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| Nigel 1985 |
My second eldest brother met the criterion, perfectly. He was a natural left-hander but was forced to write only with his right hand, so his hand-written communications would have made the best at Bletchley Park, quake. Added to this ‘characteristic’, he was severely dyslexic with a truly elephantine memory. His ability to detail many aspects of our family membership had some question whether he was able to quote from a totally photographic memory, and his spatial memory was formidable as is often the case with dyslexics.
All of this notwithstanding, he found himself being made redundant for his inability to write UN- or sponsor-reports despite his recollection of programme details and understanding and the impact of his ‘management style’ on tangible production results. Just think how he could have prospered if he had had a UNICEF ghost-writer to spice up what he knew in a format acceptable to the EEC, UNICEF and their sponsors...I shared with him, a distressing inability to suffer fools gladly. He was known for his sometimes blunt and less than diplomatic political correctness while I had the advantage that I usually managed to soften my criticisms of others with a vocabulary that only a few would understand.
As if the foregoing were insufficient to limit what he could – and could not – do, as a 15 year old at a boarding school 1,500 miles from home, he contracted polio. The prognosis from the medical profession in Cape Town at the time was that he only had a 50:50 chance of survival, so my mother flew to be with him, possibly for his last hours. When mother arrived, there was an iron-lung machine positioned just outside his room, ready should his condition deteriorate. He survived and his ‘recovery’ was a long and slow affair. Despite all the specialist equipment that was provided, he remained paralysed from the waist down thereafter. He required leg-irons and specialised boots to enable him to be ‘mobile’ despite the 26 lbs additional weight he always had to carry, just to function.
The Salk polio vaccine became widely available only months after he had contracted polio.
Many in his position would have given up because of all the hurdles he had to clear every day, but in his case, it seemed to trigger a steely determination to show that he could compete with the best. The family motto was ‘Tenax Propositi’ (Tenacity of Purpose or, more colloquially, bloody-mindedness). Two or three events really showcased his iron will:
During his early recovery he had been given a pair of binoculars so he could watch the birds in our garden on the farm, and he recorded every single sighting for some period. By the time that he was able to resume his secondary education, he had listed 96 different species observed in the garden, and became friendly with the Director of the National Museum, which itself resulted in an invitation to him to join a Museum collection trip into Bechuanaland (later renamed Botswana).
Not only was the Museum attempting to increase its collection of birds, but also of the local flora as well. By the end of the trip, on their last day, they were trying to find just one example of Stapelia nigerii - more commonly known as the Carrion Flower - and decided that four of their number would split up and go on foot, one north, one east, one south and the last to the west. Brother Nigel, walking only on elbow crutches, took one of the directions. They met back at their camp for lunch when Nigel announced that he had found one - probably because it smelled so foul. The Director quietly recorded the milometer reading before driving to the location indicated by Nigel, to collect this sample. It was 7 miles from the camp, meaning that Nigel had walked, on crutches, 14 miles that morning. Grit and determination ? For sure !
The second came a little later when terrorism swept the land as many of the indigenous population felt that this was their only method to gain political recognition, and all males of a certain age group were drafted into the armed forces. Being a paraplegic, Nigel was excluded from the draft but he joined the Police Reserve instead. They had regular exercise days to ensure that they could respond whenever needed if there we no armed forces available.
On this particular exercise day, the group was split into two: One group being ‘Terrs’ (terrorists) and the other being ‘Police’. Nigel was designated a ‘Terr’. Why was I not surprised ? The Terrs were given 10 minutes head-start before the Police were let loose to find and capture them. By an hour later, all bar one of the Terrs had been located and ‘neutralized’ (captured), but the one Terr outstanding (who else but Nigel ?) could not be found. A tea break was called under one of the trees in the area, and while they were standing around chatting, wondering where Nigel had gone, a voice from above them said, “Bang, you’re all dead !!!”.
Nigel, leg irons on and with crutches, had managed to climb to the top of the tree, out of sight, so there was no evidence left anywhere at ground level.
That certainly taught the Police a sober lesson – to expect the completely unexpected.
Many were the adventures he enjoyed. After completing his first agricultural qualification in the UK, he decided to join 5 others on an overland trip in a somewhat second-hand VW Combi from London to South Africa. This is not a travelogue, but the photographic record he made of this trip was wonderful, especially the photos of the Mountains of the Moon (Rwenzori Mountains and those in the Democratic Republic of the Congo). Sadly, those photos may not have survived. The group were unable to complete the trip overland because there was a rebellion taking place in Malawi, and they were advised to put the car on a Coaster from Mombasa to Beira. Had he been able to write freely, I am sure the record would have been a best seller.
At home, in England, he had only one real ‘hate’. In his carefully planted garden, new trees were often targeted by squirrels that would ring bark recent – and often quite expensive – trees. In some frustration, he asked our youngest brother for the loan of a shotgun so he could rid the garden of this loathsome pest. He was much disappointed when our youngest brother declined to provide the gun on the basis that a public footpath went through parts of the garden. Nothing to do with his not having a shotgun licence at that time, but in the interests of the local community that didn’t need culling just then.
Nigel survived to almost 80 years of age – with his last couple of years confined to a motorised wheelchair. Happily, he qualified for a specially adapted car into which he could drive his wheelchair, so remaining ‘mobile’ almost to the day of his death.
He remained generous to a fault – even when he couldn’t afford it. Very soon after his death, his eldest son and I launched ourselves – independently – into his local town to establish if he had any unpaid debts that needed settlement. His son found just one debt outstanding – a clock that was being made by the local horologist – being bought in instalments. I never did discover how many instalments were outstanding because his son wrote a cheque for the whole amount, and always changed the subject when it came up for discussion. Rather, during a commemoration event, the finished clock was presented to his widow and any time I pass the village, I am invited to wind the clock. It is said to be a fully mechanical clock accurate to within 7 seconds per year. That’s right. Per year. Harrison would have been proud to have made such a clock.
One of the curiosities of people with his condition and adaptions, was that his physique changed in response to the stresses placed upon it, by the polio. This was very aptly summed up in the eulogy during his funeral service:
“. . . . for us, Nigel’s defining quality, apart from tenacity, was his unstinting generosity. He had a BIG heart. It was thus hard NOT to believe the junior doctor, unacquainted as he was with the anatomy of polio patients, when he said that he couldn’t find Nigel’s heart. We, who had so often been on the receiving end of his generosity, knew that he had simply given it away.”
What an absolutely great story, full of love and humor. I appreciated many aspects of it, including almost being forced to write with my right hand. My mother got a whiff of the teacher's attempt, way back in Coos Bay, Oregon, where we lived for 3 years. She quickly put a stop to THAT, and I've been writing upside down with my left hand ever since.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely comment ! In Nigel's case we were too late by decades so, whenever he wrote to us, we had to decipher 'the code'. I felt it useful to screw up my eyes and tilt the paper slightly away from me before trying guess-work. I think we managed well enough, but occasionally I take out an old letter or card and see if I get the same answer as last time. Trying the Guardian Cryptic Crossword was never so interesting.
DeleteWith respect to many 'left handers' writing upside-down, I have often wondered if upside-downers do it to avoid smudging the ink as they write ? Makes sense even if it looks difficult to accomplish - or is it like mirror-writing ?
I have ever only seen one person who was absolutely ambidextrous. He was our chemistry teacher who would start writing on the board with chalk in his left hand and, on reaching the middle of the board, would switch hands and continue writing with his right hand. When reading something he had written on paper, it was impossible to judge which hand had been used for which part of the text.
Congratulations for being able to write so well and having had a brother like Nigel
ReplyDeleteThanks, Ken, for telling us about your amazing brother. He surely is a great example that no-one is in-valid.
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