Bill & Sarah's Story

My involvement with Erskine goes way back to the early 1990s, when, working for an architectural conservation charity, we rebuilt The Piggery at the main home. My family's charitable foundation, The W. M Mann Foundation, named after my dad and set up by my parents in the mid-1980s, then became a donor to the charity over the years, amongst other things giving money to build the activity room, The Bridge, in The Glasgow Home. Little did I, and my dad Bill, know that one day he would be a resident there, using that very valuable facility several times a week.

Fast forward to late summer 2017, when I knew my lovely dad was needing more care than I could manage on my own. Up to that point, I had been seeing Dad every day, shopping for him, doing household chores, but more importantly, just spending time with him. But I could see his cognitive ability was dwindling, and my helping him was helping him to think all was well. He was forgetting the names of his children, Ainsley, Bruce and Sarah, and it was when this happened several times, and he started to go outside in his pyjamas in November, that I knew he needed full-time care. My mum, his wife Aileen, had passed away 21 years earlier, so there was no alternative.

Like many, I was sceptical and nervous of ‘care homes’, imagining them to be the nursing homes of old. But I knew Dad needed specialist help; I was certainly no dementia specialist or professional carer. So I went to see several places, most were ok, but not for Dad and not what I had in my mind’s eye for him. It is probably one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make, accepting that this was what was needed for Dad, and all behind his back. He was oblivious to my ‘treachery’, as I saw it.

Finally, one Friday morning, I went along to The Glasgow Erskine Home. By this point, I really was a quivering wreck, hating myself for doing this to Dad. I would be removing him from his home of 36 years, against his will, and placing him in full-time care, the guilt was overwhelming.

As soon as I walked in, I was met by Gordon, the Home Manager at the time, who instantly put me at ease. We chatted for a bit and then he showed me around. The home was bright, airy and welcoming, with staff and residents saying hello as I walked by. I saw a group of smartly dressed men going somewhere and, when I asked Gordon what was happening, he told me they were off to Rugby Memories. Immediately I felt another sense of warmth, Dad lived and breathed rugby, he would love that. On questioning Gordon more, I found out that this was a weekly activity where old rugby matches would be shown on the big screen, with photos of players and chats about the residents' playing days. I then learned that there were daily activities, most days twice a day, so that if one wanted to mix and socialise, one could. I had a good feeling about Erskine and, coupled with the purpose-built rooms for dementia sufferers and the all-round warm atmosphere, I decided that this would be Dad's new home.

Getting Dad into Erskine was based on his National Service, which he did in Malaya (Malaysia today), where he worked in the office as an accountant, but more importantly to Dad, where he played a lot of cricket. When the day came for him to go in, as you can imagine, it was emotional, lots of tears and fears, and that was just me, made all the worse by the fact that he had received a well-deserved CBE the day before, with his family and friends surrounding him. This was a man who did so much for so many in his lifetime, now needing the assistance of others. I barely slept the night before, worrying about my wee dad and how he would react to this massive change in his life, because remember, Dad never believed he was unwell, pretty much up to the end.

I told Dad we were going for a cup of coffee to see where his money had gone, which he had so generously donated. Even then, I knew he smelt a rat, but somehow managed to get him there with the help of my elder brother Ainsley. Bruce had gone ahead with Dad's belongings to set up the room.

Needless to say, Dad was not happy when I suggested he stay and have his dinner at Erskine and we all said we were going. At the suggestion of the staff, it was always going to be hard, lingering would make it worse. I went home that night hating myself, fraught with worry about my lovely wee dad. He was my hero and I loved him deeply.

That Saturday marked a new way of life for both Dad and me, one which was so unbelievably painful. Dad was a very capable, successful man but, it's funny, I just knew he didn’t want to take this journey alone, so of course I would take it with him, it was a pleasure to do so.

As the days and weeks passed, we got to know all the lovely staff in Erskine, all of whom were on hand for both Dad AND me, as the emotional support you need as a loved one is immeasurable with this wretched disease. Dad surprised me by going to all the activities, providing I went too, as he wasn't a small talk person in 'normal' life. These varied from the aforementioned rugby memories to arts and crafts, to musical groups, to students from the Royal Conservatoire playing for the residents, a particular joy to us both, to The Salvation Army, to pantomime, the list is endless. It was so lovely to see so many who were very often silent or discontent, now smiling and having fun amongst their peers. I would often observe others who were further down the road with their illness than Dad, asking myself why they did that, said that and so on, with fear and trepidation that Dad, too, would exhibit these behaviours one day. Of course, I asked the staff about it, knowing that this was the future for Dad with Lewy Bodies, so I think I was looking for some kind of reassurance that they would help us both through every stage of this illness, and they did.

My daily visits were, on the whole, very happy with Dad, we were closer than ever, unless of course he was frightened, confused and angry as to why he was 'in this bloody place'!!! When I remarried in 2018, he refused to shower and change most of the time, until 'the wee girl with the dog' came back, and when I did, after 6 days, we held each other so tightly I thought I was going to burst!

Without exception, every day I was asked how I was, how was I coping, a cup of tea and a wee chat with the staff, reassuring me they were there to support me too. There were days when I walked home in tears, of course there were, astounded at how this incredibly intelligent man could be forgetting my name, how to eat, how to use the loo, what he did for a living and so on, but that was made all the easier by the wonderful staff at Erskine, without exception.

Dad continued to decline, cognitively and physically, but he never lost that kind and loving nature or his sense of humour, which, if anything, was heightened. As his life was obviously drawing to an end, he never took his eyes off me, almost saying, ‘Princess, don't leave me'.... I never would. He was there for my first breaths, I would be there for his last ones. The staff at Erskine prepared his room with flowers and photos of his loved ones, both present and those who had gone before. Those last few days, although so very sad, were comforting to me, we sat and held one another’s hands, Dad sleeping all the time. Nothing had been left unsaid between us, we both knew how we felt and, as I told Dad it was simply time to let go of my hand and retake Mum's, this he did at 9.07pm on Tuesday 17th December 2019, in my arms. The staff at Erskine were pleased at how peaceful it all was, this is entirely down to them, the quality of care and the whole ethos which is Erskine. I will be eternally grateful to all who cared so beautifully for my lovely dad.

So, I think it is quite clear by now why Erskine is a special place to me. For all of the above and more, that is why I am so proud to be associated with Erskine Veterans Charity and all that it does, and to be their Ambassador is an honour.