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People are not always kind. I was playing cricket recently in Mid Suffolk. I did not, perhaps, look at my most elegant wearing, as is my habit, a battered, old, brown trilby around the brim of which my over long hair curled. It was a hot afternoon and tempers were getting frayed. Our opening bowler was spraying the ball around a bit. The young Turk who was batting for the opposition was getting a trifle frustrated and every so often he would open his arms wide signalling to the umpire what he thought of a wayward delivery. In the end I got tired of his antics and said, "Why don't you leave the umpiring to the umpire and concentrate on batting?" He replied, "I am not going to be told what to do by a f****** old gypsy in a trilby."
I can recall walking across Hardwick Heath in Bury St Edmund one pleasant summer's evening twirling my stick for sheer happiness at the splendour of the cedars in the golden light. The peace of the evening was destroyed by the noise of an approaching moped. Two boys were careering along - bouncing across the parkland turf. I heard the youth riding pillion say to his friend, "Watch out for the old fogy." Sadly this sums up the attitude of callous youth to the elderly. We are treated with contempt. But love is kind. I have just come back from attending the funeral of my Uncle Joe. He was married to Betty, my father's sister. I was pleased to see him in hospital before he died. It was one of his rare good days and I told him how much I admired the way he looked after his poor wife as Alzheimer's disease progressively destroyed her humanity. My mind went back to a day that I visited him 11 or 12 years earlier. Betty was in the final stages of Alzheimer's disease and could not speak. All that she was capable of was baby noises. She could scarcely walk and was beginning to lose the ability to chew when food was put into her mouth. Yet my uncle patiently and lovingly cared for his wife. What a contrast between his behaviour and that which he had witnessed many years earlier when he was amongst the first into Belsen during the Second World War. I think that what Joe did day after day in his own home was very, very, hard. He, like so many others, got no award for services to the state. There is little recognition for carers. However I am sure that he will get his reward from a higher authority for services to humanity. I asked my uncle how he managed to cope. He said that he was helped to continue by three ladies: Betty's hairdresser, their cleaner and a woman from social services who bathed her. Joe said that all three of these women were kind to my aunt. They didn't despise her in her weakness. They were gentle, caring and treated poor, stricken, Betty with respect. I don't suppose that they had a handful of academic qualifications between them. Financially they would have been amongst the least rewarded of the labour market. But they were kind and helped Joe to care for his wife at home almost to the very end. When you are really up against it what you desperately need is people who are just plain good. The great apostle said, Love is patient, love is kind........ Love never fails....... But the greatest of these (virtues) is love. 1Cor13.
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