My old Nan maintained that people were kind to the blind, but not to the deaf. She said observers could see the white stick or the guide dog and register the sightless gaze, and the uncertainty with which the blind negotiate the hazardous street.
But deafness, she considered, is a hidden affliction. 'Just imagine the horror of a completely silent world,' she said with a shudder.
Degrees of hearing loss occur for various reasons, some obvious, some not. My grandfather, who served in the Australian artillery during the First World War, became cripplingly deaf: no protection was provided, and the gunners simply had to cope with the damaging noise of bombardment.
Grandfather's was an injury-related deafness, which in today's Australia affects 1.5 per cent of the population and 12 times as many men as women. When the effects of ageing add to such deafness, 8 per cent of the population between the ages of 65 and 74 is affected. Over all, 11 per cent of Australians suffer from either partial or complete deafness.
Genetics play their inexorable part. My mother wore hearing aids. Now my brother and I do. There may be a link between childbirth and deafness, so some obstetricians recommend vulnerable women bear only two children. Diseases and infections can also be responsible: middle-ear infections are notorious, and so are tumours.
Traumata sustained in accidents are another source of lasting damage, as is exposure to loud noise. My sons, thank goodness, have no experience of bombardments, but they will persist in going to nightclubs and exposing their genetically susceptible ears to hours of over-amplified music.
I live in a Greek village, but do not go to Easter services because of the blast of double-bungers, let off in order to drive the demons away. Alas, one Easter Day, I went walking, and two little boys lit double-bungers as I passed. Miraculously, my hearing loss has not deteriorated, and my ear-drums are quite intact, but I now have tinnitus, which makes me feel as if I am sitting inside a continuously humming refrigerator.
*****
Those who suffer from creeping deafness may be slow to realise it, and to accept it, for communication is of such vital importance to work, social situations and personal relationships. I long refused to accept my own hearing loss, upbraiding myself for lack of concentration, and telling myself good hearing was a matter of willpower.
Hearing loss is a blow to self-esteem. It leads to a strong temptation to become anti-social. It becomes too much of a strain to listen: hearing loss means stress. And sufferers do not like to think about, let alone hear, jokes about the deaf. Nor do we wish people to assume we are so deaf that we cannot hear personal remarks.
The exasperated reaction of those near and dear to the sufferer can be a problem. 'She's so deaf!' expostulated my father more than once, when my mother had misheard yet again. I didn't like his tone; my own hearing had started to fail by then, and so I bristled. 'Deafness is not a moral failing, Dad,' I yelped. To be fair, he took the point.
People with normal hearing often assume that hearing aids are a replacement. They are not, despite recent advances in digital technology. The brain has to retrain itself after hearing aids are fitted, and this process takes time. Hearing aids are also situation-specific, so that, for example, they are not very good in crowded restaurants or at Greek wedding parties: never wear a hearing-aid when a bouzouki is playing.
Strategies are called for. The person who has hearing loss accomplishes little if he/she merely says things like: 'Sorry?' 'Come again?'
The deaf person needs to make requests: 'Would you mind talking more slowly/facing me/raising your voice a little?' It is also helpful to issue a tactful reminder. 'Remember I'm aurally challenged, won't you?'
Lip-reading is a useful skill to acquire, and formal lessons are not usually necessary. Beards and moustaches can provide difficulty for lip-readers, however.
Kind friends and relations need to be conscious of the problems involved. Even people who are only partially deaf cannot hear round corners or through walls, nor can they hear when somebody is looking in a cupboard, rattling plates or banging cutlery. Music at a dinner-party can be a nightmare, and most sufferers need a telephone with a volume control.
Nor should people with normal hearing believe that not hearing is the same as mishearing; they should also understand that some people can be heard much better than others. In short, a general heightening of awareness is needed.
And part of this heightening of awareness is the knowledge of people who have not let hearing problems stand in the way of a full life and notable achievements.
Beethoven, who kept on composing despite tragic deafness, is possibly the most famous deaf person in history. Bill Clinton wears hearing-aids, as does prominent author and speaker John Julius Norwich. Sting and Sylvester Stallone both suffer from tinnitus. Musician Evelyn Glennie is deaf. Thomas Edison was. The list is very long.
Nobody wants hearing loss to happen, but far worse things can.
Hearing Awareness Week (24–30 August) aims to raise community awareness of hearing impairment and ways to protect your hearing.
Gillian Bouras is an Australian writer who has been based in Greece for 28 years. She has had eight books published. Her most recent is No Time For Dances.