Out of the mouths of the ageds

As a complimentary to Cougar’s thread.

Being both hard of hearing and having very few **** left to give our elders are capable of being refreshingly candid.

Bumped into a lovely lady on a ride on the west coast earlier in the summer at a cafe and chatted at length and she told me about her dad who had lived to 102 and as a lifelong Celtic supporter had been invited by Celtic to celebrate his birthday and given the full executive box treatment – got to hold trophies won in matches that he’d watched in the 1930s, met the board, the whole thing.

During the match, surrounded by the directors, players and other great, good and wealthy in the executive box he became  a bit perturbed by the haircut of the spectator in front of him

“That mans hair is SHOCKING!” he confided in a stage whisper so that everyone could hear. The man was Rod Stewart.

A weekend break with my parents and grandmother when I was about 16. My parents left Grandma to babysit me while they went out for a romantic meal together. My Grandma realised I was a bit bored sat in the hotel room with her and suggested we go out to sightsee Amsterdam in the evening.

I assumed a walk along the canals but she suggested the Red Light district as Grandad had been there during the war and said it was ‘not for her type’ and she wanted to see what the fuss was about.We strolled along thew canal admiring the pretty women in the windows but Grandma didn’t think they looked very comfortable so we turned down a side street to see if there was anything else to see.

We walked past a sex shop with blow up dolls and Grandma was fascinated by them. When we eventually left to go back to the hotel she asked why they all had such funny faces. I asked what she meant and she explained that they all looked a bit shocked with they mouths open, she felt they should have smiling faces. As a 16 year old I found it quite embarrassing to explain to her why their mouths were open with their lips pursed just the right shape for a …

Well you can guess. She didn’t and I had to explain to a 75 year old about oral sex.

A child is born.

Rob : ” Awright Davey,how’s the new wean doing?”

Davey : ” No bad Rob,no too bad,was touch an go forabit so she was in an incinerator for the first two weeks”

working with old folk some with dementia I have many of these

One lady had recently been admitted.  she was in her 90s and blind.  Mid morning she called ” nurse get me a drink please”  I gave her a glass of water.  She took a sip and spat it on the floor shouting out ” thats not a drink, thats water!  Now get me a drink!”  I couldn’t that morning but we did get her a bottle of the brandy she wanted and she had a brandy and soda every day at 11 am after that

Or another lady who was lovely but disinhibited.  I used to take her out for “walks” in a wheelchair.  she would loudly pass comment on people she saw.  One time a mother and child were walking towards us – as old ladies do she wanted to stop and say hello to the kid and we did – as we moved away she announced very loudly “thats a funny looking kid”

“thats a funny looking kid”

My dearly departed mum would always look forward to her weekend treat dessert, a nice slice of Vendetta

My grandma used to look at ethnic minorities and wonder aloud why they’d come on holiday there from Africa / India.

OK, this was the 80’s and where they lived was very much white, working class but, as kids, my sister and I had to explain that actually they lived here and that was perfectly normal. She’d be completely bewildered by it – “but why would anyone want to come HERE…on holiday?”

You’re half right Grandma, no-one in their right mind would ever come to a run down post-industrial Northern town on holiday… But it’s possible to live and work here!

It didn’t help that neither her nor my grandpa had ever been abroad, they really weren’t very worldly people.

My grandmother in hospital shortly befor her death…. “This is my doctor, he’s black but he’s very nice”

In her defence she was 87, from deeply rural North Yorkshire and I imagine had never met a black person ever in her life.

My elderly mother can’t get her head round that black people can be British. The most recent one was on a relatively warm, sunny day when saw a black woman with a coat on. “They’re probably not used to the cooler weather”.

Thanks mum, now I know what you think of Alfie Boe (was meant for my sister)

My grandmother grew up in Germany in the interwar years where education was clearly compromised. She was taught that the pyramids had grown and were a natural phenomenon instead of being manmade. Had to explain to her about the Egyptian empire.

Well you can guess. She didn’t and I had to explain to a 75 year old about oral sex.

I think you’ll find the thread title is Out of the mouths of …

My late FIL was a wonderful, unwittingly funny guy. His Volvo car was always referred to as the Vulva and he could never understand why so many people pissed themselves laughing when he said it.

When Graeme Obree came out (FIL was a runner not a cyclist but Obree being from Ayrshire brought him into his orbit) he turned and asked me if I’d seen that Graeme Obree had been declared gay.

Well you can guess. She didn’t and I had to explain to a 75 year old about oral sex.

I think you’ll find the thread title is Out of the mouths of …

I would like to make it TOTALLY CLEAR that I explain it to her, not demonstrated it

My grandmother grew up in Germany in the interwar years where education was clearly compromised. She was taught that the pyramids had grown and were a natural phenomenon instead of being manmade. Had to explain to her about the Egyptian empire.

I am so confused by this. I get that interwar Germany education may not have been entirely well rounded and may have even included a smidge of political propaganda… but why even mention the pyramids to then just blatantly lie about it?

Years back working in a hardware shop, this lovey little old lady came in one busy Saturday morning.

She was quite deaf and had a rather piercing voice and asked for “BROWN PAINT PLEASE – NI**ER BROWN. SMALL TIN”

You could hear a pin drop.

My gran was a lovely woman, as an old farmer’s wife she was a grafter but a step behind the modern world.

A random example, there was a wind farm being constructed on the hills near where we lived.  “Oh, I don’t know what they’re building those bloody things for!”  Uh, what do you mean, gran?  “Well, isn’t it windy enough already?”

Years back working in a hardware shop, this lovey little old lady came in one busy Saturday morning.

She was quite deaf and had a rather piercing voice and asked for “BROWN PAINT PLEASE – NI**ER BROWN. SMALL TIN”

Slightly off-topic but,

I was in a pub one time, putting in a food order for our table.  There’s a bit of my Aspie brain which panics in such situations and it’s not uncommon for me to go to say a sandwich shop and blurt out “can I have an argle fargle bargle maybe form coherent sentences let me try that again.”  Part of this particular order was “two breakfasts, no black pudding,”  I got tongue-tied and asked for “two blackfasts, no brek… uh…”  The guy taking the order was ebony black and, quite rightly, unimpressed.  “Yes sir, two ‘blackfasts’…” he repeated slowly.  I was utterly mortified but there’s no coming back from that without digging an ever-deeper hole.

N******* briown is actually the name of the colour in common usage until recently

Years ago, as a teenager, I was with a mate round his Nan’s in Radcliffe near Bury. The family had clubbed together and bought her a new telly. Several times she got up and walked across the lounge to change the channel. We asked why she wasn’t using the new fangled remote control. She replied “well I don’t want to miss and burn a hole in the wallpaper”.

Later that same day in a cafe she ordered a lesbian. After much bemusement and enquiry, we worked out that was what she thought an open sandwich was called. I doubt that she, my mate, the rest of the cafe, or I have ever laughed so much; nor the mourners at her funeral some years later when this tale was recounted.

We asked why she wasn’t using the new fangled remote control. She replied “well I don’t want to miss and burn a hole in the wallpaper”.

I walked into the living room at my grandparents as they were watching TV and asked what they were watching.

“SSSSSHHHHH! <whisper> the video is recording…”

It was a new Betamax, roughly the size and weight of the average tombstone. Had to explain that they could still talk and move around because it was only recording the telly. They’d bought it a week before and since then had watched all their TV in total silence.

@tjagain – I know that, you know that, the little old lady knew that.
It seemed to be a new one to the gentlefolk of Southwell though!

My in laws (never swear, tut disapprovingly when someone does) we’re round for Christmas, as was my wife’s grandad (mobility issues,dementia, but periods of real lucidity).
Mother in law was helping him to the toilet, walked past a box that was on the counter waiting to go to the recycling.
‘What is that?’
‘They’re batteries, dad. You put them in electrical things to make them work’
‘I know they’re f*****g batteries, why’s there a bloody box of them in the kitchen?’

I was in the dodgy end of Swansea town center (and the nice end ain’t all that…) a couple of weeks ago.

People’s attention, including a dear little old lady just in front of me leaning on her stick as she was waiting to cross the road, was caught by a couple of drunks/druggies shouting an argument a little way up the street. What it was about was not clear and there was a slight gasp from the audience as a glass bottle was thrown and shattered and we all expected it to kick off properly.

However for some reason that seemed to be the end of the matter, we all relaxed… the dear little old lady said “C**ts!” and toddled off over the road.

My dad saw out his last couple of years in a care home.  It was by turns tragic and comedy gold.

One time we were visiting, there was an old dear sat at the back of the room knitting.

All of a sudden, she must have dropped a stitch or something, she yells out “OH F*** IT!!”  My mum and I are both trying not to crease with laughter, the care staff go and attend to her.

“Now, Ethel, what’s that word we’ve asked you not to say?”

Ethel, sheepishly, “f***”

“That’s right, Ethel.  And what should you say instead?”

Ethel looks at her shoes.  Quietly answers: “Teddy bears.”

“Yes, well done.”

Five minutes later she must have lost another stitch, “F***ING TEDDY BEARS!”

My mum: oh, our son lives in x

My dad: it IS your son ?

He wouldn’t know it was me anymore either.

Dis-inhibition in folk with dementia – the filter we all have between what we think and what we say sometimes just disappears and they say what they think unfiltered – hence the swearing.  I have seen sweet little old ladies that never swore when younger who swore like troopers in their later years.  Indeed I met someone whose only speech left was swearing when they got angry or frustrated

Whilst watching a film about a certain bear

‘Oh. I thought Paddington was mostly fictional?”

My mum once said “Look at all those bollocks”.

“Bollards, mum, they’re called bollards”.

Many years ago I sent my mate a postcard from Amsterdam that was a picture of a sex shop with all manner of dildos, vibrators etc of all sizes. His mum saw it and asked why I sent him a postcard of a butchers window.

I sometimes wonder if folks with dementia let lose secrets that they have never revealed previously. Industrial secrets, State secrets, affaires, bigamy? It’s going to get a bit embarrassing for some.

I worked for the Welsh Office BITD and I’m not allowed to reveal many aspects of my work including certain details of the vegetation of upland Wales. When I blurt it all out and reveal e.g. Mynydd Mallaen’s dirty secrets what’s going to happen?

My nan spent the last 10 years of her life complaining that she couldn’t understand a word Moira Stewart said when she read the news. Moira Stewart! Nothing to with her being of non-white heritage, obviously.

My mum is now going the same way. When she starts on the “send them home” speeches I like to remind her I was born in Kenya.

My gran spent the last four years of her life in a care home, she had Alzheimers and most of the time was fairly out of it but every so often she had what we would call “moments of clarity”.

One of the carers went in to see her one day

“Hello Mrs West. We need to take your photo to update the records, is that ok?”

“Oh go photograph your own arse, that’ll do”

Nice one Gran.

My grandmother in hospital shortly befor her death…. “This is my doctor, he’s black but he’s very nice”

In her defence she was 87, from deeply rural North Yorkshire and I imagine had never met a black person ever in her life.

My pal’s mum has been a self declared racist all her life, in her twilight years, requiring more and more care she’s often very complimentary about the various black and asian doctors and nurses providing care – with sentences that begin with ‘I am a racist, but….’

I sometimes wonder if folks with dementia let lose secrets that they have never revealed previously.

I was visiting my mum in her care home today, one of the other residents waves to get my attention from across the room

“Can you get me a gun”

“Sorry?”

“Can you get me a gun. And an Independent Financial Advisor”

if folks with dementia let lose secrets that they have never revealed previously

yes- my mates granddad revealed an unknown uncle when he had dementia. Turns out the uncle got a servant pregnant  (this was in the early 1900s).Rather than let his parents send her away & pay her off he wanted to marry her. Not the done thing for a respectable family to accept, so he was ostracised and never spoken off again.

Another old lady used to shout Hey, Hey! whenever she wanted something.  I said to her ( gently) Hay is for horses.  She spent the rest of her time there referring to me as “horsey”

Working in a rehab unit trying gently to persuade a couple of old ladies to do something.  One looked me right in the eyes and said ” You are just trying to charm us!”  Bang to rights and I had no answer to that at all.

In a shop a while back, a lady was looking at soft toys with her elderly mum, very, very loudly “Why aren’t there any golliwogs? They used to put them on the jam you know.” No they’re just called gollis mum.”  “NO THEY’RE NOT THEY’RE GOLLIWOGS!”  The poor woman looked like she just wanted the Earth to swallow her up.

My Gran and Grandad married at sixteen and were never apart. My Gran was allegedly full of life and lovely when younger. I knew her as as a grumpy lady. My Grandad was a gent who rarely if ever swore. He developed Alzheimer’s in later life.

I was visitng him at the hospital and when I walked in I saw my Gran sat sobbing (not unusual as she was manipulative with emotions) whilst two members of staff consoled her. Walked in to my Granddad’s room and he was pacing and clearly agitated. He was holding a photo in his hands that he had been keeping under his pillow. It was a picture of him with my Gran when they were younger.

I asked him what was up “That old bitch out there is claiming to be my wife. This is my wife (pointing at picture) and I have no idea who that miserable **** is” tragic and hilarious at the same time.

My mum once announced, whilst we were all sat around the dining table as kids (teenagers) and she was eating an apple, that she loves the taste of a good cox.

Another time she went into a local hardware store and declared that her husband’s chopper is too big. Everyone erupted! She just wanted a kindling ax for my dad.