Jul 21 2008 by Our Correspondent, Huddersfield Daily Examiner
HEALTH Secretary Alan Johnson has said people should have the choice of where to die.
He meant at home rather than in hospital although, given the choice, I’d prefer to pop my clogs on the Copacabana beach in Rio de Janeiro watching a ladies volleyball match. Or cheering the England football team to victory in the World Cup final of 2066. Or propped up at the bar with a pint.
Apparently most of the 500,000 who die in England each year, end their lives in hospital, even though most of them would prefer to spend their last days at home. The Government has pledged £300m to provide the extra care that this would entail.
Of course, most of us prefer not to think about that particular and inevitable time in life. Personally, I would rather not be there when it arrives.
Or, as W C Fields said when asked for his epitaph: “On the whole, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.”
Mind you, that great comic with a fatal appetite for hard liquor had a phrase for every occasion.
“Once, in the wilds of Afghanistan, I lost my corkscrew, and we were forced to live on nothing but food and water for days,” he said.
My wife Maria’s grandmother was a staunch Catholic who prayed on her knees every night before bed.
“What are you praying for?” Maria once asked her.
“I’m praying that your mother has a happy death,” she said.
At the time, we were both confused. I mean, it wasn’t as if they had fallen out or anything. But with the passing years, I know just what she meant.
My father died in his 80s. He got up, washed and dressed, had his breakfast and chose the horses he would back that day, then went to lie down for half an hour with his betting slip in his pocket, before going for his bus. He never woke up.
Now that’s not a bad way to go.
Peaceful and without pain or knowledge that it was time for the last great adventure.
Or, as Bob Monkhouse said, “I want to die peacefully in my sleep, like my father. Not screaming and terrified like his passengers.”
But not for a long time yet.