Meet the team at one of Dorset’s highest rated care homes – they have been here for decades and they know it’s more than just a job
All images: Courtenay Hitchcock
We’ve all seen the headlines: poor pay, burnout, staffing crises and negative press. Care work, we’re told, is a thankless job – undervalued and overlooked.
And yet, in Gillingham, we talk to those who’ve been doing the job for decades. Why do they stay? What makes a small Dorset care home somewhere they choose to stay, day after day, year after year? At first glance, they look like any tight-knit group of friends – relaxed, laughing easily together, teasing each other.
But listen in for more than a minute and something quickly becomes clear. This isn’t just a job and The Malthouse isn’t just a care home.
‘I’ve been here 17 years,’ says Sue. ‘My friend found the job for me – I was a cleaner, and she said, “More hours, better pay … come give it a go.” I did – and I absolutely loved it! The residents, the staff… it’s just like home. It really is.’
Lisa nods: ‘This year is 19 years for me. I call everyone here my extended family.’
That theme – family – comes up again and again. ‘I’ve been here 12 years,’ says Rattiya. ‘I’m from Thailand and I’ve learnt so much from the residents – my favourite is when they teach me British idioms. Like “spend a penny” – I had no idea what they were talking about!
I used to be a teacher in Thailand. I didn’t realise that working in care involved so much training. You learn things for yourself and you help other people. I feel like everybody around me will be safer now, because I learn so much.’
Kate, with 22 years at the home, agrees. ‘We’re more than carers. We’re emotional support. We’re a second family. You can’t fake it – either you care, or you don’t.’
The stories they share are full of humour and heartbreak.
‘My understanding of personal space was shaped early on by one lovely lady,’ says Sue. ‘And she was lovely … but she was … a character, shall we say? She had been a nanny. She always had loads of visitors. They loved her. But when she first arrived, she was a bit prickly. I went and introduced myself – she was sitting in a chair, and she couldn’t hear very well. There’s always a lot to learn with a new resident, so I got closer, and then leant in very close to introduce myself for the third time, very loudly. And she poked me with her stick for being rude! I no longer get too close, and always try and respect someone’s personal space!’
They talk about a retired banker with a rare form of dementia, utterly thrilled by seeing the last flight of Concorde on the news. He had travelled so much – the team eventually realised he was trying to tell them he’d been on Concorde many times.
‘Another resident, Doug, gets Classic Motorbike Magazine. He’s an avid vintage motorbike fan,’ says Lisa. ‘We’ve arranged for Dorset’s Vintage Motorbike Club to bring their group, with a load of motorbikes, to the car park so Doug can come and see them.’
The other side
And then there are the quieter stories. The bed made up in the lounge for a resident’s son who couldn’t bear to leave. The late-night vigils beside someone in their final hours.
Then there were the days spent arranging one last swim for a woman on end of life care who hadn’t been in a pool since childhood. ‘She was hoisted in as she couldn’t walk,’ says Lisa. ‘We were all crying. It just meant the world to her – and to us.’
Lisa loves that residents’ families become just as involved: ‘We build such a good relationship with the family members. I think it’s really important – they become extended family as well, and join in with everything we do, attending events and coming on days out. That does mean when you get to the other side of it, when residents pass away, we are here for the families. They’ll just throw their arms around us. A really good relationship does make the difficult part of the job a lot easier.’
End-of-life care, they all agree, is the toughest part – but also one of the greatest privileges.
‘You build that relationship, and it’s a true honour to deliver their end of life care,’ says Lisa. ‘Honestly, it’s a privilege to be able to do that. We try our utmost to make sure there’s a staff member present if the family can’t be with them, to make sure they’re not alone. ‘But sometimes … I remember we had a lady that we sat with for days, and then, when they had just popped out, she just …’
‘I think sometimes they just wait for somebody to come,’ says Sue. ‘Often it’s a particular family member. Then they can relax, and you know they’ll go in the next day or two. But some people just want to be on their own. It’s deeply personal.’
Pandemic scars
The conversation turns sombre when COVID is mentioned. ‘It was devastating,’ says manager Debbie, who drives an hour each way to work here. ‘I was managing another home at the time. We had a resident discharged from hospital, and they didn’t tell us she was COVID-positive. We lost two residents within 36 hours, and one of my staff was hospitalised. It’s something I’ll never forget.’
Justine, Healthcare Homes’ business manager, had been managing a different service during COVID, and has a similar story: ‘We had 34 residents, and lost 18 of them due to one resident coming back from hospital with COVID.’
Even now, the scars remain. ‘Some residents became completely withdrawn,’ Debbie says. ‘We’re still rebuilding confidence and trust. Families were so isolated too – it was painful for everyone.’
The entire team agrees that recognition for care staff is long overdue. ‘We’re certainly not doing it for the money!’ says Kate. ‘I just wish people grasped that there’s so much more to it than they think. Our work needs to be more recognised. When the pandemic hit us, it was all “Go NHS!”, but we worked all through the pandemic too. We were utterly exhausted and isolated, and I don’t think that’s ever been recognised. Care work is draining – mentally and physically – and yet it is always at the bottom of the pile.
‘It’s frustrating.’
‘COVID showed who kept things going,’ adds Lisa. ‘It wasn’t the best-paid people. It was the lowest-paid – the least respected – who kept society going.’
Yet despite the challenges, they stay. Because they know that what they do matters.
Being independent
Having spent so long in one job, the team have witnessed significant changes over the last couple of decades.
‘There’s a huge recognition now of the quality of life in old age,’ says Kate. ‘People are understanding they need to do more for themselves, and they are keeping themselves fitter and stronger for longer.’
‘What was a residential home ten years ago is more like a nursing home now,’ says Sue. ‘People come to us far older and frailer now, because they’re encouraged to stay in their own home for as long as possible.’
‘People are definitely leaving it later now,’ says Lisa. ‘They’re coming in because the family need more help than they can get at home. And that can be really sad – because when people are at home, they don’t get all the things that they get here.’
‘When new residents arrive, they’re often scared and withdrawn,’ says Debbie. ‘They’ve lost independence and they’re grieving their old lives. But over time, with the right support, they come back to themselves. They start laughing again. They find purpose. That’s when you know it’s working.
‘It’s so much more than many people think about. I go out and visit residents in their own homes, to assess their needs before they join us, and I see that their so-called “independent” life has often become so very small: “I can pick this up. I can move this. I can watch the TV. But I’m not getting up. I’m not cooking for myself. I’m not doing anything that’s not in reach of my armchair.”
‘Then they move in and get support from the team – and their life opens up again. They’ve got these guys encouraging them out of their shell. At home, you don’t have people making sure you’re OK. You don’t have meals prepared with your diet in mind. You don’t have someone popping in every hour, doing your laundry, making sure everything in your room is lovely.
‘And on top of that, here you’ve got people of your own age to make friends with. You’re not lonely anymore. I think loneliness is a massive problem in today’s communities.’
‘We’ve got a new lady, Valerie, who had lived in her own house up to two months ago,’ says Lisa. ‘She’d just lost her dog, and she realised that she’s 103 and she couldn’t cope at home any more. But she came here and she’s settled in really, really, well. And I think that’s entirely down to the team here.’
‘We’re always learning,’ says Rattiya. ‘There’s so much training – and not just how to care, but how to spot problems, how to help families, how to navigate the system.’
‘It’s like Kate said,’ says Lisa. ’It’s much more than people think. It’s skilled, complex, and often emotional, work.’
The Malthouse itself is modest – but that’s part of its charm. ‘It’s not the flashiest building,’ says Debbie. ‘But we’re proud of it. We’ve been awarded an ‘Outstanding’ in responsiveness from the Care Quality Commission, we’re rated 9.9 on carehome.co.uk, and our feedback is phenomenal … Not bad for a tiny rural place where everyone knows everyone and someone will probably remember you from when you were five!’
Good care work doesn’t often make headlines. But in this small corner of rural Dorset, it quietly changes lives every day – often more than once before lunch.
The Malthouse is owned by Healthcare Homes
