The Fog

The Fog

Ian slipped off his Celtic scarf and tossed it into the back seat of the car. He was still on a high from Tom Rogic’s last minute winner in the cup final just a couple of short hours before and he was dying to tell his old man all about it. He walked towards the front door of the unit his old fella called home these day, the Glasgow drizzle failing to wipe the smile from his face. He heard the familiar buzz of the door locking system opening, pushed and stepped inside out of the damp air. It was comforting to know his old man was secure here and unlikely to wander off. He signed the visitor book, smiling at the slightly stern lady who manned the desk, ‘How has he been today?’ She shook her head slightly, ‘asking for Agnes again, Mr Reid. He also got a bit aggressive this morning.’ Ian sighed slightly and walked along the bright, modern corridor towards his dad’s room. This past couple of years had been hard on the family and as in most families the burden fell mostly on one or two members. In the Reid family it was Ian and his sister Cathie who did most of the running. His brother Terry always had something on, always had an excuse.

He had noticed his old man’s behaviour changing in subtle ways over the past few years; forgetting to put on the oven when it was full of food, getting lost on short, familiar journeys. On one occasion he drove all the way to Edinburgh for no particular reason he could recall. He had increasing word finding difficulties and Ian found him looking for what he called his ‘hand clock’ one morning. His moods shifted quickly from calm to angry with no particular trigger they could see and he seemed confused and even depressed some days. When he was ripped off for hundreds of pounds by a con man on the phone, the family persuaded him to see his doctor. He missed the appointment so Ian made another and took him personally to make sure he got there. Doctor Black had been reassuring about what he called the ‘normal processes of ageing’ but quietly told Ian that he suspected it could be early onset Alzheimer’s disease but needed a specialist to confirm it.

The following weeks saw Ian and his father visiting a consultant and after a variety of scans, physical examinations, blood tests and discussions on his symptoms it was confirmed as Alzheimer’s. He remembered on particular day at the hospital when his old man had been asked to draw a clock face with all the numbers in the right place and showing 4 o’clock. He tried so hard but the numbers were jumbled and one was missing. Ian was stunned at the implications, his old man was just 59 but further tests confirmed the doctor’s suspicions. That was two years earlier and things had deteriorated to the point where he needed specialist care and had gone into the secure accommodation.

One thing he did enjoy was talking about football and if his short term memory was poor, his long term memory was a treasure trove of memories about his beloved Celtic. Ian entered the room and saw his old man feet up on the bed reading a book. He looked up and smiled, ‘Ian, son, great tae see ye. Sit doon, yer Ma will be back any minute.’ Ian sat pondering whether to remind his old man that his wife wouldn’t be back at all as she had passed away 3 years earlier. He let it go and said with a smile, ‘Did ye watch the cup final? That was some finish ay?’ His old man shook his head, ‘was that today? Who was playing?’ Ian continued, ‘Celtic beat Aberdeen. Rogic got the winner in the last minute.’  His old man looked confused, ‘I meant tae watch it but I must have forgot.’ Ian noticed a shadow cross his father’s face, he looked a little sad when he was reminded of his failing faculties.

Ian decided to stay on more comforting ground by talking about memories of things long past, ‘Tell me about your first cup final?’ he said with a cheerful smile. His old man put the book down and sat up on the bed, ‘Ah son that a great day. I was just a boy and your old Granda Paddy took me to see the sixty nine cup final. We got the Phil Cole bus in Coatbridge, the singing was grand. Scudded the Rangers four nothing…..’ As he continued his story Ian watched his animated face, happy again reliving days past. It was amazing he could talk about a match from almost half a century before but couldn’t tell you what he did yesterday. They spent a good hour reliving games and incidents from matches they had seen and the adventures they had shared following their team around Scotland.

Ian would tactfully experiment by asking his old man about more recent matches to see if he could recall them. ‘Mind we beat Barcelona? You were going mental?’ His old man smiled, ‘that the night Alan Thompson scored?’ Ian shook his head, ‘Naw Da, Tony Watt and Victor Wanyama.’ His old man thought for a moment, ‘Don’t mind that, son. I must have been working that night’ Ian had sat beside his old man in the Jock Stein stand that night but rather than mention it, he sat on the bed beside him and opened YouTube on his phone and they watched brief highlights of Celtic beating Barcelona from five years earlier. His old man smiled, ‘what a night that must have been. I just don’t recall it son. You know the fog comes down sometimes.’ Ian nodded, his old man often called his absent minded episodes ‘the fog.’ He decided to stay on safer ground and showed him Celtic defeating Leeds United at Hampden in 1970 and again his old man’s face lit up, ‘biggest crowd I’ve ever seen, over 136,000 at that game. Jesus, wee Jimmy was a genius but what about Bobby Murdoch? What a player!’ They talked and laughed together before it was time for Ian to go. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow da, bring ye the papers tae read about the invincible treble winners.’ His old man smiled, ‘Good of ye tae come son. Sorry ye missed yer ma but she takes forever at the shops.’ Ian leaned over the bed and hugged his old man, feeling a little emotional. The man who used to carry him on his shoulders as a lad, who was always so strong, so dependable as Ian grew up was changing. ‘See ye the morra da.’  

Ian drove to the pub; it was after all cup final day and the party would be in full swing. He pushed open the door of the Cross Keys and a wall of noise hit him. The packed bar was a riot of green and white as the locals sang along with a man in a hooped shirt who stood on a makeshift stage, guitar in hand. Through the crowd he spotted his mate Paul Deans, known to one and all as Dixie. Dixie gave him a smile and a clench fist salute. He bought a couple of bottles of beer and squeezed through the throng to his mate’s side, ‘alright, Dixie, you still sober?’ he smiled handing him a beer. His friend grinned, ’Aye mate but no for long. How was your old man? Did he watch the game?’  Ian shrugged, ‘He forgot it was on. Comes and goes mate. Ye know how it is.’ Dixie nodded, his face a little more serious, ‘Aye, it’s tough, mate.’ Before they could continue their conversation the singer on the stage began to play a familiar song and the assembled crowd joined in. Ian smiled at his friend, ‘tonight’s a night for celebrating so let’s just dae that.’ Dixie nodded, he knew Ian would always be there for his old man but tonight he was having a night off. The two friends joined the hundreds of others in the packed bar as they roared out…

‘And they game us James McGrory and Paul McStay,

They gave us Johnstone Tully, Murdoch, Auld and Hay,

And most of the football greats, have passed through Parkhead’s gates

To play football the Glasgow Celtic way.’

For the next few hours Ian made some memories of his own as they celebrated another Celtic victory. He’d go and see his old man again the following day but for now he was happy to be among friends and singing their songs of hope and joy.

                                                     Postscript

Stories that make a difference

Alzheimer Scotland are using our memories of football to improve the life of people with dementia. Whether you know someone who could benefit from attending our meetings, would like to volunteer, donate or raise funds, please take the time to find out more about this ground-breaking work and how to get involved.