The Unaccommodating Hotel
England, June 2021
It’s our first short train ride in a year, across the viaduct to the next village, for my eighty-six-year-old mother and me. Both eager to get out, almost back to normality, we set off gaily chatting on a cloudy day with the greatest optimism, for it is a journey that my mother now seldom makes alone.
She takes a seat, muscling into the narrow shelter with her walking aid and watches while I navigate the digitized panel and cashless touch screen collection of two simple tickets. Times have changed! My elderly mother has no idea how to buy her fare, even after studying the screen carefully. Befuddled by the complexities of on-line requests, half blind, deaf and her understanding now slowing, nothing is as simple anymore as jumping on a train and asking the conductor to do it for you. She reminisces the old ways, “Why can’t they sell you a ticket on the train like they used to?” The independence of the elderly to make their own way is fast eroding. If she cannot comply, more than a slap on the legs- a fine will be issued!
The train glides in, a smooth and modern transition from the yesteryear loud engine, trundling rickety carriages behind, with windows that had to be lowered and leaned out of to open a swinging door. The portal now slides apart at the push of an illuminated green button and the kind conductor leaps off, to help…
