Calpe House

What can I say about Calpe House that hasn’t already been said?  

For those of you who don’t know, Calpe House is a "home away from home" in London, providing Gibraltarian patients and their families a warm, friendly place where they can stay for free, instead of having to organise hotels. Conceived in 1988 by Peter Caetano and led by a dedicated fundraising committee, it first opened its doors in 1990 at Princes Square, Bayswater. In 2015, the charity acquired a Grade II listed property at 19-23 Norfolk Square, Paddington, which was fully refurbished and officially opened in 2018.  

Every year, the Gibraltar Health Authority refers hundreds of people to stay at Calpe House via its Sponsored Patients Scheme, and the building is manned around the clock by support staff. As a community-driven organisation, it relies heavily on donations, and several prominent charities, foundations, and trusts have provided financial support along with help from the Gibraltar Government. It really is invaluable and we are so lucky to have this service. 

Now, I’ll spare you any gory details, but I recently underwent surgery at the Princes Royal in Orpington which rendered me unable to fly for at least two weeks and was therefore allocated a room at Calpe House where I could recover and recuperate. I was released from hospital and taxied to Paddington on, of all days, 10th September. As the car edged round Norfolk Square, I could see the black iron railings of Calpe House adorned with red and white balloons. The staff came out to greet me and carry my luggage, and I was then ushered into the communal lounge where a National Day party was in full swing (well, about as swinging as people with medical concerns can be). The sandwiches, cake and elderflower fizz were most welcome. 

My home for the next 18 days was a delightful room on the first floor with huge windows overlooking the square. From that vantage point I enjoyed the trees, squirrels and birdsong alongside some very loud gangsta rap at weekends and regular groups of homeless people arguing with each other in the dead of night. I was there long enough to witness the square change from an open-all-hours public space to an area which was locked at sunset after all humans were cleared out by, it must be said, some very calm and polite policemen and care workers. I felt like James Stewart in Rear Window. 

I was lucky to have a kitchenette right outside my room, but I was forbidden to lift anything heavier than a half-filled kettle so how was I going to buy groceries? A delivery app of course! I have never used a delivery app or ordered from Hungry Monkey (I’m not a fan of takeaways) but here I had no choice. Ordering from a supermarket and having fresh produce brought to your door within 20 minutes is something we in Gibraltar can only dream of. The whole process was so simple, and it was thrilling to watch the little bicycle icon move around the streets edging closer and closer to its destination. I can understand how people get addicted to these things. 

Doctors’ orders were for me to take a bit of exercise each day and gradually build up my strength, so I promptly read up about the area and scoured the maps in search of places of interest to pass the time. Churches are always a draw for me wherever I am in the world. They have beautiful architecture and art, are usually free to enter and provide a welcome seat and (in Britain at least) toilet facilities. The nearest church to Calpe House is St. James’s in Sussex Gardens and I ended up becoming quite a regular. The Vicar bore an uncanny resemblance to Jeremy Corbyn, and he delivered a sermon on forgiveness with clarity and verve. It was a surprisingly large and diverse congregation and the four-part choir made up of young people was of the highest standard. As is customary with Church of England Sunday services you were welcomed to free coffee, biscuits and ‘chat’ afterwards and at times I felt I was inside an episode of a British sitcom in the late seventies. The ‘What’s On’ section of the noticeboard advertised free lunchtime recitals every Tuesday and Friday and I went on to enjoy top quality violinists and Japanese opera singers gratis, surrounded by exquisite stained-glass windows.  

As I became more mobile, I headed out onto different streets taking in St. John’s in Tyburnia and the Archdiocesan Chapel inside a Greek Orthodox church (lovely painted walls and ceilings). My favourite place of worship was the Ulrika Eleonora Swedish Church in Marylebone where I happened to turn up just when a concert pianist was about to give a recital and where afterwards I was invited to bread, butter and homemade soup in the basement refectory; totally fulfilling on all counts.  

Calpe House couldn’t be in a better place to convalesce and switch off. A short stroll through the Paddington Basin leads you along the canals to Little Venice, in the opposite direction you have the earthly delights of Hyde Park and if you fancy a delicious bowl of hummus or a new mobile phone cover the Edgware Road is minutes away on foot.  

As the days wore on, I felt I was becoming part of the community as people in the area began to recognise this slow-moving woman walking around the lanes of Paddington like Frankenstein’s monster. Vicar Tim offered his arm and guided me to my seat at the Harvest Festival, and I enjoyed his homemade bread and lentil stew with flapjacks freshly baked by the church organist. It was going to be a wrench to leave! 

On the last day before my husband flew over to collect me, I felt capable enough to get on a bus and head into the City. My destination was the infamous Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese Pub and Chop House in Fleet Street followed by a visit to Dr. Johnson’s house at 17 Gough Square where he created his famous dictionary, brilliant, go to both if you can.  

The facilities at Calpe House with the knowledge that the wonderful staff were always there with a kind word and an offer of help got me through a period of pain, and the picturesque surroundings and greens spaces of the capital provided the pleasure. I will leave you with the words of the great man: “...when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life”.