Ark For The Aged

Dalkey nursing home, that is, where I once worked for a short while, sweeping out the square, spotless room for a small wage. Two things that stayed with me:

I noticed one of a number of small paintings on the wall of one of the residents, a woman with whom I had the odd chat, though I seem to recall that the nurses considered her unfriendly: a few small, striking oil studies, of clouds, possibly one by night, with a buttermilk moon, intensely coloured little weather-scapes. I asked about them: 'Oh yes, those are Constables.' And I do think they were. 

There was one man who wasn't that old, middleaged (probably younger than I am now). But he'd been very ill and there was always a nun or priest by his bed. I walked into his room one day to find nobody by his side and a single candle on the bedside table. Then I noticed he was fully dressed, in, I think, a pinstriped suit, shoes, etc., arranged just so, white hands neatly folded on his chest. I think I actually said 'sorry' before backing out and closing the door.