Life on the Run (20 page)

Over the years my business sponsored many sporting events in and around Reading, and one of these was a special rugby match between Reading Abbey Rugby Club, who were celebrating twenty-five years of rugby at the club in 1981, and Henley Rugby Club. Another event was a golf day at Calcot Park Golf Club in Reading, which I sponsored along with the
Reading Evening Post
.

In 1982 I was invited to take a look at the Borocourt Hospital in South Oxfordshire, with a view to persuading me to take on the position of Chairman of the League of Friends of that hospital. If I was shocked when I met poverty just off the town square of Wokingham, I was more than shocked by some of the things I saw at this special facility for those with mental problems. There was a public view of the hospital, and a view that was kept from all but the staff.

On this, my first visit, I did see the non-public side. I saw a young man, really only a boy, in a toughened glass cubicle which was totally secure. He was naked and was eating off the floor, and there were other things in that ‘room' which made it disgusting. It was not the fault of staff, who frequently went in two at a time to see him and clear up the best they could. He was violent and would not keep clothes on or care for himself. I then went to another room where the light was switched on as we entered, and saw a couple of pram/cots with people laying in them. They were very seriously disabled and could not talk, see or move. Most of the time they were in the dark, as there was no point in them being in a lighted room.

They were the extreme cases, and at the other end of the disability scale were those who probably should never have been in an institution at all. They were the elderly, who in some cases had been there since the First World War or even before. They were the ‘not so bright' sons and daughters of aristocratic and well-heeled families, who were disposed of by putting them into an institution.

After that first visit I did take on the chairmanship of the league, in the hope that perhaps I could make a small difference. We had a dedicated ex-hospital matron as secretary, and we worked together until her retirement. She ran the hospital shop which always made a handsome profit, and with other fund raising we were never short of money. The biggest problem was how to do things to help the patients, and at the same time not remove responsibility from the authorities for providing the necessary care and support. We provided a therapeutic pool, televisions, washing machines, decoration, seating and anything else that would improve the quality of life for those whose home was the crumbling baronial mansion, set in beautiful countryside with splendid views.

There were many rumours about the potential closure of the hospital, and then finally, in 1995, the final decision was made and the hospital closed. A sad day for many, as friends who had spent their lives there, were moved to all parts of the country. We were left with a substantial bank balance and had to wind up the charity. All the appropriate action was taken, and we were able to distribute moneys to charities with similar aims and objectives. Between £6,000 and £7,000 was passed on to six charities working with disabled people. All the tens of thousands of pounds worth of goods supplied by the ‘Friends' just disappeared when the facility closed its doors.

In the latter years the hospital had a secure section, which housed violent and very disturbed people, and this was closed along with the rest, only a few years after the special facility had been built at great expense.

With all its faults, Borocourt did provide a home for many who could or would not be able to exist in the community. What has happened since has proved that the closure of these special facilities was a terrible mistake, and very costly in terms of money, and more important, human life and quality of life.

In late 1981, almost as a joke at a Rotary meeting, someone suggested I could run from our twin club in France to our own club in Reading, as a way of cementing our twinning. In an unguarded moment I must have said yes, and a few months later my friend Ted Brazil, who had suggested the run, took me to one side at a meeting and said “When do you want to do this run from France?” A date was agreed for the end of April, and work then started on the logistics of putting such a run together. First of all we had to convince and explain to our French colleagues what we were going to do, and also explain that it was to be a sponsored run for charity; something that they did not understand at that time. Ted and I went off to France to convince the French it was a good idea and to look at a route.

We convinced the French that it was a good idea, and with their help a route from Meru, near Beauvais, north of Paris to Reading was chosen. Our target was to raise over £8,000 for a new high jump area at the athletic stadium for the disabled at Stoke Mandeville, near Aylesbury.

On the 28
th
April I was in the square of the small town of Meru. I had been accompanied to France by a small squad from the Rotary Club of Caversham; two of whom were going to cycle back with me. A friend of mine from the French club, Alan Hau, was also going to cycle with me as escort, and lined up with me in the square was a French gendarme, a very fit young man who worked for Interpol. I think they thought it would be good for me to have someone to run with, but the only trouble was that he was twenty-five years younger than me and very much fitter. Instead of the slow start to my run that I had hoped for, it was more like a race, as we ran at about seven minute mile pace. It was made even more difficult as he spoke some English and I understood very little French, and we chatted and ran for nearly ten miles. Fortunately he then had to drop out to return to work, and I could resume a more leisurely run for the rest of that first day.

At the end of the day after some breaks, I had run twenty-five miles (forty km) and arrived at Entrepagny. I was then taken back to the start so that I could be hosted by my friends in Meru. I remember getting up on that second day and feeling pretty stiff, but we went back to the finishing point of the first day and set off again on the road to Duclair. It was very warm and John London and myself found that second day pretty tough going, not least because of the fast running the previous day. It was also a fairly hilly stretch and plenty of liquid was needed. For the runners this was water or Origina. Our cycling escorts were enjoying themselves with their wine and French bread while we kept running. We did get a break at midday, well what would you expect in France, and had a good lunch before running on in the afternoon. At the end of the second day we had covered another forty plus miles (sixty-three km), and we stopped at a small hotel at Duclair, just outside Rouen, for the night. A pleasant meal, quite a lot of wine and a good night's sleep, and up early next morning for the final stage to Le Havre.

Even on a run like this it was necessary to do some stretching and warming up to try and ease the tired sore muscles. After jogging up and down outside the hotel, it was off on the run again. Another warm day, but I was beginning to feel fitter and stronger as the runners and entourage made their way towards the venue for that day. We ran into Le Havre and up to the Yacht Club for a shower and rest, before attending a special dinner in our honour in the evening, put on by the Rotary Clubs in the area. Another forty miles (sixty-two km) had been covered. Another boozy enjoyable evening before staggering onto the overnight ferry for Portsmouth. It sailed at 11 p.m., and I had a good night's sleep.

Next morning, it was now Friday, we awoke at Portsmouth and my old Army colleague and international running partner, Gerry North, was there to meet me and to run with me for the ten miles to Petersfield. This was also a bit like the old days, and we had a bit of a ding-dong as we ran over this ten mile stretch. From Petersfield we ran on to Alton, and then Basingstoke, and on the way I passed a group of school children who had been taken to the route to cheer me on. Seeing them helped me to make it into Basingstoke, where we finished for the night. A total of thirty-five miles for the day (fifty-four km). By now I was feeling tired but elated that we had nearly done it. It was Friday evening, and I was staying with a Rotarian friend Claude Fenton, a great man who had been a prisoner of the Japanese and worked on the Burma railway and survived. I remember laying in his bath having a good soak, and he sat in the bathroom with me, and the bottle of Scotch we both enjoyed. This was followed by a superb dinner with a few bottles of wine, and off to bed to get ready for the final nineteen miles to Reading next morning.

Claude brought me a cup of tea, we had a good breakfast and then he drove me to the Basingstoke Civic Offices, where the mayor was to send me and the escorts on our way. I was greeted there by a squad of around twenty from the Reading Joggers, who had come to run with me on that final run into Reading. It was a great thrill to have so many of the ‘Joggers' running with me. The mayor sent us on our way at about 9.30 a.m., and I remember feeling very good, and in fact some of my running colleagues could not believe how well I was running, after four days of running the equivalent of 1.5 marathons a day. The final eighteen miles (thirty km) took only just over two hours, and we nearly arrived at the finish too soon. We swept into Reading, with a police escort, and over Caversham Bridge and onto the Porsche headquarters building just around the corner. It was just before midday on the 1
st
May and my forty-sixth birthday. What a welcome; my mother Ivy, the Mayor of Reading, the local MP Tony Durant, the Rotary District Governor and many friends from Rotary. I remember sprinting into the finish; it was a wonderful feeling and Porsche had pushed the boat out; although they did not give me one of their products to sample. They had laid on a great reception for me and the others. I was given a glass of champagne just after I finished and was very light-headed. Then they told me the
Sunday
Observer
was on the phone and wanted an interview about the run; somebody pushed another glass in my hand and I gave an excited review of my run to the reporter, who I am sure thought I was quite mad. There was a large cake with the map of my run on it, and it was a great party with my friends, and especially John London who had run a lot of the way with me, David Watts and Roy Lambert who had cycled all the way, as well as Alan Hau my French friend and his family who had come all the way with us. It was over and I think I said never again; BUT it was not the end and more about that later.

The final climax to that run was a day at Stoke Mandeville, where I handed over a cheque for £8,000 as a result of the run.

In early 1982, just after my run from France, I ran the Paris Marathon. It was an experience but not very successful for me. I was still very tired from my marathon effort and never really got going. It was a very hot day, and the Paris Fire Brigade were out all around the course spraying the runners with cold water. It was not the best organised event and it seemed that anything went, including taking short cuts if you were so inclined, or even jumping on a bike. It was great fun though and totally different to running events I had previously taken part in. Runners would suddenly stop by the side of the road and a wife, girlfriend or friend would cycle up with a supply of wine and bread, and the runner would join them for a snack before rejoining the race. The annoying thing was that some of these people had the cheek to beat me to the finish, but I am not sure they all ran the full distance.

Chapter Thirteen: Does He Take Sugar? - Not Any More!

Six years after my first run from France I developed a health problem. It was 1988, the year one of my daughters, Joanna, got married at St Peter's Church in Caversham, where we had attended since moving to Caversham, but I did not remember too much about it as I was not feeling very good at the time. I thought it would pass and went off on holiday to the Algarve with Marion. We had a great holiday and I thought that whatever it was that I had been suffering from had cleared up. I was wrong, and on my return I was persuaded to go the doctor by my then secretary who had suffered two very serious bouts of cancer. She said that whatever it was, it would be better to know and to be able to deal with it. I made that appointment, and at first the doctor thought that I had picked up a viral infection, but he decided to take blood samples and it was August Bank Holiday.

On the Tuesday morning after the holiday, he telephoned me to say he had bad news; he quickly realised that was not the right thing to say and changed it to “I think you have a problem, and you had better come back for more tests.” The tests revealed that I was diabetic; type 2 Diabetes; not a disaster, but it was to change my life slightly in the future, although not to any great extent. Research has shown that exercise helps fight off the problem, but I had been exercising all my life and had never been a heavy drinker. I suppose the other two main causes of diabetes I did suffer from. If you compare my racing weight of between nine stone twelve ounces and ten stone, to my weight when I had not been exercising very much of around thirteen stone, I suppose I was overweight. The other cause I certainly suffered from, diabetes in my genes. At least one of my maternal grandparents were diabetic and so was my oldest sister. So I suspect this was my main problem.

I was put on some pills, and not much happened for a long time, and I kept on running. This included another 175 mile run to France in 1992, and another London Marathon in 1997.

In 1999 my diabetes had deteriorated, and my doctor at Didcot, where I now lived, had sent me to the Diabetic Clinic at the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford. They started to take care of me, and when they were looking for some patients to act as guinea pigs for a new treatment they asked me to take part. A doctor and a senior nurse came out to my home to talk me through what it would mean, and I immediately volunteered. It was going to require my presence in the hospital for an overnight twenty-four hour stay, once a month for four months, from May until August. I also had an extra twenty-four hour stint in the September to help further with the experiment.

In each of my stays I had blood taken from me twenty-seven times over the twenty-four hours, and sometimes I was given a new drug made from the saliva of a lizard, and other times a placebo. I was very well looked after by some very special nurses, who visited me all day and all night to take my blood samples. I also saw some of the difficulties that hospitals had to put up with, including a shortage of basic things like pillows; if you got a real pillow you were lucky and if you got two, you hung on to them. I also saw some of the more difficult patients, like the elderly lady who had probably previously been detained in an institution. She was a real handful and would hit the staff with her walking stick if she did not get her own way. She would also wander off and they would not know where she was, and sometimes she would get herself into the wrong bed, whether there was a patient in it or not.

I found the research fascinating, and after my first twenty-four hour stay, I was invited to join a lunch time seminar with the consultants, doctors and nurses from the Diabetic Department for a talk about the subject. Having been invited to attend, I then got a phone call to tell me that the speaker could not make it, and before the end of the conversation Dr Hisham Maksoud had asked me to take over the speaker's spot and give a talk myself. He left it to me to decide the theme of my talk. I decided to talk on the subject of “Does Diabetes Change Your Life?”. I explained that with sensible lifestyle, an individual could continue life as before.

After that final visit to the hospital, I went back to see my friendly Doctor Hisham Maksoud. The pills were no longer controlling my blood sugars, and he suggested I should take the next step and go on to insulin. On one of my journeys by taxi to the hospital, I had listened to my taxi driver explaining how it was so much better to be on insulin, so in a way I took his advice and agreed to start what I knew was to be a lifetime decision, twice a day injections. This created its own problems, as I rapidly put on weight and found it very hard to run even short distances. The discipline of injecting did not prove difficult and in many ways it did make me feel better.

I have become fascinated by diabetes, and I have learned and I am still learning much about it. I believe there will be drastic changes in the treatment of the disease over the next few years.

The year of 1988 was a traumatic one in various ways. I had my diabetes and Joanna had got married, but later that year there was a family row that resulted in the disappearance of our middle child and second son Neil. He got himself involved with a girl and they both attended the wedding, but shortly after that they found themselves homeless. Our eldest daughter Caroline and her then boyfriend, took pity on them and allowed them to share their new home. Things rapidly deteriorated due to the two ‘lodgers' not working, and not doing anything to keep the house tidy either. They were asked to leave by Caroline, but Neil and his partner started legal proceedings by issuing a writ against his sister, claiming some right to the property. It was quickly dealt with, but at some considerable cost to Caroline and her other half. As a result of this, the children closed ranks and said they did not want to see him again, and they haven't. His parents kept out of it, and we did not actually fall out with him, but none of the family have seen or heard anything from him since the end of 1988.