Every bed has its own character
WE SPEND about a third of our life on a bed – most of that time asleep, so we aren’t “entirely all there” to appreciate the experience.
I just love it when I climb into bed at night, bleary-eyed and about to collapse; get comfortable on my side and drop off to sleep. It’s a lovely feeling waking seven hours later, dozing a while and relaxing.
Retirement certainly has its rewards, one of which is to lie in bed awhile, enjoy a cup of tea and read the newspaper, while getting ready to tackle the day.
Last week we took delivery of a new bed, our third in 39 married years. The first was a Sealy Posturepedic, revolutionary then but quite bouncy. If I turned over, Mrs Chiel was tossed about like a cork on a stormy sea, but we were young and adapting to sharing many things. Soon we got over all that and settled down.
In fact, we didn’t spend much time in that bed together. I worked at night, getting home around 1am, unwinding over a cup of tea and usually only got into it after 2am. Mrs C was up and gone at 5am, ready to start her shift as an intensive care nursing sister at Frere Hospital.
After 16 years, that bed’s time was up and we swopped it for an Edblo Fantasy.
It was more stable than the Sealy but after long use springs started to protest and finally its base collapsed. No problem, we inserted a board under the mattress and kept it going a few years more.
It was then long past its sell-by date and we started looking around, finally settling on a Cloud Nine foam mattress, which we were led to believe is the “in” thing.
Mind you, its apparent hardness is taking some getting used to. Perhaps firm is a better word, and today’s beds are so high, which makes climbing into bed take on a new meaning. If I sit on it, I feel like a little boy at the dining room table . . . feet don’t touch the ground.
As for pulling on socks and shoes in the morning, I need to find somewhere else in the bedroom to sit while I do it. Creeping years don’t make it easier to bend down, let alone lift a foot. Time marches on.
I can remember many of the beds I slept in over the years; a bit like the cars I owned. There was “the operating table” because it was so hard, so-called by my sister who had to sleep on it sometimes.
Then there was “the camel’s back”. It had a wooden crossbar about 80cm from the bed head, and springs that sagged. I was young then, so I didn’t make a fuss.
At boarding school we had iron beds with longitudinal steel springs set into cast iron frames. They were sturdy enough to jump on long before trampolines were invented; pillow fights too, leaping from one bed to another.
Later, at senior school, the woodwork teacher and his staff manufactured wonderful wooden beds with drawers underneath and a wardrobe at the foot. It was my first experience of a Dunlopillo foam mattress. Boy, did we sleep well on those.
Chiel today is Robin Ross-thompson; robinrosst@gmail.net