J. Alfred Frimley 5. They Shall Not Pass!

I don't like Saturdays. I used to when I was younger. I used to go to the dance at the Legion Hall every week in those days. "The George Boon Dance Quartet"; I can see them now, Trumpet, Drums, Saxophone and Guitar and on alternative weeks he'd have his missus in the band on Accordion. I don't mind saying it myself, but I was quite a mover particularly at the Valeta. I met quite a few girls that way but nothing came of it. Anyway, I generally left early so as not to worry mum. She'd be hanging out of the window from half past ten looking, down the street. I didn't like the idea of her catching her death because of me.

Saturday morning and afternoon are alright. I generally go down the market at three o'clock and get the shopping for the week. If I go late enough there are a few things the stallholders are throwing away that are perfectly good but won't last until the next market. In the mornings, there's the allotment, but more often than not I'm to be found doing running repairs on the drip stands and other paraphernalia around mum and auntie Vi. It's a lot of work but I wouldn't entrust mum and aunty Vi to one of those Polish NHS technicians. There's even more stuff and clutter now in the room since Dr. Chatterjee said they'd better have oxygen, in addition to the naso-gastric feeding and all the other stuff they have already.

But it's Saturday night that can be purgatory because that's when Edna turns up. That's Edna Humphrey from up the road at number 92. She's been coming to watch the telly now for fifty or more years. Goodness knows why she doesn't get one of her own. Anyway she comes at six and then spends an hour chattering away to mum and aunty Vi. I say chattering when I really mean shouting, because that's what she does if they don't twitch or something so she thinks they've heard her. Then at seven I go to tell her that the program has started and when I do she normally finishes up by saying to mum "and don't think I don't know what your Gwen got up to with the Landlord behind the Nag's Head the night her Jim got drunk". Probably moving beer barrels if I know Gwen, she's always ready to lend a hand to anyone.

A while ago they tried to send mum and aunty Vi off to the Tately General. All because of some interfering Policewoman. Somebody had thrown a brick through the window. It was probably those scamps up the road; boys will be boys! The lady from the neighbourhood watch went by just as I was mending it and she asked me what had happened. She must have reported it because before I'd finished glazing there was a car drew up and this burly Policewoman gets out. "Neighbourhood Liaison Officer" she said she was and also "Victims of Crimes Coordinator".

Anyway, I finished the window and asked her in for a cup of tea. She asked me if I'd seen anything, but I hadn't because I was out the back giving Cledwyn his kittymeat.

No, I didn't want to make a complaint. I remember what it was like to be a kid, I got into some scrapes myself but there was no malice in it. No I didn't want any counselling or victim support, I was quite happy here with mum and aunty Vi. She asked where they were because they might have seen something and she had to question every potential witness. I said that I doubted it very much but showed her through all the same. She seemed taken aback. I thought it was perhaps the smell; I don't notice it much these days but someone not used to it might. She took a few notes and then went off.

The next thing I know there's some Social Worker from the council offices knocking at the door. She was telling me they ought to be in a hospice or something. I told her straight. I was not going to let one of them places get hold of either of them. Soon as you're in the door they turn off the drips, turn up the morphine and before you know it you're on the Liverpool Care Pathway and the Government can pinch your savings to pay for doing you in! Sorry I'm ranting but it's a sensitive point with me.

She got all oiky, talking about me being abusive. I only raised my voice a bit but she must have sensitive ears or something. Then a few days later they sent me a letter saying they were going to enforce a care order on mum and aunty Vi and take them off to the General. I couldn't be doing with that so I told Mrs. Patel next door. She said it was a liberty and went off round the streets telling everyone so. Meanwhile I boarded up all the windows and the doors, except for Cledwyn's cat flap. My mum looked after me all my life and I wasn't about to let anybody stop me from giving her and the sister she loves the same care. This was going to be Frimley's last stand!

When they came, it was three police cars, two ambulances, the Lord knows who from the council and couple of journalists. There was Dr. Chatterjee too and Nurse Po, Gonzopoorn and some Consultant from the Hospital. Oh, and then there was my sister Gwen all the way from Slough, and two big blokes with sledgehammers.

The police had a word with Gwen and then she came up to the door and shouted through the letterbox

"Come on Alf (she always called me that) see some sense, you're not getting any younger, can't you see they'll be better off in hospital? Now why don't you let me in and we can talk this over."

I let her in, well she is my sister. I hadn't seen her for a couple of years since she came to collect the spare sheets; well I didn't need them, not with the ones from the NHS. So I took the opportunity to ask her what she was up to behind the Nag's Head. The next thing I knew, she said, "That's it play dirty Alf Frimley!" and started to shout out through the letterbox "We're not coming out" You'll not leave our mum and aunty Vi to die in some filthy hospital! Over our dead bodies!"

Before I knew it, there was Gonzopoorn and Dr. Chatterjee and Nurse Po and the Patel family from next door pushing at the door so I could let them in. Well they are my friends, and I couldn't just leave them there. Dr. Chatterjee was the one who gave mum and aunty Vi three months at the outside, and that was ten years ago. So I let them in and they began shouting through the letterbox too.

Outside, the local lads, bless them, were shouting at the police officers and everyone. A big Sergeant with a megaphone stepped up and shouted, "Come on Mr. Frimley this can't go on forever, let Dr. Phipps from the General see if your mum is alright!" Well I don't like to be rude so I agreed.

In came the consultant and I showed him to the downstairs bedroom. I explained to him how everything was organised and how I saw to everything and how Dr. Chatterjee pops in every week to see if there are any problems.

Dr. Phipps was impressed with some of my solutions, particularly the mixture of Jeye's fluid and chewing gum for the broken drip stands (at the General they have to use sellotape) and the clothes pegs for closing the tubes which I find much stronger than the thin plastic ones from the NHS which break so easily. What impressed him the most was how I'd plumbed the urine collection bags to the main drain. He said that could save the NHS millions in bags. He was also interested in how I used the colostomy bag contents on the allotments. He didn't think that using the out-of-date blood for home-made black pudding was a good idea so I won't do that any more. He also like the idea of using the condoms from the community centre as springy supports for the drip bags since it results in less strain on the stand if you accidentally pull too hard. By the time he'd checked over my two ladies I think he'd made up his mind.

"Mr Frimley", he said, "you are a remarkably resourceful man and your mother and aunt seem to be receiving a standard of care not seen in the NHS for many years. Do not worry, I won't let them cart them away to die in The General, which they most surely would, in fact I think I'll recommend that our head of Nursing come here to pick up a few tips."

He went outside and talked to the sergeant who then started to disperse everyone. I think he was too busy to notice that Cledwyn, who'd come out from behing the chair to see who was in his territory, had laid claim to him y widdling on his trousers.

Anyway, off went the ambulances pursued by the local lads playfully throwing things and everyone went home. Gwen talked to the journalist and that week's Tately Telegraph was very critical of Social Services. I wrote a letter to all the neighbours, Dr. Chatterjee, Nurse Po and Gonzopoorn thanking them for their support. This area might not be much but we look out for each other.

Oh, that's Edna at the door. Oh dear,it wouldn't be so bad but she stays until past midnight, goggling at "Britain's Got Talent" or whatever's on, sitting there knitting and sucking "Victory V" lozenges. Well she used to before they stopped making them, then she went over to "Zubes" and when they stopped them because they contained something nasty she started on "Fisherman's Friends".

She also, and this is what I like least, has a funny mole on her chest that she picks at and I can't bear to think what I'd do if it came off. She used to stay click-clacking until the little white dot disappeared. Now there isn't one, she started staying all night to watch whatever's on, until I made a point of asking her if she might like help me with mum's colostomy bag.

I'd better answer the door

Cheerio

Alfred