by Emma
I thought: here I am blind, but I can help these people. I
hope not too many of.them went around with the wrong
colour lipstick as a result!
i~
i
EMMA SAVES MY LIFE
CHAPTER NINE
EMMA SAVES MY LIFE
AFTER EMMA AND I had been together for about a year, I
I decided I should like to become an official speaker on
behalf of Guide-Dogs: to go round and tell people about
their work, and help raise funds. Emma had given me so much,
I wanted to try and help. Not only that, I was anxious for the
opportunity to tell people how marvellous she was, and all
about her.
The first talk I ever did came about through Anita. She
invited me to one of her church meetings. She said she had
told everyone in her circle so much about Emma that they
were all dying to meet her. Off we went, and I felt on top of
the world; this was what I wanted to do. We got to the hall,
Anita met us, and we sat in one of the back rows. I could sense
that there were a lot of people (about I50 I was told later).
They started with hymns and prayers, and in the middle of
'Lead Us, Heavenly Father, Lead Us' I suddenly realized I
was scared stiff. I thought: What on earth persuaded me to do
this sort of thing? I'm going to have to stand up in front of all
these people, and talk. I must be mad. When the hymn came
to an end, there was a terrible, expectant silence. I heard
someone announcing that they had a speaker. Even worse, I
then, with a thump in my heart, heard my name.
They asked me if I would go to the front. I put Emma's
harness on, took hold of the handle, and told lier to go
I03
forward. Up the aisle she went, and took me onto the platform.
I had hoped for moral support from her; but it was
fairly clear that none would be forthcoming. As soon as she
turned and, obviously, caught sight of the audience, Emma
went round behind me, curled up, and put her nose through
my feet in an attitude that plainly indicated: 'You carry on
doing whatever you have to; I'm well hidden.'
I spoke, I suppose, for about five minutes. It seemed like
five hours. I stuttered and stammered through what had
happened at the training centre, and tried to put over what
Emma meant to me. The sole compensation was that, unlike
sighted speakers, I could not be distracted by the faces in front
of me. At the same time, I had no means, as I hesitated,
faltered, and blundered on with many an 'Er', and 'Well', of
gauging their reactions. When I finally ran out of things to
say-which did not take long-I just stood trembling, and to
my amazement there was a great burst of applause.
I could hardly believe it. Emma immediately leaped up
from behind me, wagging her tail furiously (after all the
applause was for her). Then she took her harness, which was on
the floor by my feet, and rushed away down the hall. She went
from row to row to show how clever she was, and of course
everyone was delighted. From that moment Emma was
certainly never shy of going to talks; as soon as I told her what
we were about to do, there was no holding her, she would go
at double her usual rate.
All this meant a lot of hard work keeping records, but here
Don came in again. I bought large diaries, and he kept them
up-to-date, and we reviewed each week the forward plans. On
Sunday afternoons we would get the diary out, Don would tell
me all the information I wanted, then I would translate it
through my braille machine, and carry the separate braille
instructions for the week round with me to the various talks.
Only one thing ever deterred Emma from wanting to go on
a talk, and that was rain. She did not like going out anyway
when it was raining, and this made life a little difficult. I
would have to drag her out, saying, 'Come on, you won't get
I04 EMMA AND I
wet. You won't feel it with your great, furry coat.' But Emma
was aware3 no doubt, that even if her coat protected her, she
still had four big paws to slide about in the mud. Going to
work, or more accurately, trying to persuade her to get me to
work when it was raining, was a great performance. She would
dig her paws in, and refuse to move outside the flats. I would
beg, plead, cajole, and even threaten her (in the politest
possible way). Eventually she would reluctantly move off, but
I was often late, and I could never bring myself to tell the boss,
'It was Emma's fault.'
When I started giving talks I was struck by the odd questions
people used to ask at the end. For instance, 'How do you find
your clothes in the morning?' That stumped me. It was something
I had never really thought about. What could I say,
but, 'Normally in a heap on the chair where I left them.' I
knew what they were getting at, but something that sighted
people might imagine an immense difficulty or inconvenience
is really not as complicated as all that when you are blind.
You know where things are; it's your life.
The one thing I disliked about giving talks was the dinner
that sometimes preceded the actual lecture. I remember one
particularly dreadful occasion when I had to tackle a fruit
cocktail. It contained pineapple chunks. Some idea may be
gained of the problem by putting on a blindfold and attempting
to chase pineapple chunks round a dish with a spoon.
Very elusive they are. I stuck to it, knowing by the lack of
eating-sounds around me that everyone was watching, and
feeling the tension rising. It happened to be a warm summer
evening, and I had on a rather low-cut dress. I finally captured
a chunk and raised it in my spoon, when I suddenly became
aware that it was attached to several other chunks in a kind of
string. Worse, the shock of this made me drop the spoonand
the entire string of pineapple disappeared down my
cleavage. Not the best start to an evening!
Well-meaning 'help' was constantly being offered, particularly
on my arrival. I would be given a seat and told 'Now,
don't move.' I always think it strange that so many people
EMMA SAVES MY LIFE I05
regard the blind as rather dangerous and unstable explosive
material, which, if allowed the least chance of independent
life and movement may cause some sort of cosmic disaster.
Quite apart from that, the blind are often treated as deaf as
well, if not mentally defective. The admonition, 'Don't move',
was frequently a sort of military command:'DON'T MOVE!'
I would sit there, tense and afraid lest someone else suddenly
grabbed me and forcibly propelled me elsewhere. I would
take Emma's harness off, and then start to take my coat off.
That was always fatal. The instant I stood up to do so, I was
pounced on from all sides: 'What do you want? What is it?
Why are you moving?'
The thing that spurred me on through all these minor
tortures was knowing that when I stood up to speak, thg
/>
would be the ones who could not move, and I would be able to
demonstrate to them that I was just like any other human
being apart from not being able to see. When I stood up at the
beginning, I could practically feel the tension generated at the
thought of listening to someone who was blind: the last thing
they wanted to do was to laugh. But somehow I succeeded in
getting them to do just that, though it often took a little time.
Another of the rewarding results ofmy talks with Emma was
that very often the organizations we visited decided not only
to give a donation to the Association, but to try and raise the
money to buy a guide-dog. The full cost of a guide-dog is
œ500, including the puppy-walking, the training of the dog
at the centre, and the training of the blind person with the
dog. The costjust of training the dog at the centre is reckoned
at about œ250. When a blind person goes for his or her dog
they are not, of course, required to pay this sort of money
(if they were I should either have had to rob a bank, or would
still be sitting at home saving up). All that is asked is 5op and
this enables blind people to have a dog no matter what their
financial circumstances, and yet not to feel that they are
accepting charity. It also means that a lot of eITort goes into
raising money for guide-dogs, with many willing people all
over the country devoting time and energy to it. So when my
io6 EMMA AND I
audience came up with the idea that they would like to contribute
by provision of a guide-dog, I was always delighted.
I once planned a fund-raising event myselœ I decided to do
a twenty-niile sponsored walk (with Emma in the lead, of
course). Don and I took a long time to plan this walk. We
went from the flat in the car, and put it together bit by bit.
Then we had to plan exactly how I was going to attempt it.
In this we were lucky. Nottingham University has a department
that deals with blind mobility, and the late Dr Alfred
Lconard had come up with the idea that very small pocket
tape recorders could be used for giving a blind person a route,
say, from a map.
The route would be recorded, and the blind man or woman
would take the tape recorder with them, listening in as they
went. We arranged to borrow one of these little tape recorders
from the university (they had only just come on to the market
and were expensive) and Don and I got down to putting my
route on tape.
Don came out with me, walldng every yard of the way, and
recording how many kerbs to cross, where to turn left or right,
what sort of pavement would be under my feet, what sort of
objects I would hear as I passed them, when I would pass
through busy shopping areas, and when I would be in the
country and going across fields. Don was marvellous at putting
the right information on to the tape. Not 'then you turn left
by the Post Office', but the more accurate information that I
needed. He had an incredible instinct for it, but he did have
his reservations about the walk.
'I don't know,' he said, after one of our route information
sessions, 'it's a long way for you to walk, twenty miles.'
'Don't worry,' I said, 'I've got Emma.'
'Well yes, I know, but I don't like the idea of you going out
there all on your own-both of you. What if you get lost?'
The route lay from Nottingham to Wollaton, Stapleford
Nuthall and back down the Alfreton Road to the flat. He had a
point, even though I had Emma, and even though I said, 'I
can always ask the way, I've got a tongue in my head.'
EMMA SAVES MY LIFE
'I know. But I still don't altogether like the idea
I07
The point was that I did not want him to come with me on
'Well, I'll
the actual day, because this would rob the whole idea of its
e'll arrange check-points, and I'H meet you at
twelolrtyho.uBwuhtaetveWntually we compromised. Don said,
various stages along the route.'
So that was fine. I had, in the event, the company of
another guide-dog owner, a friend of mine called Wendy who
wanted to come along as well with her dog Candy. But Don,
it was reassuring to think, would be in the background to make
sure that nothing went wrong. We had chosen a Sunday for
the walk, and it turned out to be a glorious morning. I got out
my pocket tape recorder, and the four of us set off.
We had arranged the route on the Nottingham side to go via
various parks, so that Emma and Candy could have as much
free running as possible. We had agreed that if the dogs
became too tired we would give up immediately. After all, it
would not matter so much if we were on our last legs, but, in
fairness, we had to think of the dogs because they would really
be doing the hard work.
Both Wendy and I had haversacks, with packed sandwiches,
bowls, and a generous water supply, as well as something to
cat for the dogs. Everything went well. In no time at all, it
seemed, we were past the outskirts ofnottingham, and into the
country on the Derbyshire side. Don turned up at the
appointed check-points and made sure we were all right, and
sent us on our way with appropriate encouragement. Well
into the afternoon we were still going quite strong. I clicked
the tape recorder on to get the next part of the route, and said
to Wendy, 'Now, we've got to go under a bridge, so listen for
a bridge. Immediately we've gone under it, we turn right,
and we're on the main road back into Nottingham.'
'O.K.,' said Wendy, and we carried on. We seemed to have
gone a long way, but no bridge turned up, and then, both
dogs stopped.
'Did you hear us go under a bridge?' I asked.
'No, I haven't heard one.'
io8 EMMA AND I EMMA SAVES MY LIFE iog
'Well, there's no point in us both getting lost. You stay here,
and I'll investigate.'
I told Emma to go. She seemed rather reluctant. But
eventually I managed to get her across the road we were on,
and when I reached the other side I could feel gravel and loose
stones under my feet instead of the pavement there should
have been.
'This is pecuhar, Emma. I wonder where we're going?'And
she stopped again. I said, 'No, come on. This may be the
continuation of the road. We're in the country. Perhaps the
main road is down here somewhere.' I tried to encourage her,
and she went on, but very cautiously. Then I felt grass under
my feet. At the same instant Emma stopped and refused to
budge. I felt someone's breath on my neck, and was immediately
struck with terror. I froze. I could not have moved
for a fortune. Then my ear was shattered by a thundering
'Moo . . .' We were in a field full of cows. Or was it a bull?
Who knows? We did not stop to find out. Emma and I were
out of the field and back to Wendy and Candy in ten seconds
flat.
When we retraced our steps-which we should have
done
before-we found the bridge, and were back on the right
road.
The dogs never showed any signs of tiredness. When we got
back they seemed good for another twenty miles. Wendy and
I, on the other hand, staggered in exhausted. But it was worth
it. Sponsors paid up and we raised nearly œ250.
Not long after this, Emma and I were asked to speak one
evening in Newark, which is almost sixteen miles from
Nottingham. It was a winter evening (the winter was the
busiest time for talks, because the majority of organizations
seemed to close down in summer, or arrange outings instead of
speakers).
When Emma and I got off the bus at seven o'clock in
Newark, there was no one to meet us. The place at which I
was giving the talk was some way from the bus station, and I
was expecting someone with transport to take us. It was very
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cold. Emma and I walked up and down. I felt my braille watch
from time to time. Half-past seven came, but no one arrived.
Then I thought: have I made a mistake? Did I say the eight
eight o'clock bus? So we walked around a bit more. The
eight o'clock bus duly rumbled in from Nottingham, but still
no one arrived to pick us up. By this time I was not only cold,
but very hungry as well. Something had obviously gone
wrong, and at this point I was overcome by hunger. 'Emma,' I
said, 'we're going for fish and chips. Can you find the scent?'
So off we went, although I had never been to Newark before.
Emma seemed much perked up by the prospect. We took a
long time, endlessly searching the streets around the bus
station, until, at last, I could smell the unmistakable and
extremely alluring odour of fish and chips. Whether Emma
had led me to it, or whether we found it by accident, I have no
idea. But she had a reward anyway, and shared the bag of
plaice and chips with me. Then we trailed back to the bus
station, and a weary hour later were back in Nottingham.
I could not imagine what had gone wrong. It had been an
