Walls that tell stories

It rained yesterday morning, but the weekly grocery shopping needed to be done so I donned the new pair of waterproof trousers sent me by my sister June, with my elderly jacket, given new life by Clare with a waterproofing solution in our washing machine, and went about my business. Rain was promised after lunch when I went for my afternoon outing in the park, so I dressed up again, but this time it didn't rain. Our weather is ever unpredictable!

As I wait for the next op, a week Thursday, each day it seems that the condition of the wound improves slightly. Most noticeably, I can sit for longer without pain or discomfort. Three hours watching telly on the sofa instead of giving up after a short while and retiring to bed to watch on my tablet instead.

This morning Clare had an X-ray appointment at Cardiff Royal Infirmary, as she has problems with a 'clicky' right hip, maybe due to joint wear and tear. For once I was able to sit comfortably in the car on the way there, and drove back without discomfort. I used a special dense foam cushion to protect me from the ravages of the shaped seat. I've tried using it in the car several times before and it was of no use at all, due to pressure on the open wound. It's healed to such an extent that it can now bear pressure when I'm sitting down. This is real progress as far as I'm concerned. Sure, it's still open, leaking gunk from inside me, but far less so, and much easier to manage in everyday life. It makes the wait bearable.

The CRI, as the old central Cardiff hospital is known, is a sprawling ensemble of fine Victorian stone and brick buildings running along the south side of Newport Road. The emergency out of hours GP service is located in one section, and a local GP surgery in another, plus an assortment of specialist services, dealing with mental health, substance abuse, and sexual health which in my seminary days was commonly known as The Pox clinic. There's also an X-ray facility there to which GPs refer patients.

Once we'd found the waiting room, I went hunting for a toilet along the very long corridor which is the building's backbone, and was impressed by the variety of plaques on the walls commemorating the patrons and major donors who funded hospital's construction starting with a Dispensary in 1822. There's one very large marble plaque containing scores of donor names, from a major public fund raising drive between 1840 and 1880. It includes donations from a succession of Mayors, landowners, and clergy including the Bishop of Llandaff. 

One clerical name I especially looked for and found was that of the Rev Charles Thompson. In those days he was Vicar of St John's City Parish Church within whose parish boundaries lay the hospital and nearby Cardiff Gaol, plus the city's military barracks out in Maindy. Thompson was the incumbent at a time of huge population expansion. He took initiatives to start six mission churches, and the addition of side aisles and a chancel to St John's, to accommodate the population increase. 

His name appears near the end of the long list. He can't have been all that long in post at the time the fund raising drive ended. The names of many of the City's great and good in the heyday of Victorian prosperity and expansion are recorded on those donation plaques, so many lives intersecting in a major community humanitarian project. A veritable Victorian Who's Who of Cardiff.

Fortunately there was no delay in Clare's appointment, and by half past ten she was dropping me off in Canton to walk home while she went to her weekly study group. I went home and did some writing until she returned for lunch.

During my afternoon walk along the Taff, I came across two men with cameras near Blackweir Bridge, one of them in a wheelchair. Birdwatchers. In the grassy riverbed patch below the path, among the masses of gulls were an egret and the older heron. We chatted, naturally, and they told me they'd seen and snapped the older and younger heron together. And a Kingfisher, in perfect lighting condition for good photos, on the willow at the water's edge. I saw some of their photos and was pleased for them. Now I know the Kingfisher is a visitor to this spot, I'll keep a keen eye out in future, hoping for a lucky sighting with a camera in hand.

Then, a lady came up the path, declaring her pleasure in seeing a heron further downstream. It was probably the young bird of the pair. I pointed out the egret and the heron, and shared the delight of the moment. It's gratifying that so many people take pleasure in this surprising wildlife sanctuary, so close to the city centre.