The wheelchair
experience
Yesterday
I had my first experience of spending some eight hours with a wheelchair user
in London – and what an experience it was indeed,
First,
we had to transfer the wheelchair from the boot of my friend’s car to the boot
of my other friend’s car. Right! This may well mystify you but stay with me. And
just to make it more interesting, the wheelchair was in pieces – wheels, foot
rests, body, cushion.
At
Hainault Station – the nearest Central Line station with lifts – we parked in a
nearby road. Nearby! About 300 wheelchair pushing yards away! Here we assembled
the wheelchair and the wheelchair user – Wheelchair Lady or WL for short – climbed
aboard, whilst WPL (Wheelchair Pusher Lady) started to – yes, you’ve guessed –
push.
At
the station we asked a kindly station man which platform the next train for London
would depart from – for you could go all the way up in the lift only to find
you have to come all the way down and all the way up again if you got it wrong.
Two lifts – and here I made my first (of many) mistakes for WPL told me off for
not holding the button down as we ascended.
Now
have you ever tried to push a wheelchair onto a Central Line train? If not, you
may not have appreciated that the floor of these trains is higher than the
platform. WPL knows all about such matters and I was told (firmly, but
politely) to keep out of the way as the manoeuvre was made without mishap – for
WL could well have found herself tipped unceremoniously down the gap between
the train and the platform – which, a lady told us as we approached every
station, you must mind or woe-betide you mate. And this lady told us this so
many times that I would have happily strangled her if only I could find out
where she working from.
Getting
out of the train was equally daunting, but WPL knew how to do this so I kept
out of the way for I did not want to be told off for not doing so – politely of
course. Mind you, some fellow passengers had to be asked to move their great lumbering
bodies elsewhere for they did not allow WL to go forwards and back until she
was safely stowed away with the brake on.
The
District Line trains were so much easier because the floors are level with the
platforms. Perhaps one day the men at Transport for London will equip Central Line
trains whose floors are likewise, but I am not holding my breath for those same
men spent £4.5M digging out lifts at Newbury Park in 2009 and a further £1.5M
filling them in when they ran out of money – but if they ran out of money where
did they find the £1.5m I ask myself?
Blackfriars
station was a dream. Modern. Clean. Lifts where you do not need to hold down
the button – although I did and was told off into the bargain, but again politely.
The
push to St. Paul’s Cathedral was mainly uphill and although I offered, WPL
insisted on doing the job herself, clearly believing that you needed a wheelchair
driving licence to do so and she had one but I did not. I arrived at Café Rouge
puffed but in a reasonable state of mind and so did WPL and WL as far as I
could tell.
I
should draw a discrete veil over what happened inside Café Rouge. Suffice to
say that a smart, good-looking, waiter had an afternoon he will long remember.
Mistaken by WL for being French, the young man told her that he hailed from Argentina
and from that moment on there were going-on between him and WL – with WPL lady
joining in fleetingly – the like of which I would doubt Café Rouge has seen or
is likely to see for some time to come – until WL returns when the young man is
on shift which she promised to do and he (to my amazement) encouraged her to
do!
After
a late lunch or early dinner, we trundled over the St. Paul’s, first viewing
the front steps and looking for the holes where the rails are place for The
Queen, who does not use them in any case, being a bit like WL in that both of
them are independent minded Ladies and the fact that there is a hand rail means
they would not use it just to show ‘em!
Round
to the side entrance where we rang a bell. A security guard opened a huge
wooden door to let us in to take the lift. But first our bags had to be
searched – by the men at the top of those steps, which would mean that I would
have to carry my haversack and two ladies’ handbags all the way there and back.
I must have looked distraught for the security man made a snap decision to do
the search himself. Wow!
Inside
the Cathedral we found that we Honoured Guests (yes, me too) were to sit below
the Dome with the VIPs and that WL had a notice affixed to the floor telling
her to park there.
The
Service to mark the 150th Anniversary of Barnardo’s was inspiring
but will have to wait for a description for another day as I am late setting
off for my weekly shop as it is a Thursday.
Suffice
– again – to say that the return journey was much the same and uneventful, except
for a young man who was badly drunk and used words that made me blush but did
not appear to have the same effect on WL or WPL, although I may be wrong for
the train was shuddering as Central Line trains do (TfL please note!).
I
would just mention that when transferring the wheelchair in pieces back into
the first car, WL spotted that a cushion was missing. It cost £40 I was told as
WL put an older one inside the boot. We searched and searched in the dark and
feared we might have to retrace our steps – until I fell over it resting
against the wheels of WL’s car!
I
had a stiff mug of cocoa after an amazing day with a wheelchair and so to bed.
