be able to hear anything said to him, so I would qualify.
Then we had a quiz on applications of the words Scot, Scotch, Scottish, which we had to try and answer by lip-speaking with a partner. I had Gladys as a partner again. I think she tries to sit next to me because she knows I’m well-educated and she’s very competitive - so keen to be the first to complete the quiz that she often forgot to speak to me without voice. The clues were pretty easy: An egg encased in sausage meat . . . A famous explorer . . . A game played
by children . . . One that foxed everybody was A customary tax. I pretended I didn’t know the answer: ‘a scot’. Nothing to do with Scotland of course - it’s Old English, now obsolete, though it survives in the expression ‘scot-free’.
After the tea break we had the talk about hearing dogs from Trevor, a deaf man who has one. He brought it with him, a winning Jack Russell called Patch who sat at his feet and seemed to follow the talk, which it had no doubt heard many times, since Trevor goes around the country addressing groups like ours on behalf of the organisation which trains these animals. It costs £5,000 to train a dog because it takes a long time and a lot of patience. They learn to recognise and distinguish the sounds of an owner’s alarm clock, cooker timer, telephone, smoke alarm and fire alarm. On hearing a sound they identify its source, then attract the owner’s attention by pawing them and lead them to it. If it’s the smoke alarm or the fire alarm they paw and then drop to the floor, signalling danger. Hearing dogs seldom bark for obvious reasons, though Trevor has been told Patch sometimes barks in his sleep. He carries a passport and ID for Patch stating that the dog is legally allowed into restaurants and food stores, though he says he has been refused entry on occasion. Would a shop or a restaurant refuse a blind person’s guide dog? I doubt it.
Trevor implied that he is single, and on reflection, if you had a spouse or live-in partner you wouldn’t really need a hearing dog. Obviously the companionship of Patch is as important to him as its practical assistance. It is pleasant to think of this network of clever dogs and dedicated trainers and grateful owners, from which all parties both take and give something valuable, quietly accomplishing its mission, day after day, year after year, unknown to the majority of the population.
15th January. I haven’t had time to keep up this journal for the past week - I’ve been too busy preparing for my Polish trip, which begins the day after tomorrow.When I looked over my unpublished papers and lectures none of them looked entirely satisfactory as they stood, so I have spent a lot of time revising three of them and bringing them up to date.
Yesterday there was worrying news about Anne. She’s had some bleeding, so they’ve taken her into the maternity hospital for observation and rest. I spoke to her on the phone, and she said it was just a precautionary measure. There’s nothing wrong with the baby, but they want to avoid a premature birth. Still, one can’t help worrying.
I left it late to tell Dad about my trip - deliberately, because I knew it would upset him, and the less time he has to brood on it the better. ‘Poland? Poland? What in Gawd’s name d’you want to go there for? All the Poles are desperate to come over here, from what I read in my paper. I never heard anything good about Poland. Anyway, I thought you’d given up that lark.’ I explained the circumstances and said, with more enthusiasm than I really feel at present, that I was looking forward to the trip. ‘Well, rather you than me, mate,’ he said. ‘How are you getting there - flying? Not on a Polish plane I hope.’ ‘No, British Airways,’ I said, though in fact I shall be coming back from Cracow by LOT. I’m flying from Heathrow on an early morning flight, and have booked into an airport hotel for the night before, so I will go down to London tomorrow, and make a detour to visit Dad on my way. This seemed to placate him.
18
18th February. I haven’t written anything here for the past four weeks, because I’ve been