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Care homes are not all dreary TV dungeons that smell of wee Care homes are not all dreary TV dungeons that smell of wee
(3 days later)
Who fancies going into a care home? Nobody I know. My mother didn't. We looked at quite a few, but they weren't up to much and had the usual faults: residents stuck in dismal rows of armchairs, telly on, dreary atmosphere, terrible food, and often that tell-tale smell of wee. So my mother moved in with us.Who fancies going into a care home? Nobody I know. My mother didn't. We looked at quite a few, but they weren't up to much and had the usual faults: residents stuck in dismal rows of armchairs, telly on, dreary atmosphere, terrible food, and often that tell-tale smell of wee. So my mother moved in with us.
"Why spend £500 a week to be miserable," she asked, "when I can be miserable here for free?" Why indeed? She did spend the odd couple of weeks in three different care homes while I went on holiday. They were relatively swanky and fragrant, but still not up to much, and they cost an arm and a leg. My mother was bored to death and busting to get out by the time I got home. So, from personal experience, and from the experiences of other friends and relatives, I have learned to dread ending up, and slowly pegging out, in one of these establishments."Why spend £500 a week to be miserable," she asked, "when I can be miserable here for free?" Why indeed? She did spend the odd couple of weeks in three different care homes while I went on holiday. They were relatively swanky and fragrant, but still not up to much, and they cost an arm and a leg. My mother was bored to death and busting to get out by the time I got home. So, from personal experience, and from the experiences of other friends and relatives, I have learned to dread ending up, and slowly pegging out, in one of these establishments.
I've heard the odd positive story about good care homes – one up in Fife, another in Hove, a few in London – but I've never seen one, so I've come to Hayling Island in Hampshire to visit St Leonard's rest home, which has just been voted the best care home in the UK.I've heard the odd positive story about good care homes – one up in Fife, another in Hove, a few in London – but I've never seen one, so I've come to Hayling Island in Hampshire to visit St Leonard's rest home, which has just been voted the best care home in the UK.
It doesn't look very grand from the outside. It's not purpose-built and it's small – just two semi-detached houses on a quiet street – but inside it's sunny, bright, clean and, best of all, lively. There isn't the slightest hint of gloom, death or wee. It's about 11.45am when I arrive, and the beginning of lunchtime. Yes, some elderly ladies are sitting in armchairs watching Dad's Army, but not for long, because there's so much else going on – carers in and out, chatting, lunches beginning to arrive, and then in comes Frank Bartlett, who runs this care home with his wife, Mary. He's a big, tall, cheery fellow, but straight away he goes down on his knees in front of the ladies in their chairs, so that his face is on a level with theirs, he puts a hand on each arm of their chair, he pays them real, individual attention. "How are you, my lovely? I'm going to take a picture of you and send it to [your daughter]. She's in Katmandhu, isn't she?" "It's the bottom [new teeth] ones that are troubling you, isn't it? The top ones are fine." He gives the odd one a kiss, and looks as if he is genuinely fond of them. It doesn't look very grand from the outside. It's not purpose-built and it's small – just two semi-detached houses on a quiet street – but inside it's sunny, bright, clean and, best of all, lively. There isn't the slightest hint of gloom, death or wee. It's about 11.45am when I arrive, and the beginning of lunchtime. Yes, some elderly ladies are sitting in armchairs watching Dad's Army, but not for long, because there's so much else going on – care workers in and out, chatting, lunches beginning to arrive, and then in comes Frank Bartlett, who runs this care home with his wife, Mary. He's a big, tall, cheery fellow, but straight away he goes down on his knees in front of the ladies in their chairs, so that his face is on a level with theirs, he puts a hand on each arm of their chair, he pays them real, individual attention. "How are you, my lovely? I'm going to take a picture of you and send it to [your daughter]. She's in Katmandhu, isn't she?" "It's the bottom [new teeth] ones that are troubling you, isn't it? The top ones are fine." He gives the odd one a kiss, and looks as if he is genuinely fond of them.
That's the unusual thing about this place – all the staff seem to like elderly people. "Of course we do," says Mary Bartlett. "Lots of people don't," I say, embittered by the heartless treatment I've come across and moaned about for decades. Mary is shocked. Here they really do love and respect old people. They give them choice, frequently asking them what they would like. "Do you mind if I turn the telly off? Would you mind speaking to this lady [me]? Would you like gravy? Can you pour it yourself, shall I pour it/cut that up for you? Would you like a drink, Marian? Cranberry, tea, coffee?"That's the unusual thing about this place – all the staff seem to like elderly people. "Of course we do," says Mary Bartlett. "Lots of people don't," I say, embittered by the heartless treatment I've come across and moaned about for decades. Mary is shocked. Here they really do love and respect old people. They give them choice, frequently asking them what they would like. "Do you mind if I turn the telly off? Would you mind speaking to this lady [me]? Would you like gravy? Can you pour it yourself, shall I pour it/cut that up for you? Would you like a drink, Marian? Cranberry, tea, coffee?"
"Gin," says Marianne. Laughs all round. Sadly, she can't have any. "We have to be careful with the medication.""Gin," says Marianne. Laughs all round. Sadly, she can't have any. "We have to be careful with the medication."
Nothing is regimented here. Lunch is where anyone wants it – in their chair, their own room, at the table, in the sun lounge. Now or later. It spreads over two hours, so that everyone can be individually helped. There's absolutely no danger of malnutrition or dehydration here, as there all too often is in geriatric wards and care homes. "All staff are trained, so they notice if somebody's not quite right. We've never had anyone leave here with a UTI [urinary tract infection]," says Frank, justifiably proud of this record. "So far," says Mary. "I don't want to sound complacent."Nothing is regimented here. Lunch is where anyone wants it – in their chair, their own room, at the table, in the sun lounge. Now or later. It spreads over two hours, so that everyone can be individually helped. There's absolutely no danger of malnutrition or dehydration here, as there all too often is in geriatric wards and care homes. "All staff are trained, so they notice if somebody's not quite right. We've never had anyone leave here with a UTI [urinary tract infection]," says Frank, justifiably proud of this record. "So far," says Mary. "I don't want to sound complacent."
Gilly Seymour, a carer, is spoon-feeding a resident – the first to have lunch – in her chair. "Eat your dinner while it's nice and warm." She could be feeding her own mother. But it's not easy, says Gilly. This lady has dementia. "One minute she's happy, then I need to take her to the bathroom and she's very angry. People say they're like children, but they're not. They're adults who are ill, and you have to respect them as adults. We see the changes, how they deteriorate – it's a very cruel world." Gilly Seymour, a care worker, is spoon-feeding a resident – the first to have lunch – in her chair. "Eat your dinner while it's nice and warm." She could be feeding her own mother. But it's not easy, says Gilly. This lady has dementia. "One minute she's happy, then I need to take her to the bathroom and she's very angry. People say they're like children, but they're not. They're adults who are ill, and you have to respect them as adults. We see the changes, how they deteriorate – it's a very cruel world."
Most residents have dementia, but Marian Thompson and Dorothy MacDougall do not. So they eat at the table together and like a chat. Another huge plus: lunch is cooked here. It's nothing like the typical dried-up quiche and chicken legs, tinned soup or pre-cooked/chilled slop that my mother encountered in care homes. This is a tasty meat pie, mashed potatoes, lots of freshly cooked veg and gravy, apple pie and cream, or fruit. I know, because I ate it.Most residents have dementia, but Marian Thompson and Dorothy MacDougall do not. So they eat at the table together and like a chat. Another huge plus: lunch is cooked here. It's nothing like the typical dried-up quiche and chicken legs, tinned soup or pre-cooked/chilled slop that my mother encountered in care homes. This is a tasty meat pie, mashed potatoes, lots of freshly cooked veg and gravy, apple pie and cream, or fruit. I know, because I ate it.
"They're very kind here," says Marian. "I've been here for six years and I've loved every minute of it." That is some recommendation, but perhaps it is part of why this place works so well. Most residents and all staff have been here for years. The residents know and trust the staff, who in turn form a bond with the residents. They know their little foibles, have watched a dementia develop, learned how to cope with it and adapt to changing needs. They know everyone's background, all about their lives."They're very kind here," says Marian. "I've been here for six years and I've loved every minute of it." That is some recommendation, but perhaps it is part of why this place works so well. Most residents and all staff have been here for years. The residents know and trust the staff, who in turn form a bond with the residents. They know their little foibles, have watched a dementia develop, learned how to cope with it and adapt to changing needs. They know everyone's background, all about their lives.
"Rose was secretary to the inspector of taxes," Frank tells me. "Her husband had a boat and a plane, she was a wireless operator in the army, she loved Latin American dancing, painting (there are two of her paintings on the wall), flower arranging." Just what my own mother used to love."Rose was secretary to the inspector of taxes," Frank tells me. "Her husband had a boat and a plane, she was a wireless operator in the army, she loved Latin American dancing, painting (there are two of her paintings on the wall), flower arranging." Just what my own mother used to love.
"This lady was a priest's housekeeper," he continues. "Reginald was a lift engineer. We have 15 people here. That's a thousand years of history.""This lady was a priest's housekeeper," he continues. "Reginald was a lift engineer. We have 15 people here. That's a thousand years of history."
There's a downside to bonding. Staff must watch dementia take over, and the slow deterioration of people who they have grown fond of, or perhaps to love. "Some of our older residents used to go out and shop for themselves," says Mary. Now they can't. "Until four years ago we were able to take some of them for walks on the beach with the dog." She and Frank had an Irish wolfhound. He was the right height for stroking. Now there's just the resident cat. They used to take residents to the doctor regularly, but now the doctors often have to come here. They have a very good relationship with local GPs and community psychiatric nurses, who they need increasingly as the dementia sets in. And in the end, "it's very traumatic when they pass. Girls get very upset."There's a downside to bonding. Staff must watch dementia take over, and the slow deterioration of people who they have grown fond of, or perhaps to love. "Some of our older residents used to go out and shop for themselves," says Mary. Now they can't. "Until four years ago we were able to take some of them for walks on the beach with the dog." She and Frank had an Irish wolfhound. He was the right height for stroking. Now there's just the resident cat. They used to take residents to the doctor regularly, but now the doctors often have to come here. They have a very good relationship with local GPs and community psychiatric nurses, who they need increasingly as the dementia sets in. And in the end, "it's very traumatic when they pass. Girls get very upset."
This seems to be an emotionally and physically demanding job. During the afternoon, I don't see a single member of staff rest for a second. They're on the go non-stop: feeding, helping, chatting, up and down stairs, and Frank has already driven one resident, Reginald Sandling, to a regular heart check, come back and taken Marian to a specialist clinic to have the dressings changed on her legs, because her skin is very fragile. Nor have I seen the tiniest hint of impatience or bad temper.This seems to be an emotionally and physically demanding job. During the afternoon, I don't see a single member of staff rest for a second. They're on the go non-stop: feeding, helping, chatting, up and down stairs, and Frank has already driven one resident, Reginald Sandling, to a regular heart check, come back and taken Marian to a specialist clinic to have the dressings changed on her legs, because her skin is very fragile. Nor have I seen the tiniest hint of impatience or bad temper.
Maz Ecclestone, a carer who's worked here for two years – a comparatively short time – particularly loves "the old gentlemen. I don't have a grandfather and my father died 20 years ago." There are only two gentlemen here, and both are new arrivals. Charles "Wag" Nuth likes to stay in his room. His wife died only a fortnight ago, and he fell over in his caravan and lay there for six hours until his daughter found him. He went into hospital, and now here he is. He doesn't want to watch telly or read. "I like to sit quietly. You can reminisce in your mind. You only need press the bell, they come running. Nothing's too much trouble." His daughter is visiting. Him being here "has taken a great weight off my mind. I have a friend who works here, and she always told me how lovely it was," she says. Maz Ecclestone, a care worker who's worked here for two years – a comparatively short time – particularly loves "the old gentlemen. I don't have a grandfather and my father died 20 years ago." There are only two gentlemen here, and both are new arrivals. Charles "Wag" Nuth likes to stay in his room. His wife died only a fortnight ago, and he fell over in his caravan and lay there for six hours until his daughter found him. He went into hospital, and now here he is. He doesn't want to watch telly or read. "I like to sit quietly. You can reminisce in your mind. You only need press the bell, they come running. Nothing's too much trouble." His daughter is visiting. Him being here "has taken a great weight off my mind. I have a friend who works here, and she always told me how lovely it was," she says.
Downstairs, Reg is sitting by the open door of the sun lounge. It's a lovely warm afternoon. He's only been here a week and didn't want to come. "I didn't want to give up my independence, but it's a lovely place, people are marvellous, it feels safe, the food's better here. I used to have it delivered at home, but it was all in cartons. Food's one of the main reasons I'm here. I couldn't carry on. I'm 85. I don't feel it in my mind – I feel 20 or 30, but it's scary living at home. Even if a light bulb goes, you can't mend it, and I was a lift engineer. I can't lift my head up. It's bent over. Here, they've always got a pat on the back, a kiss on the cheek for you."Downstairs, Reg is sitting by the open door of the sun lounge. It's a lovely warm afternoon. He's only been here a week and didn't want to come. "I didn't want to give up my independence, but it's a lovely place, people are marvellous, it feels safe, the food's better here. I used to have it delivered at home, but it was all in cartons. Food's one of the main reasons I'm here. I couldn't carry on. I'm 85. I don't feel it in my mind – I feel 20 or 30, but it's scary living at home. Even if a light bulb goes, you can't mend it, and I was a lift engineer. I can't lift my head up. It's bent over. Here, they've always got a pat on the back, a kiss on the cheek for you."
Why and how do they do it? They clearly don't earn a fortune, their fees are modest – how have they made it work? "It's because we're small. It's a house home, not purpose-built. We specialise in dementia, because it just happened that way. We manage it ourselves, it's our home. I'm the laughing one, Mary's the authoritarian," Frank says. Mary agrees: "We can be having a bad time, then he comes in and everybody's laughing." They complement each other. Mary is also a trained nurse and has worked in A&E and neurological wards, but decided she wanted a change. Frank was scientific officer in a medical/microbiology laboratory. So they're hapily married, work well together, are suitably qualified, dedicated, love their work and are not greedy. There can't be many partnerships like this.Why and how do they do it? They clearly don't earn a fortune, their fees are modest – how have they made it work? "It's because we're small. It's a house home, not purpose-built. We specialise in dementia, because it just happened that way. We manage it ourselves, it's our home. I'm the laughing one, Mary's the authoritarian," Frank says. Mary agrees: "We can be having a bad time, then he comes in and everybody's laughing." They complement each other. Mary is also a trained nurse and has worked in A&E and neurological wards, but decided she wanted a change. Frank was scientific officer in a medical/microbiology laboratory. So they're hapily married, work well together, are suitably qualified, dedicated, love their work and are not greedy. There can't be many partnerships like this.
Care is more important to them than profit. "I suppose we could make it more profitable – pay minimum wage, do cheaper food. Charge for all bits and pieces. Money-grubbing," says Frank. But they don't charge for every little item. Frank buys Marian her weekly copy of Take a Break. And he's repaid by her kindness. "She looks through it and notes down, in the neatest and most precise handwriting, a list of all the programmes she thinks one of the members of staff would like to watch, and gives her the list."Care is more important to them than profit. "I suppose we could make it more profitable – pay minimum wage, do cheaper food. Charge for all bits and pieces. Money-grubbing," says Frank. But they don't charge for every little item. Frank buys Marian her weekly copy of Take a Break. And he's repaid by her kindness. "She looks through it and notes down, in the neatest and most precise handwriting, a list of all the programmes she thinks one of the members of staff would like to watch, and gives her the list."
I can't imagine that there are many set-ups like this around. Do the Bartletts think their home is unique? Why do other care homes fail, where they have succeeded? Mary is very diplomatic, or probably just truthful, when she says: "I don't know about other places. There are a lot of good ones. They just don't make the papers. I think small is great – and a permanent staff. When I see what the needs of 15 people are like, I wouldn't like to be a manager in a large home. And one bad staff member could sink the ship. It only takes one. It's only when you're hands-on that you realise the residents are more than their basic needs. Our staff are not afraid to question anything. They chip in with ideas. The staff look after us. If I'm looking tired, they say, 'Mary, have a day off.' I love it."I can't imagine that there are many set-ups like this around. Do the Bartletts think their home is unique? Why do other care homes fail, where they have succeeded? Mary is very diplomatic, or probably just truthful, when she says: "I don't know about other places. There are a lot of good ones. They just don't make the papers. I think small is great – and a permanent staff. When I see what the needs of 15 people are like, I wouldn't like to be a manager in a large home. And one bad staff member could sink the ship. It only takes one. It's only when you're hands-on that you realise the residents are more than their basic needs. Our staff are not afraid to question anything. They chip in with ideas. The staff look after us. If I'm looking tired, they say, 'Mary, have a day off.' I love it."
I hope Mary's right, but according to Judy Downey of the Relatives and Residents Association, which helps people to search for a suitable home, "about 30% of care homes are pretty good, quite a lot are OK, and 20% are not good at all, but that's a rough and unscientific estimate. However, it beggars belief that to work with such vulnerable people, there are no adequately rigorous qualifications, and no clear career structure."I hope Mary's right, but according to Judy Downey of the Relatives and Residents Association, which helps people to search for a suitable home, "about 30% of care homes are pretty good, quite a lot are OK, and 20% are not good at all, but that's a rough and unscientific estimate. However, it beggars belief that to work with such vulnerable people, there are no adequately rigorous qualifications, and no clear career structure."
I don't like to sound soppy, but I couldn't help but feel that no one was pretending at Leonard's. They were genuinely happy to live and work there. So, on this occasion, I will do as I was told by Frank. "Tell people not to be frightened of going into a care home," he said. In a few years I may well be booking in.I don't like to sound soppy, but I couldn't help but feel that no one was pretending at Leonard's. They were genuinely happy to live and work there. So, on this occasion, I will do as I was told by Frank. "Tell people not to be frightened of going into a care home," he said. In a few years I may well be booking in.
• This article was amended on 15 April 2014. An earlier version referred to care workers as carers.