emma and i - Sheila Hocken

by Emma

  to meet Don, and at the same time I thought, if it were not for

  Emma, none of this would be possible.

  Don had said he would pick us up at a point on the

  Mansfield Road, for a reason which brought the only cloud

  of the evening, and the only cloud surrounding our whole

  relationship. Don was still married and it was difficult to

  choose a time and place to meet. Friends had already told me

  that he and his wife no longer got on together, that the

  marriage did not work, and, in the way friends have of giving

  gratuitous advice, said I was foolish to become involved with

  a married man. Yet they had also told me that he was not the

  kind of man who would have casual affairs, so I knew that in

  order to ask me out, he must have thought seriously about the

  implications, and (this was a fond hope as much as a conclusion

  that I hardly dared think about) he must also have

  thought a great deal of me. For my part, I had no wish to

  encourage anyone to leave his wife. I felt strongly about this,

  and it was only because of what I learned about Don and the

  state of his marriage from my ffiends that my conscience was

  satisfied.

  He took me that first evening to a little pub called The

  Three Wheatsheaves on the outskirts of Nottingham, near the

  university. I can remember few of the details, except it all

  seemed magical. The pub had a cosy, welcoming smell and

  DON

  79

  atmosphere. Emma curled up under the table as we talked,

  and at one point Don tentatively took my hand. He was

  fifteen years older than I, and had this tremendous gift of

  making me, at twenty-one, feel I was the one person of

  importance in the entire universe. It seemed that we had

  been in the pub only a few minutes (although we must have

  been there for almost two hours) before I heard the landlord

  calling 'Time'. He had an extraordinarily deep voice, and

  sounded very jolly. In fact, whenever we went to his pub

  after that we never said, 'Let's go the The Three Wheatsheaves.'

  We always called it The Gruff Man's Voice, and it

  became our private name for the very special place where we

  had our first evening together.

  In the days that followed, I knew I was in love with Don.

  But did he love me? Somehow I thought it slightly unfair of

  me to expect such a thing. Yet Don never gave a hint that my

  being unable to see was of any importance. His complete

  acceptance, in fact, provided my greatest encouragement to

  get on and be like everyone else, and to cover the frustrations

  of being blind. Therefore when someone said to me, 'It must

  be nice for you going out with Don. He must be a great help

  to you,' I used to become rather irritated. I hated the idea

  that a sighted person was a sort of spare limb to do things for

  me. Whatever else happened, I wanted to keep my

  independence.

  But the doubts remained. The notion of a sighted person

  and particularly a handsome one, being in love with me was

  so far from what I had ever expected that it made me feel my

  ~vhole world had been turned on its side. The logic seemed

  inescapable. Don could see. I was blind. Therefore he could

  not possibly be in love with me. At the same time I was

  certain, yet sceptical, of my own love for him. Love was somethin,

  cy I had read about in braille paperbacks, and invariably

  concerned sighted people. How could it happen to me?

  One evening Don rang me and said that the car had broken

  down, and he would not be able to meet me. I hardly heard

  him say, 'I've rung the garage, and they're coming along, and

  I

  8o

  I'll ring you if they can put it right.' All I thought was: this is

  it. He's decided he doesn't want to see me any more. This is

  the excuse; he doesn't want to be involved with someone who's

  blind.

  'Yes,' I said, 'all right.' I put the phone down and paced

  up and down the flat, willing myself not to cry. Emma came

  up to me when at last I made some coffee and sat down. She

  rested her nose on my knee. We sat like that for hours. She

  understands, I thought.

  The phone rang, and my heart turned over. It was Don

  again. 'I'm sorry, Sheila, they've had a look at it, and the

  alternator's gone; they can't get a new one till tomorrow. I

  am sorry . . . ' It was just as well that Anita happened to be

  away. I did not want to talk to anyone. I know I did not go to

  bed. I simply sat in a waking nightmare.

  The next day I went about my work like an automaton,

  until just after ten o'clock I took an incoming call and heard

  the familiar voice. Don. As if nothing had happened, he said

  the car had been fixed, and what about meeting that evening

  instead? How could he have known what I had been through,

  or that my anxieties, rooted and fostered by my blindness, were

  all too quick to flourish? From then on I never doubted how

  much I loved Don. About a week later we were sitting in Don's

  car with the rain pouring down outside-somehow that made

  us feel more together. Don suddenly turned to me and said,

  'It won't always be like this, you know.'

  I didn't know what to say. I think I made some noncommittal

  remark, yet knew the situation was changing,

  melting into something else.

  Don went on, 'Will you wait till I'm free?'

  I felt like opening the car door there and then, getting out

  and doing a dance with Emma on the pavement despite the

  pouring, freezing, December rain.

  Would I wait? Of course I would!

  EMMA AND I

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  INDEPENDENCE

  S 0 MY LIFE became centred around Don: snatching meetings

  whenever possible and experiencing a terrible emptiness

  whenever we were apart. At about this time I began to feel

  that my working life was in need of a change. Industrial

  Pumps had been taken over by another firm, and although

  I was perfectly able to carry on working there, the long

  journey back and forth to work was beginning to pall. It

  took Emma and me the best part of an hour. So when new

  management moved in, I decided to start looking for another

  job. If I had known then what frustration and misery this

  would entail, I suppose I might never have taken the decision.

  As it was it took me months to find somewhere else to work.

  Before then I had never fully realized how terribly handicapped

  a blind man or woman is in the world, and the main

  difficulty, which began to become an obsession, was that

  others would not accept me. Don accepted me without

  question, so did Anita; yet their enlightened attitudes had

  possibly cushioned me against the indifference and outright

  rejection of so many of the rest of the human race.

  I had nearly eight years' experience of working a busy

  switchboard and was as efficient as the next telephonist. But

  despite this, I was not good enough, apparently, for most

  employers. I used to take the ivottingham Evening Pos
t home

  every night, and when Anita was back, she read down the

  I

  82 EMMA AND I

  'Sits Vac' column for me, while I made a note in braille of

  the numbers. When I rang the firms concerned the dialogue

  went along these lines:

  'I'm enquiring about the vacancy you've advertised for a

  telephonist.'

  'Ah yes, could you give us some details of your experience.

  I would then tell them about my job, and how I was used

  to working a PABX Number Two type switchboard.

  'Good, that sounds fine.'

  Then I would drop the bombshell: 'There's something else

  I must tell you. I'm a blind person, but that doesn't make any

  difference to my ability to operate the switchboard, and I

  have a guide-dog.'

  I needn't have bothered. I could almost hear the waning of

  interest over the phone, like a balloon deflating.

  'Ah yes, well thank you for calling. We'll keep you in mind,

  but we have had quite a few applicants already.'

  This, at least, was some attempt to cushion the blow. But

  from time to time, the reception was brutally insensitive:

  'Oh, I'm sorry, we couldn't possibly consider employing

  anyone who's blind. The office you'd have to work in is

  upstairs.'

  'But my dog and I go up and down stairs every day of our

  lives.'

  'I'm sorry, we couldn't possibly consider you. I'm afraid

  you'd be too much of a risk.'

  When I tried to argue the point with the boss of one firm,

  he actually put the phone down on me.

  Worst of all, perhaps, was the way that vacancies magically

  became filled as soon as I mentioned that I was blind. The

  utter dishonesty and hypocrisy made me want to scream.

  Eventually I decided that there was only one way round the

  problem. If I was to be considered ineligiblejust because I was

  blind, I simply would not mention the fact. I would give my

  qualifications and if asked to go for an interview, confront my

  prospective employers. It was desperation, but I had nothing

  to lose.

  INDEPENDENCE

  83

  So that is what I did. As a result, I had two firms interested

  immediately, and both wanted to interview me on the same

  day. At the first firm I went to ' some lace manufacturers, of

  which there are several in Nottingham, dating from the days

  the Huguenots settled there, I sensed that they were surprised

  when I turned up with a guide-dog. But Emma settled down at

  once and curled up beside me as I sat opposite the man asking

  the questions. Everything went offwithout a hitch. The office

  manager was then called in, and took me down to where the

  switchboard was. I felt it to see if it was the same type that I

  was used to, and it was. 'But,' he said, 'how do you operate it ?

  It's not adapted for a blind person.' So I explained about the

  Post Office converting them free, and the job was offered to

  me on the spot.

  It was a marvellous feeling to be able to go to the second

  interview knowing that whatever happened I would be

  taking a new job. The next vacancy was at Whytecliffe's, a

  big garage not far from the middle of Nottingham. Once

  again they were surprised at Emma, but having been presented

  on their doorstep with the prospect of a blind employee,

  they made no bones about going through the usual procedure.

  Emma again curled up quietly, this time under my chair. But

  although she just lay there, she played an important part in

  the interview. The Personnel Manager who asked me the

  questions was, it turned out, a breeder of Springer spaniels.

  His enquiries concerned Emma almost as much as my

  expertise with a switchboard, and I quickly formed the

  impression that he had become besotted at first sight with the

  chocolate-coloured creature under my chair. When I told him

  all the incredible things that Emma did for me, it was, I am

  sure, a deciding factor. I was offered the job, and I took it in

  preference to the other partly because the money was better,

  and also because Whytecliffe's was only a fifteen minute walk

  from the flat.

  I started as soon as I had worked out my notice at Industrial

  Pumps, during which time the Post Office engineers had been

  into Whytecliffe's Garage and converted the switchboard

  84

  EMMA AND I

  a praiseworthy service for which the Post Office should get

  full credit. The other girls in the office were surprised when I

  arrived on the first morning with a big Labrador. Most of them

  realized that Emma was a guide-dog, but one girl came up to

  me and said, 'How is it you can bring your dog to work? It's

  not fair. I'd like to bring mine.' She was taken aback when I

  explained why Emma was there.

  One or two of the girls began to doubt that I was really

  blind at all. They had looked out of the office windows and

  watched Emma and me coming down the street, crossing the

  zebra crossing, and coming straight to the door of the office,

  and could not believe that it was Emma who was responsible.

  In addition, Emma was so good at taking me anywhere I

  wanted to go inside the office, that I soon learned how to get

  about on my own. Despite the fact that they had seen me

  operating the switchboard by touch, taking messages in

  braille, and feeling my notebook for numbers, they began to

  think there was some catch. They thought that somehowfor

  what reason I was supposed to be doing it I have never

  fathomed-I was perpetrating an enormous hoax.

  So they decided they would settle the matter. I worked at

  the top end of a long office that had desks on either side, and

  a narrow gangway in between. At the opposite end was the

  canteen. After Emma had taken me there for the first few

  days at tea break, I didn't bother to put her on harness for

  this little walk; I knew the direction and feel of the way well

  enough myself: straight down the passageway between the

  desks, turn right, through the door into the canteen. Emma

  came too, but she always raced well ahead of me, because she

  knew there would be a bowl of milk waiting for her in the

  canteen.

  What happened on the morning the girls decided to find

  out about my blindness may sound mean, even cruel; it was

  certainly thoughtless, but I am sure it arose from quite genuine,

  though stupid, suspicions. What they did was to leave the

  chairs and other objects in my way. So when the moment came

  for morning tea, Emma charged off in front of me, and I

  INDEPENDENCE

  85

  immediately crashed from obstacle to obstacle, finally knocking

  over and smashing a pair of steps. The silence after these

  had gone down, and I had let off steam, was a silence of deep

  embarrassment. One girl later came and said she was sorry,

  but they really did think I could see. My own reaction, once

  I had got over the whole business, was of even greater pride in

  Emma, that she could convince them that I was not blind at
/>
  all.

  Living as we did in Peel Street, and working at Whytecliffe'

  s, Emma became very familiar with the centre of

  Nottingham. She learned the names of all the shops and bus

  stations I used. We did a lot of shopping at the big Co-op in

  Parliament Street. I only had to put her harness on, say

  'Find the Co-op, Emma', and off we would go, her tail

  wagging furiously. She adored shopping. One of the reasons

  she liked it so much was because she made the rules. Rule

  One was that we could go shopping anywhere we liked,

  anywhere at all, but the first shop visited had to be a pet

  shop. Wherever we went, the route had to be planned to take

  in one of these vital stores. We would go in, buy bone-shaped

  biscuits, chews, vitamin chocolate drops, or a rubber toy, and

  after that the rest of the operation could proceed. However, on

  the way to the Co-op we had to pass a second pet shop,

  although 'pass' is not strictly accurate. We would reach it,

  Emma would stop, and with her front paws on the step,

  imply: 'Well, here we are at another pet shop, just in case

  you've forgotten anything at the usual one.' I would say,

  'No, no, come on Emma, find the Co-op.' And she was very

  good-natured in accepting that her suggestion had been

  turned down.

  Rule Two about shopping was that we should never, what

  ever else was happening, and no matter how many of them

  lay along the route, miss an opportunity of visiting a butcher's

  shop. It was a terrible weakness of Emma's, and we became

  known in every butcher's within a five-mile radius of the

  middle of Nottingham. We would be going along, and I

  might, as well as concentrating on Emma, be thinking what

  86 EMMA AND I INDEPENDENCE 87

  Anita and I were going to have for supper, when suddenly,

  with no warning whatsoever, I would find myself in a shop

  with sawdust under my feet, and an unmistakable smell, and

  with no intention of buying so much as an ounce of mincemeat.

  Very embarrassing. But the butchers took it all in

  good part and got to know Emma so well that occasionally

  she got a bone for her initiative, and, of course, her good looks.