On Friday, we said goodbye to K's grandfather, Robert - on the day before what would have been his 96th birthday. It was a sad day, because we were all still in shock at his passing. He was bright as a button until right before the end, a wonderful, intelligent old man, who loved to stir up dinner-table discussions about world affairs, who lived on his own and was totally independent - he loved to cook his signature dish, wiener schnitzel, from a recipe he had found on the internet!
Just over a month ago, we were all together in Hereford for the 3 Choirs Festival - where these photos were taken, on a lovely sunny afternoon, in K's parents' garden, before we all went our separate ways. Two weeks later - on the August Bank Holiday Monday (we were out having dinner with friends, sitting out in another garden) - he fell and had to go into hospital for a half-hip replacement. He was due to go on holiday to Switzerland the next day with K's parents, and he insisted they go anyway. By the time they got back, he'd have had his op, and be ready for them to take him home. But the day after going into hospital he contracted a mild chest infection, which caused his pneumonia to come back, and by the time we had a chance to visit him after work on the Thursday, he was in quite a serious way - he looked tinier than ever, lying in bed with a nebuliser to keep him hydrated and comfortable.
We had a good visit - Robert asked me how my book was going, and I could tell him I was working on my first set of proofs. K could tell him about Royal Collections Studies, the course he was heading off to that weekend. But he was starting to get a bit confused between near and distant objects, and kept pushing his bedclothes on and off. The ward sister wanted to talk to K about the family's wishes about resuscitation, and all the way home on the train K was phoning his parents in Switzerland, and his uncle who was away on a residential course, advising them to come back, and filling in his aunt and his brother on Robert's condition. We sat out on the concourse at Paddington Station for about half an hour while he finished updating everyone. Everyone came back, and it is a good job they did, since he just faded away, dying on Sunday morning, with his son by his bedside.
K had managed to get back to see him on Saturday afteroon - I hadn't had the chance to go back, since my sister and I were going down to the Cotswolds for Maryam and Ollie's wedding near Tetbury that Saturday. I had a call from K's mother during the wedding barbeque on Sunday afternoon to let me know that Robert had gone peacefully that morning. The awful thing was that neither she nor I could get through to K - by now ensconced in Royal Collections Studies - and there were several hours when he didn't know his grandfather had died.
But it was as good a way as any to go - he would have hated losing his quality of life, gradually losing his marbles, which had been totally bright and sharp. He would have hated being looked after, having to go into a care home, or a granny flat at K's parents. All that we knew, but it was still hard for everyone to say goodbye when they weren't ready. Especially since next weekend, his younger grandson - K's brother - will be getting married. But now he joins his wife Betty, who he missed so much over the last few years.
There was a reception at The Bedford Arms, a pub in Chenies where, as K commented, we had never been together when he was alive. We sat outside as the sun came out and ate chocolate éclairs, of which there were far too many - Robert would not have approved! Afterwards, we walked them off by walking back to his flat in Little Chalfont, repeating a walk K and I had taken when we were there last Christmas, through woodland, surrounded by fields and gorgeous views - you would hardly believe you were only half an hour outside London. We had tea, talked about him some more, and then began the rather awkward task of identifying the things in his flat that we would like to have. It seemed tasteless, but K's mother and uncle have to embark on this completely practical task themselves now, and it was the first thing we could do to help. Robert and Betty liked to collect nice things, so they have some gorgeous pieces of furniture and lots of paintings and ceramics. I have no idea what we would do with half of the stuff K put on his list (which included two bookcases), but one feels certain things should stay in the family. And it also looks as if Robert's generosity is going to help us to be able to buy somewhere, possibly even somewhere bigger than we could have considered otherwise.
Thank you Robert and rest in peace. You will be missed.
We were exhausted by the end of the day - from general tiredness (K had been on the go non-stop during Royal Collections Studies - what he described as 'art history boot camp'!), plus all the emotion from the day. We went straight to bed, but of course that was the night that our obnoxious neighbours on Hayter Road decided to have another late-night party out in their garden. We refer to them as 'the bastards', though I can assure you that other, less affectionate words have been used. This has happened on and off throughout the summer - about 7 or 8 times by now. It almost makes you wish for bad weather.
Since our block runs parallel with Hayter Road, the rooms on that side of the building back onto the gardens of those houses - so there is always the odd night when you get disturbed by neighbours partying or sitting out late in their gardens. But this has been more than a one-off - earlier in the summer, it was happening every weekend. And since we sleep on that side of the building, we hear everything as loudly as if it were happening in our very bedroom - somehow the acoustics work that way. Even tightly-closed double-glazed windows (an unpleasant prospect on a hot night) and ear plugs do not allow one to sleep - or me anyway. K somehow manages to sleep through it all, with only the vaguest awareness of being disturbed.
The last time it happened, I finally called the council's noise control 'hotline'. They have a 'rapid response unit', but it took them an hour and a half to get round to us. Since I had called at 2am, it was getting to the point where the neighbours were chilling out a bit more - normally they go till about 4am. The council's 'noise service operators' (!) have to assess the noise level from within your flat, and of course - typically - by that time it was not too bad. But they went round and spoke to the neighbours anyway (by cycling down Hayter Road to and from work every day, I had worked out which was the offending house), which seems to have done some good, since it has been quiet for a couple of months. We reinforced it last time by writing them a letter and saying we would continue to report them to the council, and that they should be aware of the legal action that the council can take against them.
This time, however, I didn't bother. I just needed to get some sleep, and I couldn't face the prospect of staying up through the night, waiting for the noise control team to turn up. This weekend was the last chance I have had to work on the conference paper I am giving at SOAS on Friday, and I needed to get a good night's rest. So I took my pillow and a spare duvet and went and slept on the futon in our study. K was completely oblivious.
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