Laughter Knows no Age

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Living in a nursing home in Australia has its moments, especially when we gather the chaps for our Men's Group get-together. Every fortnight, with the help of the kind staff, we assemble as many elderly men as possible in one of the activities rooms. It's a strictly men-only event, which adds a bit of cheeky exclusivity to the occasion.

I set up an AV projector and screen, connected to my trusty laptop, to showcase a collection of YouTube clips featuring some of the finest entertainers from bygone years. Our lineup includes the likes of Dave Allen, The Two Ronnies, and Peter Sellers. These are the comedians who had us in stitches back in the day, and it turns out, they still do.

Now, many of the men in the group have lost their ability to speak. Conversations around here are often one-sided, with the staff doing most of the talking. But when the old clips start playing, something remarkable happens. You can see it in their eyes and the occasional twitch of a smile. They understand the jokes and dialogue. It’s like a secret language of laughter that transcends words.

Dave Allen’s dry wit and The Two Ronnies’ clever wordplay never fail to get a reaction. When Peter Sellers transforms into one of his many absurd characters, you can see a glint of recognition and amusement in their faces. It’s as if the humour bridges the gap between their silent world and ours.

One of my favourite moments is when we play the classic “Fork Handles” sketch by The Two Ronnies. You can almost hear the collective sigh of anticipation as Ronnie Barker steps up to the counter and asks for “four candles.” Even those who haven’t uttered a word in months seem to light up, their eyes twinkling with the joy of the punchline.

There’s a special camaraderie in the room during these sessions. The shared laughter creates a bond that words alone couldn’t forge. It’s a reminder that humour, much like music, has the power to reach deep into our souls, even when the body and mind are no longer as spry as they once were.

So, every two weeks, we come together, the silent and the not-so-silent, to revel in the joy of old jokes and timeless sketches. It’s a small but precious ritual, a testament to the enduring power of laughter and the unspoken understanding that, despite everything, we’re all in this together.