fascinating range of stories to share and we got on like a house on fire. The Queue God must have been looking down on her, as she disappeared to see the nurse way before me. I was still sitting there when she came to say goodbye and that she hoped to see me again, and I swear there was a distinct twinkle in her eye as she said this. Ethel was 92 years old.

The second woman was Reverend Deborah Prest. She is the Vicar who is reading the Banns for my forthcoming wedding. I had gone to meet her at the round church, a church a mere 61 years old whereas the church I’m to be married in was built in the 16th century. However, I believe you can be close to God wherever you might find yourself, although the quietness of a church can be something special. Deborah was a remarkable woman. I had only spoken to her on the phone, and didn’t know what to expect. In real life, she was a warm and welcoming lady. I clicked with her straight away.

We got all the wedding business out of the way and then had a brilliant conversation about our local community. She was committed to making a difference to the lives of those living around the church and beyond. Deborah was also a Chaplain at the Blackpool Victoria Hospital and told me of her hopes for the development of truly integrated health and social care services. I very seldom talk about my professional background or work experience to others. Having lived in our new house for just over a year now, most of my neighbours, who I am slowly but surely building relationships with, would not know that I was an Emeritus Professor or previously a nurse. They just know me as Tony, keeper of chickens and goats, driver of a bright orange GT sports car and guerrilla gardener extraordinaire.

Strangely I was drawn to the calmness and conviction of Deborah and shared with her my work at the University, my research interests, and work with Wrightington, Wigan and Leigh (WWL) NHS Trust. It was a lovely conversation and I left with a renewed spring in my step. I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for us to work together in the future. I hope so, as parts of our community need all the help they can get.

In my professional life, I was involved in the resettlement of many folk back into the community from the mental health and learning disability hospitals they had been incarcerated in for so long. Whilst many folk probably associate ‘care in the community’ as being a Thatcher innovation, the desire to treat, help and care for people closer to their own homes, or even in their own homes, has been around since the early 1950s. In 1956, it was the Guillebaud Committee that best captured the underlying ambition of creating a system of better care in the community:

‘Policy should aim at making adequate provision wherever possible for the care and treatment of [old] people in their own homes. The development of domiciliary services will be a genuine economic measure and also a humanitarian measure enabling people to lead the life they much prefer.’

Leaving aside the language of the 50s (which is rather quaint), it was a great ambition, but such a shame we are still so far from achieving it. Last week the Equality and Human Rights Commission launched a legal challenge against the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care for the failure to move people with learning disabilities and autism into more appropriate accommodation. As I write this blog there are more than 2,000 people with a learning disability being detained in secure hospitals, often far away from their families, and for many years.

Last night, as Storm Dennis raged outside, I sat immersed in a wonderful documentary of Woodstock – three days of peace and music – maybe rather than the combative nature of a legal challenge, we would be better to look for solutions from within ourselves and listen to the quiet voices of those gentle people of conviction who wait patiently for others to find the calmness they have achieved.