October-November 2025

Dear Friends,

I had read so many horror stories about the NHS and its 7000,000-long waiting lists that in 2023 when I needed treatment, I went to a private hospital (which damaged my life’s savings). When I arrived at the hospital, escorted by my family, I was given a warm welcome and a special lunch, which was delicious and my dear ones were happy to see what appeared to be me settling in well. All the time that I was eating and chatting with the staff I would occasionally hear a faint wailing from the depths of the hospital, and I thought, “They’ll take all kinds here.”

Little did I know that in a few hours I would be doing the wailing – for a “bottle”. (Of course, you know what that was for) and from then on, all my calls for any assistance were cruelly ignored for what seemed prescribed times, as a routine, or as a punishment, or just to show me who was boss around there.  Now read this.

From the beginning, on and off, the staff treated me as a friend on one day, and in a hostile way on the next, in the manner of imposing domination like that of political prisoners in some of the nastier countries. The atmosphere in that place was unfriendly and unpleasant – and extremely expensive for a week or two.

So, coming to 2025, when I needed hospital treatment again, I was taken in the NHS ambulance to my local hospital, and I had no great hopes for my future there.

But it was fine! The atmosphere was highly efficient friendly, and whatever I asked for, I received it. I was there for six weeks and overall, my treatment couldn’t have been better, and it was all free. My special needs were catered for. An example: I use a lot of tissues and was allowed a large plastic bag to place the used ones in, plus any other old junk. That, and such things as a “comfort” towel, eased my situation considerably. Oh, and strawberry jam spread on my croissant at breakfast – in bed. You try cutting a croissant lengthwise with a blunt table knife. They did it with ease.

The staff did their best to make the sometimes- straitened conditions comfortable. For instance, hygiene. For people like me, who couldn’t go to the bath or toilet rooms, the only means of cleaning our hands was with “hand wipes”. The only application of water to my hands was at the time of the morning wash / bath, when I quickly asked permission to plunge them into the bowl of precious water before the nurses took over.

The staff helped all the time, as they did with teeth / denture cleaning. For this, they gave me “the kit”: a papier mâché spitting bowl, a tooth brush (supplied, with toothpaste) and a small tumbler of water for rinsing. Our regular staff would come along and take my dentures and wash them under the ward tap, but when a strange relief nurse was on, this complicated luxury had to be spelt out to them because they knew nothing about such niceties. (And for relief staff the NHS pays the earth!)

The staff must deal with many crises. On two occasions – at about midnight – a new patient had been brought in who was shouting and foully swearing for a long time. The security people were called, wearing body armour forsooth – for knife attacks, I suspect. Luckily, I didn’t see any violence.

On one occasion the patient quietened down on the ward while on the other the disruptive man was magically wheeled away to a special place somewhere else. Through all this, the staff were well organised. I later discovered that both patients had been smoking something evil which had cracked their brains, but that is the way of the world now.

Another thing about how the world is now is the matter of first, names. The staff are all supposed to ask for your permission to use your first name. Thirty years ago, I would have answered “That’s alright, if I can call you by your first name.” But I found this attitude tiresome, so that now, with those below doctor, the staff and I all use first names.

I’m very much in favour of this; how wonderful it is to hear a smiling nurse saying the comforting words “Hello Roger”. This attitude created a tender moment for me when a dozen or so nurses grouped outside the entrance to cheer and wave me off when I left. Hence, closeness, friendship, trust: the building blocks of love in action. Yours sincerely, Roger Tarbuck.