Peace reigns in the ward, men dozing, staring into space, lost in thought. The only sound is from subdued activity around the nurses' station nearby. Two men, in adjacent beds at the end of the ward, start a slow, ponderous conversation. It is quite loud as they are both fairly deaf.
BILL: How's your bowels?
BOB: Regular enough. Every two hours.
BILL: Mine works. Always have. D'you get much sleep in here?
BOB: Nope.
BILL: Oh. Why's that then? Is it the lights?
BOB: No. Every two hours.
BILL: Ah.
BOB: And me bladder.
BILL: Your bladder?
BOB: Yes. Every two hours. Round the bloody clock.
BILL: Well, at least they're symphonised.
BOB: No they bloody ain't. Every hour. First one, then t'other. Up and down all sodding night.
BILL: Hells bells! Were you like that when you was working?
BOB: It's why I had to stop working down the mines. The doctor wrote a letter and I had to come up and go on the warehousing. At least the kazi was closer. I had to pack up in the end. Management got complaints.
BILL: Where was that then? Where did you used to work?
BOB: Byllconnyavon.
BILL: Billy bobby ... Where's that near then?
BOB: You know, little place, over by Connybyllaron.
BILL: Don't know it. Where's the nearest big town?
BOB: Don't know. Never had time to go there.
BILL: Must have been interesting down the mines.
BOB: Not really. Just coal, a lot of coal. And shovelling.
BILL: Ah. Yes. Look after us well in here, don't they?
BOB: Yes. Yes. Angels, them nurses. Angels. Work like hell. Going like little demons all day.
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