Steve's story

On the wall above Steve’s fireplace is a picture, slightly faded, of him in a small boat. Somehow taken directly from above years before drones could help with such a task, the image captures Steve holding an oar in each hand, a broad smile upon his face.

Being on the water has long been a fascination of Steve’s. When he was young, his parents took him on a coastal steamer, kickstarting an interest that eventually led to yearly trips to Loch Ness, and a career in the Merchant Navy, which took him even further afield.

And one passion led to another; on shore leave on one of his naval adventures, Steve visited the New York World’s Fair, where he discovered hand drumming – a love he still has to this day, having led drum circles for school groups and corporate events alike, and advocating its health and social benefits. “Turning a hobby into a day-job and getting paid for it is one of my proudest achievements,” says Steve.

Cast adrift

Much has changed in the years since the boat pic was taken, though. The vessel itself, now dismantled, rests on the wall behind the wing back chair Steve, now 79, spends most of the day in. He’s long been unable to manage the stairs in his Leeds home, so occupies the ground floor only, sleeping in a bed against the wall opposite where he sits. Meanwhile, he’s less able to drum than he used to be, which is a blow for him.

This change in circumstances is the result of being diagnosed with Parkinson’s, as well as suffering a crushed vertebra, both of which have significantly impacted his mobility and overall health. “Before the Parkinson’s diagnosis, I weighed about 15 stone, but now I weigh about 10 stone,” admits Steve. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Steve had a fall in his front room and lay on the floor for two days before a friend, unable to raise Steve by phone, called the police.

Given these challenges, Steve relies on the carers who visit his home several times a day, from when he gets up in the morning to when he goes to bed at night, with meals prepared for him in between. For a time, these visits were among the only interactions Steve had with the outside world, as trips to the nearby shop on his walker to look for reduced-price groceries became more sporadic.

Anchored in friendship

Given his lack of contact, Steve signed up for the Age UK Telephone Friendship Service and admits to being unsure of the prospect at first, thinking he wasn’t good at making new friends. “In terms of being lonely, I've spent more time living on my own than I have sharing a house with anybody else, including my parents, as a child,” he reveals. “So, I don't think I enjoy my own company but I'm more used to it than I am with sharing space with anybody else.”

Steve’s thankful for the connection it’s led to, though, with his telephone friend Gareth. The duo speak on a weekly basis, discussing everything from hobbies and memories to the latest exploits of Gareth’s toddler daughter. “They’re like my surrogate family,” says Steve with great affection. “A telephone family.”

“Without Gareth in my life it would be, not unbearable, but very unpleasant because he is a very useful part of my life support,” continues Steve. “Basically, I'm locked in here for 24 hours a day. A prisoner gets more exercise than I do. Gareth’s in touch with the outside. He's a lovely lad. It's a high point in the week.”

The calls are especially appreciated around the Christmas period, a time that’s understandably lost its magic over the years. “If nobody offers anything, then I don't do anything,” he says of what he usually does on Christmas Day. In previous years, his local supermarket would put on a festive lunch, but Steve simply isn’t able to make the trip these days. “Mostly, I would like it all to go away.”

“The Age UK Telephone Friendship Service does help with loneliness,” admits Steve. “I feel better after the call and it's nice that he's rung, and we've had a chat. I think relating to another human being is important, and that's what Gareth and I do.”