Wally's tales

Recently feeling unwell and on my daughter’s urging, I made a visit to see our GP. This as it turned out to be a big mistake, as I was sent immediately to the Princes Margaret Hospital. Or I initially thought it was, as I still carried one of Grandma’s tales, ‘People die in Hospitals’. Nothing could be further from the truth as the care and attention I received was wonderful. True there were certain practices I disagreed with such as showering, with a Nurse holding your hand. My protests that I wasn’t that ill were shoved aside and ignored. I was told to get on with it, and stop being a wimp. The Nurses, Doctors, and support staff, were all a cheerful bunch, caring and well trained. The doctors seemed to work all hours by observation of them passing up and down the wards.

However it turned out there was one irritant, we had another patient that I shared the three man ward with and where I was allocated a bed. He must have been suffering from an early onset of Alzheimer’s, and a compete pain to all and sundry. His life seemed to have stopped at 1945, like it or like it not we fought the War, over and over, each and every day. The War it would seem was the highlight of his life, and the one and only event that dominated all his thoughts. He took advantage too off the daily rostering of Nurses, He claiming when his turn for bathing came around, he was going home the following day, He would be able to shower then. As far as I know he is still Hospitalised and unbathed.

I had to smile one day, a Doctor came and sat at the bottom of my bed and said. ‘He had a very important question for me to answer’. ‘Should I have a heart attack while under their care.’ ‘Did I wish every procedure available to be applied to save me, and bring me back?’ I replied, ‘I would like events to be allowed to take their course’ And let nature decide. No special attention for me required. ‘I have seen what happens to people saved’, ‘The rest of my life being confined in a chair, looking out at the world passing by would not be my choice, if I have one’. I have had a had a wonderful life, and am grateful for the roles and challengers I have been given to play.

The other gentleman occupying the bed opposite to me was a retired farmer, 81 years of age. He had recently a hip replacement, and cataracts removal and while recovering from these procedures, suffered a stroke. He was busy relearning much of his recent lost memory, and how to walk again. As well as eye problems, he had received a Colostomy when aged about 40. In spite of all these set backs he was a bright and pleasant companion. We talked at length at nights until we both fell asleep.

I must have a kind face, whenever I was wheeled to another Department for various tests there was always some one else waiting. Without fail once we engaged in conversation, they had a story to tell, Nothing was held back and without fail they were exceedingly frank, worts and all. There must be a thousand stories in Hospital all waiting for a sympathetic listener and to be told.

I must make too some general comments. Lying in bed for a couple of weeks watching what went on, I had plenty of time to observe. The Hospital Wards, showers, and toilets were spotless, they had to be with the constant attention to the cleaning they received. I couldn’t fault the meals either. For each and every meal you were given multiple choices, I even had cream and brown sugar for my porridge.

I came out a lot happier than as I was when I came in for treatment.

Over the years we as a family have been fortunate enough to holiday with foreign friends. Our main contact was with the French, as expected we quickly found many cultural differences. One of these that stood out was the custom of greeting one another when we first met in the morning after arising. We greeted all the members of the opposite sex with a kiss on each cheek or a handshake for the males. Later when I was back home and in my office, I continued with the custom, and the way I greeted my foreign friends. They expected it, and considered it normal. This always caused my staff much amusement, but I took it all in my stride. Once we started mixing with foreigners, we had many new customs to take in our stride.

The French Breakfast we found was alway a very simple affair, such as a roll or croissant, with a large cup of coffee. I noticed too more often than not, the roll was dipped, or dunked into their coffee. Their croissants were very rich, dripping with butter, often too chocolate filled.

I’m now talking about New Caledonia where many of their customs were different again to that of France, or the Metropol French. Because it was so hot midday, shops and schools shut at noon for a two hour siesta, which nearly everyone took at home. I should add too, that their day started very early, most were on the job at 6-00am, schools at 7-00am. I noticed too, that as most wives worked, they had a system that most took advantage of and was universally popular. This consisted of using the services of stand alone ‘kitchens’ scatted around the town, these cooked a range of three course dinners for participating families. You contracted in advance with the kitchen of your choice, to take their prepared meals on a weekly basis. These hot meals were picked up daily usually by the wives on their way home while exchanging containers. This container was a tall stack of interlocking pots. (I can’t find the word in their dictionnaire for the correct spelling but it sounded like ‘Gamelle’) They containing soup, a main course, and a dessert. I had seen these food containers, or something similar in the East. So maybe they had picked up the idea from Viet Nam or the other way around. The system was clearly a boon to the busy housewife. Not a lot different from the ‘meals on wheels’ we have here.

Another difference was their drinking of wine. None of the nonsense and pretence we have here. It was regarded as an necessary adjunct to the meal. In fact it was even regarded as a food. The children too were allowed a watered down glass. If a bottle wasn’t consumed during dinner or lunch, it was just corked, and popped into the refrigerator for the next meal. However the French Hostess without exception was very particular with her seating arrangements. You tell at a glance, exactly your social standing.

Because of the tropical heat their evening meal was served very late at night. Initially we were starving by the time dinner arrived, until we discovered that they, (All other people) were taking advantage of a substantial snack at around 4-00pm. The French or the Caldouch cooking as to be expected was superb. Initially we found their dishes were too over spiced, and far too hot with chilli for our taste. We soon adjusted to that, and found we too craved for the addition of chilli and garlic. In one conversation with a French House Wife over the price of vegetables she told me when she cooked a cauliflower, she cooked the lot. At $13 each she said, ‘It was a shame not to waste any’.

Of course they all drive on the wrong side of the road. We soon adjusted to that, but something else always seemed to catch us out. That was when as a pedestrian, we always looked the wrong way for on coming traffic, and this could kill you.

Every one seemed too seemed to have a ‘Nick Name’ or a shortened name as all were dubbed with a couplet of Christen names, when baptised such as Jojo for ‘Georges Louis’. Of course the books on grammar would tell you too, that ‘Vous’ is you, but so is ‘Tu’, which is the familiar form, but you never used Tu unless you were very close to the person being addressed.

In New Caledonia some of the early settlers were English, and they have left their mark in the language, as there are many English words in common use, but now pronounced with a French accent. Their phone books too are peppered with English names.

As a race they have very good sense of humour, but to us sometimes it’s meaning seems hidden. In Queenstown we had a very popular fine dining restaurant, owned by Alan Pay and his wife. ‘Pay’ in French is pronounced ‘Pie’ and quickly they all referred to him as ‘Hot Pie’, however the joke was not understood by the English or Alan.

As I’m not writing a guide book. I can only advise that if you wish to know more, make a visit yourself. This wonderful Country is on our doorstep.