25

The Man Who Washed

‘WHAT ON EARTH is that bowl of water doing outside the door?’

I had just entered Doctor Mac’s room at the surgery to discuss any potential problems for the day. I had been surprised to see a bowl of water on a stand together with a towel and soap outside the door in the little porch.

‘Ah well, Nurse. Old Bennie has finally lost his senses altogether, I fear,’ answered the precise doctor.

‘Bennie?’ I queried. I knew most folk on the island but I could not place ‘Bennie’.

‘The old hermit – or at least recluse – on the moor near the castle. “Old Bennie” is what they call him. I do not even have his full name on my books. He is not a native but wandered here many years ago. He lives in an old caravan tucked away from the world. He found it abandoned by the harbour, took it apart, piece by piece, carried it all up to Dhub Moor and rebuilt it.’

‘By himself?’ I asked, getting a picture of a large muscleman.

‘Yes, by himself. I’m not surprised that you have not met him. Duncan and previously his father seem to have looked after him, giving him food and allowing him to stay on estate land.’

‘Does he work for Duncan?’

‘Well, officially I suppose so, but I don’t think he does much.’

‘I look forward to meeting him,’ I said.

Doctor Mac looked at me rather wryly. ‘Hmm. Well, he has been getting more and more eccentric and now he has decided that he will not enter any house without washing his face, hands and, rather more worryingly, his feet. Hence the bowl.’

I smiled. Having lived in the Middle East, I was reminded of the Muslims removing their shoes before entering the mosque and the five times daily wash before prayers. Could Bennie, too, have lived among Muslims? Was he reverting in his old age? Perhaps he was of that faith? This was intriguing.

‘So he is here now? What is wrong that he needs to come to the surgery?’

‘Duncan told me that the old man was limping badly so I asked him to bring him in. Evidently it took Duncan some time to persuade him into the Land Rover and when they got here he refused to come in without washing. He sat outside until I gave him the bowl of water and now he is waiting quietly.’

Just then there was a hubbub from the waiting room with several raised voices. The door burst open and a dishevelled figure barged in. Bennie! He had obviously got tired of waiting quietly and decided to jump the queue.

‘Doctor, sir, I’m here.’ He sat himself down in the doctor’s chair and, without preamble, lifted his trouser leg.

‘’Tis here, sir.’

I approached, ‘Come and lie on the couch, Bennie.’

Bennie jumped as though shot. He had not noticed me.

‘I don’t know you,’ he said with a frown.

‘I’m the nurse.’

He looked doubtful, but obediently climbed on to the couch. I started to take his wellies off.

‘’Tis not in ma wellies, can y’ no see.’ And once more the trouser leg was pulled up.

A red, angry area of flesh surrounded a grey, suppurating ulcer some two inches in diameter. I was appalled.

‘That must be very painful, Bennie.’

A shrug.

‘How long have you had this, Bennie?’

Another shrug.

Doctor touched the angry skin. ‘Painful?’

‘Aye, some.’

‘Bennie, you will need to come here every day for Nurse to clean and dress this.’

‘What for?’

Doctor patiently explained about infection and dirt.

‘I can wash it. Yes, I can do that,’ declared the old man.

‘Not really, Bennie. You see it’s difficult for anyone to do their own leg, so I will do it for you.’ I hoped to calm him.

‘Well, I’m no comin’ all this way for a bit o’ bandage.’

‘Shall I come to you, then?’

‘No, no, no. Nobody comes to my home. Nobody. ’Tis mine. Mine.’ He was quite agitated. He muttered on about ‘private’ and ‘mine’. We were getting nowhere until he nodded and gave a toothless grin.

‘There’s the box.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Ally’s post office. The box. ’Tis on the grass by Ally’s shop.’

I was beginning to see through the fog.

‘You mean the telephone box outside Ally’s house. What about it, Bennie?’

Ally’s ‘shop’ was not a proper shop at all – just somewhere where folk had parcels left for them and sometimes the Dalhavaig shop would take groceries and leave them at Ally’s house for the scattered few crofters to collect.

Bennie gave me a contemptuous look and didn’t answer.

‘Do you mean that I should see you in Ally’s house – but what about Bella. Would she mind?’

‘Do you not understand me, woman. I’m speaking of the box. Ally has put water there for me so I can wash before I go in to get my goods. It’s grand just with a wee stool and all.’

‘But I can’t see to your leg in a telephone box, Bennie!’

‘And why not indeed? ’Tis the only way. It’s a great wee box – a lovely colour of red and you can see the sunsets from it, too.’

I looked across at Doctor Mac for help and was amused to see the doctor almost doubled up with suppressed mirth. What was I to do with this crazy old man?

The doctor recovered his composure and said, ‘I’ll give you some antibiotics too, Bennie. You must take two in the morning and two in the evening.’

‘I’m no’ likin’ pills.’

‘No, I know, but they will make your leg better much more quickly.’

Bennie looked puzzled. ‘Do I eat them, Sir?’

‘Er… yes.’

‘Then I’m not understanding how the goodness of them gets to my leg from my mouth.’

Doctor looked taken aback. ‘Never mind about that. They will do the job – that’s the thing.’

‘I shall forget.’

Doctor Mac and I were beaten for the moment. Not so, Bennie.

‘I know. Nurse can bring them to the phone box and give me one. Aye. There we go. That’s the thing to do.’ He was triumphant.

‘But what about the dressings, Bennie? We haven’t decided where I am to do those.’

‘Aye, we have indeed. You are going to do them in the box. Do you not remember, woman? Och indeed, just.’

‘Bennie, there is not room in a telephone box for two people and the equipment that I should need or room to actually do the job.’

Bennie drew himself up. ‘Indeed, there is room. I shall sit on the wee stool and you can leave the door open to give you room to do ma leg. ’Tis the only way.’

Nothing that either of us could say would persuade this stubborn, crazy old man that a phone box was not a fit place for cleaning and dressing a nasty ulcer. We begged, we argued, Doctor became quite firm and I flatly refused at one point.

I was told, ‘Well then, we’ll no’ do it at all and ye canna make me do aught I’m not wantin’ to do.’

He was right in that we could not force him to have treatment but at the same time there was no way that we could let him go unattended with such a frightful ulcer.

I drooped as I said, ‘So where is this phone box?’

He brightened immediately, ‘’Tis right by the road, Nurse. Ye canna miss it.’

Then he really cheered me by saying, ‘All the folk who pass will see that I am having the treatment. It will be grand, just.’

It was definitely not grand as, for the next two weeks; I cleaned and dressed that leg kneeling on the concrete floor, with my bottom sticking out of the open door of the phone box while Bennie waved to every passing soul, while happily chewing his tablets.

Against all odds, the ulcer healed well.