able to hear anything. At cross purposes in every conversational exchange. In the home a silent, withdrawn, unresponsive companion at the best of times; a surly, self-pitying misery at the worst. A damper on every party, a dud at every dinner table. A grandfather unable to communicate with his growing grandchildren, in the presence of whose blank looks and idiotic misunderstandings they must strive to stifle their giggles. It’s not a life worth living, I would tell Winifred - My deafness is a drag on you and the rest of the family, and an inescapable, irremediable grief to me. So I’m going to put an end to it. Please don’t feel bad about it, my darling, it’s not your fault, and you mustn’t blame yourself; no one could have been more kind and understanding. But everyone’s patience has its limits, and I have reached mine. But as I drafted the note its insincerity showed in every word, even in punctuation marks (did anyone ever use a semi-colon in a suicide note?). I don’t really believe Fred would show such saintly forbearance as it implied, nor would I expect her to. And depressing as the state I had conjured up for myself might be, it wouldn’t be utterly unbearable. There would still be some pleasures left, and no pain. I could have written a convincing note based on the premise of a painful terminal illness, but just thinking of it stirred up distressing memories of Maisie. I abandoned the exercise.
Perhaps it’s true that nobody ever committed suicide on account of deafness. Beethoven came pretty close, but, as Alex said, he didn’t. You could say that the Heiligenstadt Testament was instead of a suicide note, designed to be found after he died by natural causes, but having just the same motives as a suicide note: to reveal the depth of his despair to his family and friends, to explain why he seemed outwardly such a grouchy unsociable bastard, and make them feel bad for not realising how wretched he had been. Maybe that’s why I started writing this journal; maybe that’s what it is, a testament. The Rectory Road Testament.
9th December. Dad phoned this morning, cock-a-hoop because he has won three £50 prizes in Premium Bonds, received this morning, only two weeks after sending off his letter of complaint about not winning anything for six months. ‘You see? I told you!’ he crowed.
‘Dad,’ I said, ‘you don’t seriously think your letter made them give you a prize?’
‘Three prizes! ’Course it did! I got ’em rattled.They said to themselves, this Harry Bates is no fool. He’s going to cause trouble if we’re not careful. Let’s bung him a few quid and keep him quiet.’
I was about to argue that it was just a coincidence, but then I thought: why deprive him of his moment of triumph? ‘Well, congratulations, Dad. You did well.’
‘I did, didn’t I? No thanks to you - you didn’t want me to write that letter, remember.’
‘I must admit I didn’t expect it would have such a magical effect,’ I said. ‘But I’m not sure it will work again.’
‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we? Maybe somebody up there in Blackpool will make it his business to keep me happy in future, so I don’t have to send them another letter.’
‘Well, I hope so, Dad,’ I said. ‘What are you going to spend the prize money on?’
‘What?’ I repeated the question. ‘Oh, well, I don’t know,’ he said, the euphoria quickly leaking away from his voice. ‘I don’t know that I want to spend it on anything. I’ll put it in the bank for a rainy day.’
‘Well, I won’t suggest you get a new mattress -’
‘Good.’
My reason was that if he moved into a care home in the near future a bed would probably be provided, or we might seize the opportunity to buy him a new one, but I didn’t think it would be politic to explain this.To change the subject, I told him I had started going to a lip-reading class.
‘A what class?’
After several repetitions and explanations of the term I got him to understand.
‘Oh. Well, I suppose that might be useful to someone with your problem, son,’ he said.
12th December. A disturbing encounter with Colin Butterworth in the University today. I had been in the Library, browsing in the periodical room, and he was ascending the steps of the building as I came out. He was actually bounding up them - he always gives the impression of being in a