Yesterday afternoon I went on one of my "let's see what I can see" wanders. Just one of those walks when I have nothing in mind only to see if anything is happening in the village. It was pretty quiet due to the rain. It did remind me that the piece of land in Priory Road comes up for auction next Tuesday and also that the King's Head is preparing to re-open (yippee)
Actually I did have somewhere to go - the dentist for a clean and polish. Most of it has to be done by hand with those spikey things that look more like medieval torture instruments.
Going to the dentist like so many other things has changed dramatically during the pandemic. In the past I just sauntered in a few minutes early, had a read of the paper and then waited to be called in.
Now it is a matter of turning up at the appointed time, being asked health-related questions in the car park, having your temperature taken and then going straight into the surgery. No waiting, no newspapers, no coffee and ice creams (sorry I made the last bit of that up).
It is all very efficient though. Going to the dentist now is so different to when I was a child and lived in mortal fear of the dentist.
I used to go to one on Reepham Road in Hellesdon and quite frankly he used to scare the doodah out of me. For a start the surgery (and there was just one dentist) was in an old detached house owned, I believe, by an elderly gentleman named Jackson who obviously lived upstairs. The downstairs was given over to the dental practice.
At the time of writing this the name of the dentist eludes me although I'm sure it will come back to me and I believe it began with the letter O (perhaps the dentist's name was Jackson and the owners name something else). But I digress as I so often do.
You walked up to the solid front door and rang the bell. It did give you time to change your mind about going in but somehow I never did. Of course when I first went there I went with my mother but in later years, when I became a so called "big boy", I went on my own. It was only a five minute walk from my home and as my mother said "I don't take you to the Rec when you want to play football so why should I take you to the dentist?"
I never had the nerve to tell her that I didn't need her to take me to football because it was highly enjoyable, but I did need her to take me to the dentist because I was scared and might run away without her.
Most of the time of course being scared was irrational, but there was always the fear that something nasty would happen. You were never quite sure that something other than a check up would take place.
Anyway once inside the first thing you would notice was the heavy dark wood panelling in the hallway - this really was an old person's house. You would book in in this hallway and then the waiting room was a square room on the right (in fact it was the house's front room). The room was dominated by a heavy and large oak table around which were situated a number of equally heavy leather sofas. There were a scattering of random magazines on the table but I never remember copies of the Beano or the Dandy or anything like that.
I would sit there for what seemed like forever but what was probably only a few minutes. My stomach would be doing somersaults and I would suddenly feel distinctly sick. And when your name was called it was like taking the march to the scaffold - again only a short distance but what seemed to take forever.
Whilst you were in the waiting room you could hear the whirr of the drill (one of the most horrible sounds known to man) along with the screams of those having fillings (sorry made that bit up as well).
The thing I remember about the waiting room, apart from the furniture and the lack of suitable reading material for young people, was the very dark paintings on the wall. They were overpowering and the last thing you wanted to see when your stomach was in freefall was a smitten deer with an arrow in its gut and blood pouring out. It somehow heightened the fear. I'm sure those paintings were worth a fortune.
The dentist was ancient. He must have been well over 30 which to a young boy was very ancient. Actually looking back with the ability to judge ages a little better, I would say that he was well into his sixties if not seventies. He wore a mask which made him look even more sinister (those were the days before Covid restrictions when nobody wore masks other than dentists and surgeons).
I can't remember him ever saying much. I remember having braces fitted which I absolutely hated. They kept breaking, mainly because I chewed them. I remember him tightening them with another instrument of torture and that made them hurt even more and made me chew them even more. I took them out when I ate as I never got the hang of chewing the food rather than the braces.
Every time I entered the surgery I developed a sniff and a cough because I had read somewhere that doctors and dentists wouldn't treat you if you had a cough or cold. At that age I didn't understand that the idea of a doctor not treating somebody because they were sick was ludicrous. Can you imagine the scenario:
"Hello how are you today."
"Well doctor I seem to have a nasty cough and cold."
"Oh dear that's not something I can deal with. You will have to return home."
Anyway I genuinely thought that if I had a coughing fit when I entered the dentist's surgery I would simply be sent home again. It never worked. Nobody ever said "that's a nasty cough you have." They just said something like "Take a Seat." I guess with Covid around a coughing fit in the surgery could now end with you being sent away (there's a hint of irony there somewhere).
So you took a seat and stared up at a huge round light while this old man poked and prodded around in your mouth.
When I was slightly older (probably around 14) I decided that enough was enough and I was not going to see the old dentist again. So I just stopped going and my parents said nothing, probably because my father hadn't seen a dentist for years and most of his teeth had fallen out (sounds like a Roald Dahl story).
Every time I wanted to visit my grandparents, who also lived on Reepham Road, I had to pass close to the surgery. I always ran past thinking that somebody would rush out with a big hook that they would put round my neck and they would want to know why I was no longer having check ups. Of course this was nonsense.
But the worst memory I have of that dentist was having to have a tooth out. I remember having a tooth out there and also going to somewhere off Prince of Wales Road to have one out. In those days they gave you laughing gas (nitrous oxide) which sent you into a very uncomfortable sleep. I can remember to this day feeling that tooth being pulled out and then being brought round with blood everywhere. I can also remember the horrible smell of the mask they put over your face. It smelled like burning rubber. I also remember and shudder at the machine when I came too and saw the mask put back in place.
This was a horrible thought from my childhood and the fact my grandad gave me sixpence (a fair bit of money in those days it would buy you at least a couple of chocolate bars that would of course help to rot your teeth even more) didn't help.
The result was I avoided going to the dentist for years and that led to a lot of extra treatment. It took quite a few years to get over the fear. I went to a very good dentist in Halesworth, Suffolk. He was young and didn't use masks and gas. He was also a member of Beccles and District Round Table, as was I. He largely sorted my teeth out but I did end up in Wayland Hospital to have wisdom teeth pulled.
When we came to Hethersett, I joined the local practice and for many years was a patient of Mrs Penfold and now of Paul Baisley. The whole concept of dentists and children has changed. Surgeries are now bright and colourful. They have children's books and last time I was there before lockdown Paul came out to speak with a youngster.
"Hello my name's Paul, what's your name?"
So much has changed and for the better. I now quite like going to the dentist because I know that when I come out my mouth and teeth will be cleaner and healthier than when I went in. But somehow I can't quite erase those images of dentistry in Norwich of the late 1950s and early 1960s. Perhaps writing about them will exorcise some of the ghosts.
* * *
Finally today a link to my article in the Eastern Daily Press with reference to the re-opening of the King's Head.
https://www.edp24.co.uk/business/king-s-head-pub-in-hethersett-to-reopen-1-6850841
There's also been coverage of a rather contentious issue between the parish council and the church. I will write more about that tomorrow.