The Young, The Old and The Lonely: Setting up a Playgroup in a Care Home, Part 1

When I first became a mum, the biggest surprise was how lonely the day-to-day could be. Sanity was usually saved by elderly folk, who were also out getting fresh air in the middle of the day. They had time to chat and stories to share. The baby in my arms was proof enough that I was harmless.  His tiny presence made opening lines easy enough; conversation flowed freely between strangers, bridging generations, differences and histories. A park bench or check out queue became therapeutic moments in the day, cooing over little one's eyelashes, or sharing ad hoc games of peekaboo. They were brief chance encounters but spread so much joy.

It seemed obvious that these meetings need not be left to chance. For all the new lonely mums out there, there's double the number of lonely older adults.  If only I could adopt a granny, or visit someone housebound, or volunteer for a befriend the elderly coffee morning.  A hot cuppa: that'd be a dream. Adult conversation? Yes please.  Bringing a baby along would be perfect, I thought.  Break the ice.  Share the love.  Everyone's a winner.
Not.  So.  Easy.

Inter-generational Joy.

I contacted the main charities for the elderly, both nationally and locally.  I called two local care homes: "I'd have my baby with me."  The response was always the same: "No, that's not allowed."  I understood their concern.  I'd not be able to give 100% attention to an older adult if my baby needed me to feed/change/comfort.  I wouldn't be 100% reliable as a volunteer.  But was there no way that I could help? I went to the shops every day, usually just for a walk, and sometimes (if it had been one of those days and we'd missed all the morning baby groups) just for a chat with someone.  Could I really not just pick up a few items for a housebound neighbour?

I gave up.  My little one grew up and I went back to work.

It was a couple of years later that I tried again.  We were in a new town and I had a new baby.  I now had two little ones and bags more confidence in myself as a mum, but also myself as a valuable member of the community.  I made the same calls to the big charities who again said no.  I asked the neighbours if they knew of anyone but they all said no.  I called the local church to ask about the befriending the elderly scheme.
"I'd like to meet some older people.  I'd have my two young children with me.  Is there anyone who'd enjoy spending time with us?"  I even added that my own grandparents had all passed away and our families lived quite far away.  I found her answer surprising.
"Well dear, we have some groups for mothers and children where you can meet people."
"But I'd like to mix with other generations and share the joy of having little children around."
"No, dear, we all have our grandchildren."
Her short sighted response silenced me; I sighed and gave up again.

My final effort was to post on the local Facebook group, a hive of activity where dog poo, poorly parked cars and pot-hole swerving cyclists are regularly criticised and humiliated.  My post was a short summary of my objective and rejection thus far.  The huge response was warm, welcoming and full of compassion.  Strangers encouraged me and well-wishers tried to help me.  And then, there was a promising lead at last: Charley Allen contacted me, Activities Coordinator of St. Joseph's, Tring, a local care home, specialising in dementia.  Together, we made plans for a playgroup to be held in the care home.

I gathered some local parents together and we organised a 45 minute programme to suit all attendees: babies, toddlers, parents, carers and older adults, some of who are suffering with dementia.
We would start with a classic children's story; introduce names and share a fact about ourselves; singing traditional nursery rhymes while wafting a parachute and end with lots of bubbles.
I was excited for our first session.  We were all aware of the possible risks and realised the unpredictable nature of tiny children and older adults living with dementia.  It was going to be great.  What could possibly go wrong?