This poem by Vernon Scannell appeals because of what it says about growing old, but also because it reminds me of an incident in a hotel bath which happened to me when I was much younger, twenty years ago
I had to go to an evening function in London. After a nearly full day at work I caught the 4 o'clock train; when I got to the hotel I was pleased to notice that the bath was very long & deep – I would be able to have a good long soak with both knees & shoulders under water for the first time in forever
No time for that right away however, just a quick shower, into my finery & out
It was nearly 1 am when I got back, looking forward to relaxing away what had been a very long day. And it was lovely – until it came time to get out.
My back just was not up to levering me out from under the weight of the water
There was a phone – no dial, so presumably went straight through to the desk or somewhere - but it was over the other side of the room
Just stay here until someone comes in the morning? To find me looking like an albino prune, & possibly dead from hypothermia?
No, you’ll just have to throw dignity to the wind & start shouting
But wait, I can reach the hot tap with my toe, so perhaps I could survive the wait until morning
But that means … Eureka! If I can reach the tap I can reach the plug – thank heavens it is not one of those fancy modern things with mysterious buttons & levers for control, just a plain old fashioned chain
And so it transpired
A strange bath in a small hotel in Durham,
Old-fashioned, long like a porcelain coffin,
He lolls in it & lingers ….
He lets his gaze
Drift down to where his toes are visible,
Breaking the steaming surface, & observes
How long his toenails are. They seem to grow
More quickly now as they, he understands,
Will go on growing after he is dead.
The treacherous little bastards are rehearsing.
He nods & smiles a faint sour smile,
And they grin back at him quite equably,
Without the faintest smidgin of remorse
It is, of course, not true that nails (or hair) continue to grow after death - it is the flesh that shrinks
