Expat blues

Even though I’ve been very happy living in New Zealand for the past twenty years, I expect England will always feel like home. I’ve been fortunate to be able to return for a short visit every summer – until now. I had booked to fly to London next week but my trip has been cancelled due to Covid-related restrictions.

Earlier visits involved a joyful, if exhausting, whirlwind of activity – travelling round the British Isles by train and plane, staying a night or two in several different places, often having lunch, tea and dinner engagements with different people on the same day. The itinerary has gradually become less demanding, as I realise I can’t see everyone every time, so recently I’ve just stayed in London and done day trips. I always try to see my closest friends and relatives, and visit some favourite places – Oxford, Malvern, the countryside of Kent and Sussex – which hold special memories or are featured in my novels. I also like to visit one or two tourist attractions such as Blenheim Palace or the Tower of London. And I always buy something from Marks and Spencer.

The change to a less hectic pace is partly my own choice, as I don’t have so much energy as I used to, but partly because my circle of friends – mostly in their 70s and 80s – is shrinking. Six of those I knew and loved have died in recent years. I was able to visit all of them in the last months of their lives, but because of being back in New Zealand was unable to attend any of their funerals. Several of my surviving friends are unwell at present, and one of the hardest things about being unable to travel this year is not knowing when and if I will see them again.

Apart from that, I don’t mind staying home. I have my memories and photos of England, and the internet has made it easy to keep in contact with people at the other side of the world, even if not all of them can accesss Zoom. I’m glad not to be parted from Brian, the cats and the dog. And Auckland is a lovely place to be, even in winter, with the weather reasonably warm and many flowers in bloom.

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Jennifer Barraclough’s latest novel You Yet Shall Die, set in Kent and Sussex, is available from Amazon.

A psychiatrist remembers

Many friends and former colleagues of my husband Brian are already reading A Partly Anglicised Kiwi: a psychiatrist remembers, the newly published memoir about the first 32 years of his life. The main focus is on Brian’s experience of the psychiatric training programme at London’s Maudsley Hospital in the 1960s. There are shorter sections on miscellaneous topics such as being a patient in a TB ward, and tramping in the southern alps of New Zealand.

To quote from Brian’s Introduction:

“In 1962, aged 28, I left my home in New Zealand and sailed to England as a ship’s surgeon. I was on my way to apply for the world’s foremost training programme in psychiatry at the Maudsley Hospital in London. 

“Part I of my memoir describes growing up in Auckland, studying at Otago University Medical School, and practising as a doctor in New Zealand. Part II is about my three years at the Maudsley, where I worked in general psychiatry and some subspecialties. Given my modest beginnings, the intellectual and cultural life of London came as a revelation. I received a liberal education from my peers, took holidays in Europe, had a psychoanalysis, and a bad trip with LSD.”

The book was mainly compiled from the essays Brian has written over the years, originally for his own satisfaction rather than intended for publication. My role as editor was to arrange them in a logical order, check for consistency of style and grammar, and discuss with Brian how much material needed to be removed as potentially offensive or libellous. In my experience, writing or editing books is easier done alone than in collaboration with others, and we didn’t always agree. However we are both happy with the finished product, and hope readers will enjoy it.

A Partly Anglicised Kiwi (ISBN 9798623114792) can be purchased from Amazon websites including Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.au. Shipping restrictions at the time of writing may prevent readers in some countries from buying the paperback version, but the Kindle ebook is available worldwide.

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Jennifer Barraclough is a retired doctor, originally from England but now living in New Zealand, who writes medical and fiction books. Her latest one You Yet Shall Die, a novel about family secrets and a long-ago crime set in southern England, is available from Amazon.comAmazon.co.ukSmashwords.com and other online retailers, or can be ordered from bookshops and libraries.

Biographical writing

I am editing my husband’s memoir, to be published shortly, covering the years from 1933 to 1964. It is compiled from various essays that Brian, with his vivid memory and fluent style, has written over the years. Focused mainly on his medical career, the book contains first-hand information about the history of psychiatry in New Zealand and the UK. It also includes sections about topics of general interest such as being a patient in a TB ward, having a bad trip on LSD, and tramping in the Mt Cook region (photo by Florian Schulte on Unsplash).

Working on Brian’s book has made me think about biographical writing in general. I doubt that I will ever write my own autobiography, although I have often drawn on personal experience for my novels. I have forgotten a lot about my earlier life; many of the things I do remember would reflect badly on myself or others if they were published. And as I haven’t achieved anything remarkable, or had anything remarkable happen to me, I don’t think the content would be of interest to anyone else.

One reason for autobiographical writing is of course the wish to understand and come to terms with one’s past, a sort of do-it-yourself psychoanalysis. To quote from the finale of the musical Candide: “And let us try, before we die, to make some sense of life.” However the lyrics of the same song, Make our garden grow (which I enjoyed singing in a New Zealand Opera workshop last year), go on to imply that longterm satisfaction is best sought from simple domestic activities – easier than writing autobiography.

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Jennifer Barraclough is a retired doctor, originally from England but now living in New Zealand, who writes medical and fiction books. Her latest novel  You Yet Shall Die is available from Amazon.comAmazon.co.ukSmashwords.comand other online retailers, or can be ordered from bookshops and libraries. A selection of comments from readers:

A wonderful book which I learnt a lot from as well enjoying immensely.

Both intriguing and unusual. I could hardly wait for the story to unfold as family secrets, crime and murder came to light – the ending was totally unexpected. An absorbing read.

I couldn’t put it down. I was wondering about the twists and turns all the way through. I’m not a cat person and thought I was going to be put off by all the cats, but no …

The way the story was told from all the characters’ personal viewpoints made the story deeper and more exciting. The twist at the end was great.

Well done, it was superb. Great twist that you didn’t really guess.

A revelatory read.

I loved it! I really liked the characters and the sense of buried secrets gradually coming to light. And the twists were excellent, very clever!

Loved your book.  Enjoyed it right to end (including ending).

Choice at the end of life

A bill to legalise voluntary euthanasia and assisted suicide is currently being considered here in New Zealand. Passionate campaigners both for and against have put forward compelling reasons to support their case. At one extreme are those who believe that human lives are sacred and only God can determine when they should end. At the other extreme are those who believe that each individual has the right to control the timing of his or her own death. Logically it is not possible to agree with both views, but perhaps there is scope for some compromise between them.

The term euthanasia, according to its Greek origin, means a “good death”. Much as I dislike the idea of deliberately ending a life, I do think there is a place for assisted dying for patients who are already finding their situation unbearable, or who wish to avoid likely suffering and loss of dignity in the future. But such cases are a minority. When I was in medical practice I got to know many patients with terminal or incurable conditions, mostly advanced cancer, and I do not believe that most of them would have wanted euthanasia or assisted suicide even if these options were legally available – though I remember a few who did. Similarly, recent surveys have found that many people with severe permanent disabilities have no desire for euthanasia, and are often worried that they might be pressurised into having it if the bill becomes law.

There are some strong arguments against euthanasia, but I think they need to be qualified. Looking at some of them in more detail:

“Euthanasia goes against the sanctity of life and the will of God.” This is the position of the Catholic Church and many other religious traditions. While respecting this belief myself, I do not think it justifies withholding the option of euthanasia from those who hold a different view. For this reason, when an anti-euthanasia submission was recently presented to our local congregation after Mass, I did not sign it.

“There is no need for euthanasia because symptoms and suffering can be so well controlled with modern palliative care.” I disagree with this one. Only a minority of dying patients have access to specialist palliative care. Even with the best of care, there are a few terminally ill patients whose symptoms and suffering cannot be relieved. And what about old people who may not have any specific life-limiting disease but would welcome death to release them from weakness and frailty, aches and pains, failing physical and mental faculties, loneliness and lack of purpose?

“Euthanasia may be undertaken too lightly, and against patients’ real wishes.” This is a real risk. Some people will feel obliged to request euthanasia to avoid being a burden to others. Well-meaning medical staff can judge that some patients’ lives are not worth continuing, when the patients themselves might disagree. This can also apply to the withholding of life-sustaining treatment, which could be called passive euthanasia. I have just read It’s Not Yet Dark, a memoir by the late Irish film maker Simon FitzMaurice. He describes being discharged from a hospital without being offered home ventilation because doctors had assumed that someone with his diagnosis, namely motor neurone disease, would not want their life prolonged. In his case they were quite wrong, and he was able to obtain a ventilator and spend several more worthwhile years with his family. A less informed and articulate patient could not have achieved this.

“There could be deliberate abuse.” Going further down the “slippery slope”, legalised euthanasia could provide a cover for murder. Family members might want to dispose of a sick or elderly relative, in order to make their own lives easier, or to get hold of an inheritance. Euthanising incurable chronic patients, who require expensive and time-consuming care, could be said to enable the more efficient use of scarce health care resources. Recent history has shown the potential for mass killings by authorities in the name of racial cleansing or medical research.

“There can be psychological damage to the staff involved.”  The same applies to clinicians carrying out abortions, and veterinary surgeons putting animals to sleep. There is certainly scope for conflict and distress when those trained to preserve life are called upon to end it, depending on whether they believe they are doing the right thing, and on the method used. Prescribing a fatal quantity of drugs, for the patient to take at a time of his or her own choosing, would seem a less harrowing experience for a doctor than administering a lethal injection – although the end result would be the same. Besides affecting staff, unnatural deaths can have a deep impact on the family and friends of the deceased. Consenting to euthanasia of a sick pet, and hearing about the suicide of a colleague, have counted among the most distressing events in my own life.

In summary my own view is that euthanasia and assisted suicide can be justified occasionally, though literally as a last resort, on condition that the patients concerned have given informed consent; if other treatment options have been carefully considered and excluded; if clinicians with religious or ethical objections are not obliged to take part, and if there are safeguards against abuse of the system. I suspect that many people who support euthanasia in theory might sign up in advance when still in reasonable health, then decide not to go through with the option when it actually came to the point – but having a sense of control is a very important aspect of coping with illness, and I believe patients should be allowed that choice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Homelands

 

Happier, healthier and several pounds heavier, I am back in Auckland after spending a sunny September in England. I’ve been lucky enough to be able to revisit my home country every year since we moved to New Zealand in 2000, and this year Brian came too. We were both anxious about travelling in view of our recent heart problems, so it was reassuring to discover that a consultant cardiologist was seated next to me on the outward flight. Neither of us needed his services and there were no medical emergencies during the rest of the holiday.

This visit was more than usually nostalgic, filled with reminders of my mother who died nine months ago. One sunny Sunday afternoon a group of cousins from her side of the family, the Guys, gathered for a picnic in the grounds of Gray’s Inn; our homes are so widely scattered around the UK and overseas that many of us had not met for decades. I had a friendly meeting with my first husband, having resumed email contact with him after my mother’s death. I walked on the sands at Margate in Kent, where my mother spent part of her childhood. And scattered a portion of her ashes beside her brother’s grave in the churchyard of the Yorkshire village where she lived in later life. Thanks to her wartime service in the British Army, I was able to stay at the Victory Services Club in central London, an ideal base for making daily trips around the country with my Britrail FlexiPass.

There have been other deaths among my UK contacts in the past year: two close friends have been widowed, another couple have lost a son, others are getting old and unwell, so some of my visits were tinged with sadness. But I still have many relatives and friends around the country, including some younger ones I did not know before, and though there was not enough time to see them all I did meet people from diverse places: Malvern, Frome, Gosport, Winchester, Kirk Hammerton, Oxford, Dorchester on Thames, Hythe, Manchester, Birkenhead, Shetland, Soberton Heath, Saffron Walden and various parts of London. Everyone was so kind and hospitable – thank you! Here I am in Sue’s allotment, with Sara’s dog, and with Brian in Oxford University Parks.

There were sightseeing visits too, to Charles Darwin’s home at Down House and the Sackville-West estate at Knole, both in Kent. My most adventurous solo trip was to Limerick, a first step in exploring my Irish ancestry on the paternal side, a topic I may write about in a future post. Limerick seemed a charmingly old-fashioned small city, so quiet and peaceful after London, and I had a lovely view of the River Shannon from my hotel room.

limerick

As always these visits make me question where my true home is, but at least for now it is in Auckland, and it is good to be back as England turns towards autumn and New Zealand to spring. Wearing clothes in different colours, after the all-blue wardrobe I packed for the trip. Thinking about writing another book. Being reunited with my cats.

 

 

 

 

Where is home?

My jet lag is gradually clearing after the long flight back to my adopted country of New Zealand, following a return visit to my native country of England.

Unlike many other expats, I am fortunate enough to be able to make this journey every year.

My annual expedition requires lots of forward planning, and is not so much a relaxing holiday as an intensive round of both joys and challenges. It is always different and always worthwhile. And it always highlights the fact that life is full of paradoxes, that we cannot ‘have it all’ but often need to find a compromise between opposing choices.

Some decisions are basically trivial: Whether to stock up on clothes from Marks and Spencer, or keep my suitcase light? Whether to go for the convenience of staying in one central base, or make the extra effort of traveling round the country?

Then there are the deeper dilemmas: Whether to attempt the near-impossible and exhausting ideal of visiting all of my friends and relatives each year, knowing there are some I may never see again? Whether to stay long enough to make the trip really worthwhile, although it means being away from my husband and family in Auckland?

The Bach flower remedies Scleranthus for indecision, and Honeysuckle for nostalgia, might be helpful for some of these issues but none can solve the underlying question – where is really home? I appreciate the privileges of having citizenship of two countries which I love equally, and of being able to spend time in both. It is just rather unfortunate that they are nearly 12,000 miles apart. One day I may have to choose, or find that fate has chosen for me.