Today
A mobile bodyshop business was set up under a little pointy-roofed pavilion in the Close today. As I walked past I breathed in deeply. "Ah! the smell of fibreglass resin!" I cried "That takes me back!"
In My Day
When I applied to do theatre design at the West Sussex College of Design in Worthing I had many romantic notions. However the course offered was far from romantic; training was strictly practical.
We were early on initiated into the secrets of scenery and prop manufacture. This often involved the use of fibreglass resin. There were several stages to the process. First you had to model what you wanted in a temporary material, such as papier mache. This was a challenging and messy job and you found yourself peeling bits of hardened paper off your clothing for weeks afterwards.
Next you made a plaster cast of the object. This gave you the item in inverse, so to speak and could take quite a while to harden.
Finally, when it was quite hard, you opened large packs of glass fibre and pushed it into the mould, following this with liquid resin. This resin had a strong and, well, resinous smell and had the effect of softening the glass fibres which could then be pushed into all the crevices in the mould. Without the glass fibre, the resin would be too brittle. This set reasonably quickly, when it could be removed and the mould used again as often as you liked. This job left myriad tiny cuts all over your hands and completely ruined them.
Using this technique, the Connaught Theatre in Worthing produced a whole forest of trees for "A Midsummer Night's Dream". I spent hours helping with this; including applying lots of thick greeny-grey paint afterwards. I can't remember whether the result looked any good.
I wonder if they still use these techniques in modern theatres. Actually, I just found this site:
http://www.ehow.com/about_4672663_fiberglass-moldmaking.html .......
Friday, November 25, 2011
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
Peace
Today
This has been a week of family remembrance. My cousin Miriam posted a picture of her father, my Uncle Ernst, who would have been one hundred years' old yesterday. What a handsome man he was!
And this week also sees the seventh anniversary of Tricia's death and the thirtieth anniversary of Mamma's death. I was thinking that Tricia had a whole twenty-four years more of life than my mother. That's time to see grandchildren grow up, time to have great-grandchildren and be ready to say "goodbye".
In My Day
Mamma first showed signs of the lung cancer that was to carry her away while Daddy was in hospital. She found that the short walk to the hospital made her very breathless. After Daddy's death in 1979, we nagged her to go and get herself checked out.
I remember Beatrice reporting faithfully Mamma's phone call. "She's just has some fluid on the lung; they've drained about three litres, but she's fine." "Three litres!" I shrieked. "no wonder she couldn't breathe! What do, you mean "fine"? And how did the fluid get there?" I researched and the conclusion seemed inescapable; apart from pleurisy, which she clearly didn't have, the most common cause was lung cancer.
It seemed that her forty Craven A per day habit was catching up with her. There was a period of fierce denial, when she swore that the fluid (which came from a tear in the pleural membrane) had absolutely nothing to do with her smoking.
Eventually, the diagnosis had to be faced up to. We were invited to see the oncologist at Guildford hospital. I don't think that Mamma knew we were going so it was somewhat awkward when we bumped into her being wheeled into a lift. She was just delighted to see us and we all invaded the ward later. The consultant told us the worst - he could keep her health steady for a while with chemotherapy, but he couldn't save her and her descent would be rapid. Chris spoke for us all when he asked the consultant to be gentle about giving her the news and not to take away all hope.
After a few months' respite, Mamma was taken in to hospital for the last time in November 1981. Chris's wife phoned to say that they'd been with her for a couple of days, but now had to return to London.
Beatrice and I took some time off work and went to see Mamma and stay with her. Knowing that she would soon die, the hospital had tactfully placed her in a side ward and Beatrice and I greeted her and sat beside her. Beatrice tried (and failed) to do Mamma's crosswords and I had some stitching to do. We persuaded Mamma that we were not there for social chit-chat and that we were there because we loved her and wanted to be by her side.
Her breathing became more and more laboured. The social worker came into see her and asked her if there was anything Mamma wanted. "Nothing, so long as I will soon be in Heaven with my husband", replied Mamma.
Very soon after that Mamma had her wish. In the sudden silence, Beatrice & I said Goodbye to our Mother.
Mamma; I think of you every day and feel very sad that you were taken away from us when there was so much more you would have enjoyed. But I hope also that your wish was granted and that you are now truly at peace.
This has been a week of family remembrance. My cousin Miriam posted a picture of her father, my Uncle Ernst, who would have been one hundred years' old yesterday. What a handsome man he was!
And this week also sees the seventh anniversary of Tricia's death and the thirtieth anniversary of Mamma's death. I was thinking that Tricia had a whole twenty-four years more of life than my mother. That's time to see grandchildren grow up, time to have great-grandchildren and be ready to say "goodbye".
In My Day
Mamma first showed signs of the lung cancer that was to carry her away while Daddy was in hospital. She found that the short walk to the hospital made her very breathless. After Daddy's death in 1979, we nagged her to go and get herself checked out.
I remember Beatrice reporting faithfully Mamma's phone call. "She's just has some fluid on the lung; they've drained about three litres, but she's fine." "Three litres!" I shrieked. "no wonder she couldn't breathe! What do, you mean "fine"? And how did the fluid get there?" I researched and the conclusion seemed inescapable; apart from pleurisy, which she clearly didn't have, the most common cause was lung cancer.It seemed that her forty Craven A per day habit was catching up with her. There was a period of fierce denial, when she swore that the fluid (which came from a tear in the pleural membrane) had absolutely nothing to do with her smoking.
Eventually, the diagnosis had to be faced up to. We were invited to see the oncologist at Guildford hospital. I don't think that Mamma knew we were going so it was somewhat awkward when we bumped into her being wheeled into a lift. She was just delighted to see us and we all invaded the ward later. The consultant told us the worst - he could keep her health steady for a while with chemotherapy, but he couldn't save her and her descent would be rapid. Chris spoke for us all when he asked the consultant to be gentle about giving her the news and not to take away all hope.
After a few months' respite, Mamma was taken in to hospital for the last time in November 1981. Chris's wife phoned to say that they'd been with her for a couple of days, but now had to return to London.
Beatrice and I took some time off work and went to see Mamma and stay with her. Knowing that she would soon die, the hospital had tactfully placed her in a side ward and Beatrice and I greeted her and sat beside her. Beatrice tried (and failed) to do Mamma's crosswords and I had some stitching to do. We persuaded Mamma that we were not there for social chit-chat and that we were there because we loved her and wanted to be by her side.
Her breathing became more and more laboured. The social worker came into see her and asked her if there was anything Mamma wanted. "Nothing, so long as I will soon be in Heaven with my husband", replied Mamma.
Very soon after that Mamma had her wish. In the sudden silence, Beatrice & I said Goodbye to our Mother.
Mamma; I think of you every day and feel very sad that you were taken away from us when there was so much more you would have enjoyed. But I hope also that your wish was granted and that you are now truly at peace.
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