A fateful bank holiday by Brian Quinn
The phone rang loudly. Brr - brr brr. In my deep sleep my worst fears were realised. It was exam time, and being Saturday I had opted for a long lie. I awoke and raced to the phone at the top of the stairs - it was my uncle Pat.
‘There's been an accident ... Aunt Anne is badly injured ...‘
Previously that week, I had said for them to travel in the evening as it was the Bank Holiday weekend. Obviously Uncle Pat had not heeded my warning.
So I had to phone my Mum at work over in a nursing home in Pollokshields. She was the sister in charge. I relayed the message then phoned for a taxi to collect my Mum, and we headed for Central Station.
We arrived down in Ayr around 3pm, and set off for A County Hospital. When we arrived we discovered that my aunt was being stabilised in theatre.
My older brother Billy arrived later by car along with his pal Andy. We all just kept watch until late evening. About 10pm it was decided to move my aunt to Glasgow Royal Infirmary. Myself and my Mum travelled in the ambulance. It was the longest most excruciatingly difficult journey of my life.
A couple of times the nurse asked me if I was all right. My aunt's head had been shaved, and her whole face was bruised, battered black and blue.
All the time the sirens and the flashing lights drowned out any conversation. All day we had repeatedly said to each other that she would be all right.
Eventually we arrived in Glasgow, and soon were at the Royal. The time was midnight, and we all went home in Billy's car.
That night none of us slept and we had cup of tea, after cup of tea. We went to early mass, had breakfast and headed for the Royal. I kept thinking, if only he had listened to me.
Aunt Anne just lay there accusingly, being kept alive by a respirator and other machinery. Teas and coffees kept us in liquids.
At 3pm the machines were switched off. My aunt died shortly after. A sad loss.
