SHED THERAPY
Tim Newman discovers a place where retired men can shed an old identity and discover a new one.
‘‘Six months later his daughter comes back and said; ‘He’s pulling the wool over the doctor’s eyes, because they can’t find anything wrong with him. I said: ‘I tell you what, he’s actually a supervisor here at the shed’.’’
Alan Kissell, Waimea Menzshed co-ordinator, on Clarrie Merrick’s three months diagnosis before heading to a dementia ward.
When Clarrie Merrick turned up at the fledgling Waimea Menzshed the 87-yearold engineer had been given three months before heading to a dementia ward.
Waimea Menzshed co-ordinator Alan Kissell, who helped set up the Waimea club seven years ago, said Merrick’s story was a familiar one.
‘‘It was a typical case of social isolation,’’ Kissell said.
‘‘He was a man whose wife had died.
‘‘He probably came a few months after we opened and was here for five years with us.’’
Merrick had relocated from Auckland to Nelson, where his two daughters lived.
He had been diagnosed with dementia but starting making rapid improvements soon after getting involved in the club.
‘‘Six months later his daughter comes back and said: ‘He’s pulling the wool over the doctor’s eyes, because they can’t find anything wrong with him.
‘‘I said: ‘I tell you what, he’s actually a supervisor here at the shed’.’’
Merrick became a key part of the organisation.
‘‘There was nothing wrong with him. He’d just been stuck in an apartment, with no friends around and he’d been vegetating basically.
‘‘He was an amazing guy who just had such a wealth of knowledge ... all he needed was some male company, some people who he could share his time with.
‘‘He’d sit down with anyone, he’d always be thinking outside the box about how to approach a project. He was an inspiration.’’
Kissell said there was a familiar pattern of men who struggled to adjust to life in retirement.
‘‘I believe when they retire they lose their identity to a certain degree.
‘‘They’ve gone from the identity of being Joe Bloggs builder or architect or whatever and now it’s about where do I fit in?’’
Kissell said a common problem for retired men was what he called ‘‘underfoot syndrome’’.
‘‘A lady might have the house to herself for 40 years, until her husband retires ... that puts a bit of pressure on relationships when the guy is sitting at home bored.
‘‘That’s underfoot syndrome, I had one lady say to me she calls her husband ‘‘pothole’’, because he’s always in the bloody road.’’
On his 90th birthday three years later, the club’s new engineering shed was named in honour of its oldest member.
While Merrick passed away in December of 2016, ‘‘Clarrie’s Shed’’ still stands as a reminder of the lasting impression he made on the club during the five years he was there.
Social isolation and loneliness is increasingly being recognised as a problem in New Zealand, as the country’s population continues to get older.
A survey conducted by the University of Otago reported 20 per cent of elderly New Zealanders identified as being lonely.
Research has shown social isolation not only has an effect on mental health but can also have implications for a person’s physical health (Cacioppo, Hawkley, Norman, & Berntson, 2011).
Retired architect James Chappell said his involvement in Menzshed had made a big difference to his life.
The 83-year-old was was involved in the Kapiti Menzshed for four years and has been a member at Waimea for a year, since he moved to Nelson.
After retirement and before joining the club, Chappell ‘‘created a job for himself’’, keeping busy by checking electro-magnetic radiation levels in houses.
‘‘We’ve got to have a purpose and we’ve got to be doing something towards that purpose to drive us on ... it’s a reason for living.’’
As well as giving men a sense of purpose, Chappell said the club was just as important socially as it was about work.
‘‘I couldn’t separate them really, they’re sort of tied up together – each requires the other.
‘‘In our culture we don’t talk too much about personal issues and what we’re thinking about.
‘‘[Men] need something deeper. So when they come here, though they’ve got jobs to do and talk about, when they’re sitting around the table here they find all sorts of interesting things to talk about."
The role the club has in the community is a far cry from what the founders were expecting when they first set up Menzshed.
‘‘When we started off we had a group of woodworkers, all from building backgrounds that came to that first meeting,’’ Kissell said.
‘‘The consensus was we’d be going down a path where we’d have a woodwork shed and be going along there once or twice a week – have a man cave basically.
‘‘But within a month or so of opening, we very quickly realised there were all these other social needs.’’
Not long after, the club started running classes for intellectually handicapped students and then inmates from the Department of Corrections.
The shed then incorporated a metalwork department, an engineering shed, and now even has a community garden.
‘‘There is a belief that those who come along to the shed have to be doing woodwork or metalwork, so we’re trying to find a place for them to do what they want, and still feel a part of a team,’’ Kissell said.
He said through his experiences at the shed, he believed social isolation was the number one issue facing older people in New Zealand.
‘‘We’re definitely aware of it but we need to be finding ways to proactively do more for it as well.’’
About 140 members are currently a part of the Waimea Menzshed team and, since 2011, more sheds have been popping up throughout Nelson and Tasman; in Motueka, Tapawera and most recently, Nelson.
There are Menzsheds located throughout New Zealand, you can find one at menzshed.org.nz