An Afternoon with Leslie

Being a student means accidentally belonging to a pretty selfish demographic. Our time and thoughts are inextricably measured against finding your sense of self: discovering your own way of doing and understanding everything. It’s an important time, but an incredibly self-indulgent time, nonetheless. It has become so obvious to me that I need to do more for others, outside of student self. (The irony is that, in coming to this conclusion, I partook in far too much self-evaluation and analysis.)

I am on a little placement with my course called ‘Reading Aloud’. Every Wednesday afternoon a handful of us English students visit the dementia wards at the hospital to read poems- a gentle and amateur form of art therapy. It can be intimidating; the busy wards are chaotic and some of the patients are really suffering, and it can be challenging; some patients don’t respond. But most of all, it can be upsetting; you see a person fading in and out of the sense of themselves.

Especially being in a time of my life where I indulge so much time into forming my person, it is hard to watch how people lose tangibility within themselves at the end of their lives. Often, as a patient’s train of thought diminishes, you witness their sense of self begin to unravel with it, as they don’t where they are or who they are.

It isn’t all gloom though- not at all. It is so inspiring, inspiring enough to make me want to ramble away at my laptop (apologies to the reader). This Wednesday afternoon I had the pleasure of sharing rhyme and verse with Leslie: a patient, but more importantly, an author, a scholar and a very kind man.

I began reading the overdone, but still lovely, Sonnet 40. At the very mention of Shakespeare his eyes were alight, and began an interrogation of the form and prescriptions of a sonnet, engaging in literary debate way out of my depth (not that that’s difficult at all). Next, we discussed and recited Shakespearean drama; Leslie’s knowledge and, dare I say performance, of Macbeth was one to intimidate the RSC, and I was delighted to have stimulated him so.

After discussions of Wordsworth and the Romantics, Pound and the Imagists, Leslie told me about his own writings. He told me how after reading archaeology and anthropology at Cambridge, he went home to Harby, a little village in the Midlands, and worked on a project: a community retelling of its histories.

He was a very funny man, spilling the secrets on how to manipulate the nurses into always getting a cup of tea on time and other tips and tricks of the ward. He was also very engaged and very engaging. He helped my recital skills, telling me to read slowly and with more confidence. He didn't sit passively as some might presume a dementia patient would do. After the hour was up, he encouraged me to read some of my own shabby work. I did, he smiled, and he shook my hand and we said goodbye- I then left to go back to campus.

This is only a small encounter, and may not seem significant, but I couldn’t imagine not documenting it. It proved to me, not to expect anything from anyone. I left in awe of this man, incredibly humbled to have met him and benefited from his company. In the brief hour, both my mind and his were opened: I saw a new way of thinking as he revisited his past knowledge and thoughts. He didn’t remember the nurses, or the date of Valentine’s day (must say I’m trying to forget that myself) but could recite verses of Thomas and Coleridge in a blink. I learnt not to think too much about what I know now, as we can’t tell at the point of experiencing what memories we’ll hold onto later in our lives.

I don’t mean to preach, as I really am the least qualified person to be an example to anyone, but I just wanted to share how helping others broadens your own ability to experience things. I’m not at all as memorable as the poets I read to Leslie, so I won’t stick around in his head for long, but he’ll sure stick in mine. I’ve just ordered his book and I’m excited to read.

This isn’t an overly important piece of writing, albeit a very good one, but it was an 

important afternoon that I want to share. I’m in a very selfish time of my life, and I can’t be ignorant to the spectrum of lifetimes happening outside of my own. Experiencing snippets of these surrounding lived lifetimes grants you a deeper sense of empathy. It makes everything you do mean that little bit more to both yourself and others, which is what is truly important at the end of it all.

(Here's a link to Leslie's book if you're interested in what this brilliant man has to say: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Harby-Village-Life-Vale-Belvoir/dp/0956751504)