by Emma
took me on for two blocks, entered a shop and sat down.
I was astounded. We were in the jeweller's. How could she
possibly have known we were going to our usual Friday area
on a Monday? Even more astonishing, how could she possibly
have known we were going to that shop? I certainly hadn't
said a word to her about it.
'How did you know, Emma?' I said. And I could hear her
tail beating on the floor. 'Oh, all right,' I said, 'I give in.
I'll never try to keep you in the dark again.' And I never did.
CITAPTER SIX
DON
WHILF, WE WERF, at the flat, our local radio station, Radio
Nottingham, came on the air for the first time. One of the
programmes introduced, Wednesday Club, was specially for
blind people. It was run by George Miller, who was a newsPaper
reporter and blind himself. It always astonished me
t~at someone who could not see was able to do this kind of
work. Yet George not only made his living from journalism;
he did the job magnificently. One day, he got in touch with
me to ask if I would go on the Wednesday Club programme
and talk about guide-dogs. I said I would, but I did not very
much like the idea of sitting in front of a microphone and
giving a lot of facts and figures about guide-dogs: I didn't think
the audience could be held like that. A better way of putting
over just what guide-dogs can do would be to have some sort
of practical demonstration involving Emma and me. So I
suggested having a bet that we could get from any one part of
Nottingham to another faster than a sighted person.
George laughed and said they would think about it. A day
or so later he rang back and said O.K. to the idea, and told
me that Tony Church, the producer, would be the one with
whom I would have the bet. He made it quite 'Clear, however,
that everyone at Radio Nottingham thought I was out of
rny mind, and that Emma and I had as much chance of
winning as a three-legged horse in the Derby.
72
EMMA AND I
Tony Church mapped out a route that he told me he would
disclose on the day of the recording. Emma and I accordingly
turned up outside the Radio Nottingham studios. Tony was
there to meet us, with his tape recorder and microphone.
'Well, this is the famous Emma, this is the dog that's going
to beat me, is it?'
'Yes, it is,' I said, while I imagined Emma giving him a
piercing look of confirmation that this was indeed what was
going to happen.
'All right,' said Tony, 'do you know Trinity Square?'
Trinity Square? This was great.
'Yes,' I said. 'Very well.'
'Well, now, whereabouts in Trinity Square would you like
to head for?'
I thought for a moment, and then decided. 'The forty-nine
bus stop,' I said.
'Right,' said Tony, and ofF we went. We had to cross quite
a few busy main roads in order to reach this particular square,
and to begin with I could hear Tony behind me, using his
tape recorder to give a commentary on what was going on,
though before long his voice was drowned by the traffic
sounds.
Emma and I pounded on, Emma seeming more agile and
nimble than ever, and at last we reached Trinity Square,
and the bus station winning post. Tony did not arrive until a
few minutes later. Rather out of breath and somewhat
stunned, he said, 'Congratulgions, and apologie4. You were
right, and we were wrong.'
It was not until I heard the tape played back in the studio
that I learned what had happened: it was no doubt entertaining
for the listeners, but it also enlightened me about the
way Emma worked. In the first place, I was surprised at the
number of obstacles that she had taken me round about which
I had known nothing. She had also taken me across a zebra
crossing. I had stopped while Emma had sat down, and we
waited until I could hear the traffic draw up. I remember at
this point that Emma had got up first and crossed the road.
DON 73
What I did not know was that a bus had pulled up at the
crossing, and the driver had leaned out of his cab and waved
Emma over. As we reached the other side, Tony had come
panting up. But the bus moved on at that moment and left
him stranded on the opposite end of the crossing. He then
ran along that side of the road, trying to keep up with us.
When he did finally cross and catch us up, he trod on Emma's
tail, which did not go down at all well. Then, trying to get
across the next road, the same sort of thing happened again.
The traffic waited for us, but not for Tony. As we reached
Trinity Square, we were well in front, and Ernma, according
to the tape, had time to stop and look in a shop window that
seemed to interest her. It had a huge notice: 'Sale On'.
That programme for Radio Nottingham was the beginning
of my friendship with George Miller. He was an extremely
likeable man, full of vivacity and zest for life. From then on he
often used to ring me up and discuss the Wednesday Club
programmes. e was very keen on helping other blind people,
and rightly considered the whole venture a worthwhile contribution
in this direction. Sometimes he rang up and chatted
about a piece of news concerning the blind; or he consulted
me about guide-dog work.
One evening, George telephoned and said he had a friend
with him, someone called Don Hocken. Would I like a word
with him? Don was in the same room and could hear the
conversation through the speaker that had been fitted on to
George's telephone to leave his hands free for his braille
machine. Don came on the line and passed the time of day,
and if it is possible to fall in love immediately over the tele
phone, I certainly did. When Don told me what his work was
(he was a chiropodist) I'm afraid I laughed: I thought of
someone condemned to a fate of endlessly cutting other
people's toenails. He put me right, however. It was, he said,
rather more complicated than that. But, more important,
he did not seem to mind my laughter one bit, although I later
learned how much his work meant to him, and what a close
interest he took in his patients.
i
I0
74 EMMA AND I
Don was fond of dogs and had heard from George about
Emma, so we chatted away for some time about her, and
poor George hardly got a word in at all. When we had rung
off I could not get over the sound of Don's soft, deep voice and
the conversation kept re-playing itself in my mind. I discovered
afterwards that Don had first met George as a patient
and on the day of the first consultation, not realizing George
was blind, Don had put his groping approach to the surgery
door down to excess alcohol! They struck up a friendship and
George had been helping Don with some of his own writing
efforts.
A few evenings later George rang again, and Don was there
too. I was thrilled. When he came on the line I wondered what
he looked like, but, strangely, I felt on a par with him in a way
that would have been impossible if we had been introduced
face to face. Because we had 'met' on the telephone he was
equally unaware of my appearance. Then he told me that he
had been invited to the Open Day the following Saturday at
Radio Nottingham, and suddenly I felt nervous. I had also
been invited, and, after he had rung off, I wondered whether
I dared go. I simply did not want to face the fact that if he had
illusions they might dissolve when he saw me. Moreover, I
never believed that a sighted man could really be attracted to
a woman who was blind. But I thought it over, and in the end
my curiosity won. I decided I would go.
I remember that day in August 1968 so well. I went right
through my wardrobe wondering what to wear. I finally chose
my best green dress, and newest shoes: I could never wear
high heels because they led to too many difficulties on kerbs
and gratings; but fashion by then was getting round to the
flatter heels I had to wear, and as it happened, I had just
bought a pair of shoes that were considered very smart. I had
been to the hairdresser, and I kept asking Anita: 'Do I look
all right? Is my hair O.K.? Do I really look presentable?
What do you honestly think?' Anita kept reassuring me: 'Oh,
Sheila, you look fine, you really do, don't be silly.'
But it was impossible for me to compare myself accurately
DON
75
with other people and therefore judge for myself what I
looked like. As a result, I always felt that I could not be as welldressed
as any one else, or that my hair could never look as good
as theirs. When people said, as they often did, 'You look nice',
I could never be sure that they were not making allowances
somehow for the fact that I was blind.
At last, after these great preparations, Emma and I set off.
Emma knew I was excited, because she pushed herself forward
in her harness and wagged her tail as we went along. I
told her all about Don. 'He sounds very nice, Emma,' I said,
'but I don't know what he'll make of us, I really don't.'
Emma went on wagging her tail, but the further we went, the
more nervous I became. Silly, but there it was. I could not
analyse it to myself at the time, but this meeting seemed so
very, very important and special.
We arrived at Radio Nottingham, and, once inside, I could
hear a big crowd. Eventually I managed to get someone to
find George for me. They were away for a bit, then I heard
George's voice. We went to sit in a corner and chat, while all
sorts of people came up to talk to him, and finished up having
a conversation with Emma. In the middle of it all, I heard
this unmistakable voice, talking some distance away. I
thought, I wonder if he's seen me? I wonder what he thinks?
Perhaps he's seen me and doesn't want to come over and meet
us after all. Then I could pick out what he was saying. He was
talking to a girl with a young, attractive voice, and he said,
'The last time I saw you, you were in bed.' I was astonished,
and thought: Well, would you believe it? He's just one of
these characters who sweep girls off their feet, and straight
into bed. I felt terribly let down. Then I heard more of the
conversation. It transpired that while he had been visiting his
mother in hospital, this girl had been in the next bed!
At last, I heard him say goodbye to her, then there was the
approach of footsteps, and the same voice, much nearer, said,
'Hello, Sheila.' In the same instant I knew he was smiling.
Emma got up and gave him a huge welcome. He patted her
and made a great fuss of her, but it was to me he quickly
76 EMMA AND I
turned his attention. We sat down and began talking, and it
was as if we had known each other for years. He described the
studio in detail to me, the control panels, the double glazing,
and everything about the surroundings and the people who
were there. But it was not the description in itself that was
marvellous-which it was-but the fact that Don knew I was
cut off, and had immediately set about doing what he could to
put this right by telling me all about what was going on.
'Would you like to come round the studio with me?' he
asked eventually. I said I would, and was then surprised and
delighted when he didn't immediately clutch at my arm and
try to drag me round. Instead, he offered his arm for me to put
my hand round, which is the best and easiest way to guide a
blind person. He was not a bit embarrassed, and when we got
to the control panel he insisted on my feeling all the dials and
buttons. 'This is the control panel, Sheila: feel the control
here; this is the window that looks out over the studio . . . '
Don seemed to have an instinctive grasp of how to make things
come alive to someone who was blind. I felt completely
relaxed and happy with him.
Later on in the afternoon he suggested to George that we
all went to have some tea together (and by tea, I mean the
kind of high tea we have in Nottingham, something more
substantial than thin cucumber sandwiches). At first I did
not much like the idea as I did not want to let myself down in
front of Don when everything was so marvellous. I tried to
make excuses that we really had to be getting back home.
But he would not listen. 'Come on,' he said, 'I know a really
nice place just up the road.' Finally he persuaded me, and
Emma and I set off in front of George, who was being guided
by Don. He had told me exactly where the restaurant was.,
and we arrived a little in front of them, which was pleasing,
because I wanted to show that with Emma's guidance I was
well able to cope.
Once inside, and having got permission for Emma to come
in (always a problem in restaurants, and not one that the
magic words 'guide-dog' would necessarily solve), she curled
DON
77
up under the table and Don thoughtfully described the surroundings,
including the decorations, carpets and curtains,
and made the place vivid for me. We ordered steak. Don
offered to cut it up for me. As always I refused, and later paid
for this small show of independence. On the second occasion
I got my fork to my mouth with nothing on it, I heard Don
laugh, and say: 'You've missed again.' I was so embarrassed,
I blushed from my toes to the roots of my hair. I wanted him
to accept me as a normal person. Yet his laughter had no
unkindness in it, and somehow his laughing it off in this way
did make things easier in the end.
After the meal, Don drove Emma and me back to Peel Street.
As we said goodbye outside the flat, just before he got back
into the car, he handed me something. I felt it. It was a rose,
and I suppose he had taken it out of his buttonhole. When
I got in I put the rose in a vase, a
nd cherished it. I kept it long
after the bloom had gone; I never wanted to throw it away.
In the days that followed I would sometimes touch the rose
in its vase which I had in my bedroom, and I kept going over
the details of that Saturday in my mind. At the same time I
had an uneasy feeling that I would never hear from Don again,
that it had been a lovely day, and that was it. In my imagination
he was tall and fair with a moustache. I knew he was tall
because his voice came from above me, and I knew he was
quite broad-shouldered from taking his arm on the tour of the
studio. I was quite glad that Anita had not been there, and
there was no one to give me his or her description of Don,
because I always preferred the people of my imagination to
the way they were described by others.
A few days went by, and I was beginning to think my fears
about his not getting in touch again were right, when a voice
that I instantly recognized came over the switchboard. I
knew Don would not be ringing to order our latest model
sewage pump. He wanted to take me out that evening. That
evening! I was so excited that for the rest of the afternoon
there was a high percentage of wrong calls to the wrong
extensions all over the office.
i
I
i
78 EMMA AND I
On the way home I told Emma all about it. By that time,
I had mentioned Don's name to her so often that she was quite
familiar with it, and wagged her tail in reply. I think she was
looking forward to the outing. Anita was still at work when
we got back to the flat, so there was only Emma to share my
excitement. I remember feeling the warmth of the sun in my
bedroom as I started to change, and thinking how the world
suddenly seemed to have become a warm and marvellous
place.
As we went out that summer evening, which seemed more
scented than any other evening I could remember, I thought:
someone wants to see me, really wants to see me. My shoes
hardly seemed to touch the pavement as Emma took me along
