THE GRANNY OF THE TEAM

The phone was ringing, interrupting the news broadcast, ‘Oh well’ I thought ‘it is probably history now, rather than news.’

“Barbara?” the person on the other end of my phone spoke quietly but I knew the voice, that of my friend Hans. As he did not call regularly, I wondered the reason but did what one does.

“Hello Hans, how are you?”  I said turning the TV off.

“I’m fine, busy as, and all that.  Are you still practising?” he asked, with the blunt no-nonsense approach of his. Were all Dutchmen the same?  no, the Scots were just as bad, I should know.

“When I remember” I replied cautiously “I assume you mean…”

“Sorry I should have stated.” he laughed “you could be practising yoga!”

“Yeah right, not my style Hans.” we laughed together

“What you just completed was not your style either, as I recall, and you took to it like a duck to water.”

“Flattery will get you…”

“A cup of coffee at your place and some practice! please.”

“Why?” I asked, “not that I would not make you a coffee but is there an occasion?”

“Well I wondered if I could ask a favour!” he hesitated “you see…”

It began like this:

The expression a fish out of water comes to mind when I think of the day, I decided to learn communication. Most folk would find a hobby, join a church-based activity, or go on a holiday, but no, I Barbara Fry, had the bit between my teeth and was determined to succeed.

It all happened the day I stood at the station waiting for a train and decided to ask the young man next to me if he knew when the next one was scheduled. Fearing he had not heard me, I spoke louder, then it hit me like a brick; he was deaf, he could not understand me.  Even the most outstanding lip-reader would have difficulty picking out my words, for I always spoke fast. This realisation had a profound effect on me in the long term, though at that point I was embarrassed.

The train arrived, I got in, following the boy. Out of curiosity, I watched him smiling at the couple in front of us. They acknowledged him, he sat beside them I sat on the other aisle, my curiosity still burning.  Soon a conversation ensued and I watched fascinated. The animation in their faces as their hands conversed, astounded me, I knew in my heart what I wanted to do, somehow. It was going to be difficult, but as my aunt used to say “Give it a go, you’ll be no further back.”

Prior to this, I had no intention of studying; being of the age where I thought I knew everything, and what I did not know did not matter.  I kept seeing the picture of the young boy’s face as he happily conversed in a world where his disability was no hindrance. The joy in his face and that of his companions pleased me but there was more to it than joy, as I was to find out.

Later while reading the local newspaper, I noticed the advertisement for a new course in Auslan, the Australian version of Sign Language. The course was offered at the local technical college within walking distance of my home. It would not hurt to make enquiries. Yes, there was no age limit for students. What a relief, I being on the wrong side of fifty. Yes, you could take more than one course, why not try it? A brave new world for someone who avoided languages other than English like the plague. Still I kept seeing the boy’s face, I wanted to communicate.

The following week I stood nervously at the classroom door, among a group of youngsters, ranging in age from teen to thirties. Oh yeah, I thought, trust you, the Granny of the team. An older man entered; he smiled and invited us to sit down. He was the Co-Ordinator he would sit in the class but Robin would be here soon.  The door opened; who should it be but the young man on the train. What? he was a teacher: this scarce bearded Caesar? Oh, Barbara, what have you let yourself in for?

He smiled as he walked and waived to me mouthing “Hi.” choosing the more comfortable seat of the two by the front desk. Presently Robin started with the basics. He raised his hand pointing from thumb to pinkie. These were the vowels, A, E, I, O, U, then it got tricky. What a combination of letters some easy to work out, others a little more complicated to sign, given my old arthritic fingers. Learning to touch your forehead followed by your bottom lip and your forehead a second time with your right hand, meant “Again please, again.” The class thought the expression was most likely to remain the best remembered.

Learning to identify people by something about them was inspirational; some were students, some athletes, some were aspiring chefs.  I was amused that all those years as a GP nurse meant the most appropriate sign for Barbara being me, was a sweep of your hand, just above your forehead from right to left, the nurses’ hat, therefore “nurse” was learned quickly. The nuances the animation, the fun the exasperation, all because Robin could not understand me that day when the train was delayed. Quiet words were still effective.

Yet it was a new world: a world where communication was not barred. Like other languages, ie Asian or European, the wrong sign just like the wrong pronunciation, could either get you a severe warning or peals of laughter. There was plenty of that; there was to be no language barrier in this class, but an understanding of a world completely misunderstood, and I, Barbara Fry, was determined to master the art, despite the arthritic fingers.

Robin did teach us one more thing. Deaf people need to show their emotion before they speak, hence the day in the train when Robin and his friends had an animated conversation it was because they had learned to show their story with a facial expression first, then speak. It looked so easy watching the experts because we who speak rely on our words to tell the story.

Yes, it was a good decision of mine to at least try to break the barriers. Apparently, I did very well because I was asked, by Hans to speak about my experiences with the staff members at the college. As for you dear reader, I used you for practice; a privilege extended to the Granny of the team.