Past, present and future !!! (part 3)

When I first sat at the laptop on returning from holiday, I resolved to write about my observations aboard ship. That is the NCL Norwegian Gem on it's maiden cruise from Dover down to the Med finishing at Barcelona, for he return flight home.

But before I get stuck into my two finger typing, I decide to catch up with what had been happening in Blogland in my absence, One sight that I tend to favour and visit on a regular basis is "shrinkwrappedscream" and it is good recommended reading, To find a story of a family holiday and a mini biography of Kicoo the families guide whilst on safari. For those that have read my previous blogs of this title, will know that it stirred up my own memories of long ago, and my own time in Africa and my friendship with our houseboy Swalee.

How does the past of nearly 50 years ago relate to the present, and much less the future. Simply this, the civil war in Sierra Leone was brought about in the main by two tribes, with political ambitions which were not compatible with the views of the other . The result, over 200,000 killed with as many again badly wounded and mutilated. But that of course is the way most wars are started the inability to see the others point of view and negotiate a diplomatic and peaceful outcome.

Need it always be this way. Of course not, but on past track records it show's that living together, side by side in perfect harmony as the words of "Ebony and Ivory" by Stevie Wonder goes, is not that easy. The question therefore as to be WHY NOT.

The video of the Trevi Fountain above shows literally hundreds of visitors there at any one time, seven days a week and almost certainly 365 days, each and every year. The tourist come from the many nations of the five continents,and are drawn from all colours and creeds, rich and poor alike.

Yet there was no fighting or any signs of tension, in a small cafe in the corner of the square, there must have been at the very least five or six different nationalities enjoying the afternoon sun with a cappachino or latte. An Indian couple from Mumbai joined our table, a very nice couple they were on on 21 day coaching holiday of Europe with three or two day stop overs in various cities starting in Rome and concluding in London ready for their return flight to India. These type of encounters happened at every port we docked at, tourists from every corner of the world congregating in close proximity, together in perfect harmony.

The coming together of many nations cannot be better illustrated then on board ship. And once again no signs of any tension at the formal dining evenings, when all were seated together irrespective of race, colour, or creed.

One of my major observations, was the crew was drawn from many different nations from the Captain down to the cabin maid and steward.Whilst aboard and particularly during the days at sea it enabled me to talk to a good number of the crew. The questions ranged from were do you come from? how long have you worked on cruise ships? do you like the work? you seem to put in a incredible amount of time on duty? What do you do to relax in your free time etc?

The free time drew a few chuckles as that was at a premium most worked 12 hours on and 12 hours off, which meant that most of the time whilst in port they would be either on duty on arrival, or due back on duty before departure, so either way it meant very little time on shore. and on some occasions the whole 12 hours could be whilst tied up in port so no shore leave at all was possible. This type of work pattern was common amongst the the whole of the crew including the officers.

The crew members that I struck up conversations with were from :- The Philippines, Sri Lanka, India, Malaya, Japan, Formosa, Serbia, Croatia, Norway and Holland. and I am sure there must have been many more nations. But these people were in crew quarters allocated to them on a type of shift rotation so that each person would be on duty at the same time, rather then mixed shifts and the disturbance that could cause.

Our cabin steward came from the north of Sri Lanka, two of his cabin mates came from the capitol Colombo in southern Sri Lanka, Paul the steward came from the area associated with the Tamel Tigers who for years have fought for Independence of a Tamel state, and since the days well before Ceylon was known as Sri Lanka relationships with India have been unstable. Yet here were three men in their early twenties sharing a cabin and socialising when ashore. Likewise Bosnjic one of the junior catering officers, came from Croatia her room mates were a Serb and two Yugoslavians, if that isn't an explosive mix then please tell me of a stronger one? Yet Bosnjic and Sanja her Serbian room mate go everywhere together whilst on shore. They are the very best of friends and both love the life they lead in fact Bosnjic is on her third ship and Sanja her second.

The story is the same throughout the ship, what one might call a microcosm of nations crammed into a large tin can. A floating United Nations. COULD THIS BE THE ANSWER TO THE WORLDS PROBLEMS?

And so to the future.

Looking back in time I know that two people of a different colour and creed can live in perfect harmony. Looking at the present, I see people of many nations co-existing albeit for a short period of time whilst in a relaxed state of mind enjoying the benefits of a well deserved holiday.

So what of the future :-

Perhaps if we could transfer the United Nations to a Cruise Ship, and tell them to sort out their differences before they will ever be allowed to go ashore again. In short to learn to live together.

Get rid of the politicians that take us blindly into wars, but have no plan or strategy for being able to get the troops out once in.

Pray to your God of what ever faith, to be able to moderate the radical tendencies of the terror groups throughout the world. That preach hate in the name of their god. Again all because of a fundamental difference in beliefs

Living together in peace and harmony in cities throughout the world co existing side by side. It can, and is being done between the ordinary people of the world. To quote another great lyricist John Lennon "All you need is love" and "Give peace a chance"

Past, present and future !!! (part 2)

Still getting to the present ( I hope)

So here we are back from leave, new quarters, new driver, Coporal Bangora in hospital and Swalee now a man at fifteen and tasked with the job of selling is baby sister. On hearing this news from Bangora. I well recall dad telling mum about the whereabouts of Swalee. Mum was heartbroken that Swalee should be placed in that sort of predicament, mum had become close to Swalee, after in her mind he had saved me from being washed away in the monsoon rain. Oh yes proper little hero was our Swalee, so much so that he became the best dressed kid in the village albeit with some of my cast off’s. “ This will not do Harry you must go up country and find them and bring them home”. I agreed with mum, but has dad explained up country to the town/city of Bo wasn’t a quick run out at the weekend it was over two hundred plus miles over very rough country and tracks that passed as roads. And even if he could get up there and find them in the first place, he could never bring them back to Wilberforce/ Freetown as Swalee would lose face and be cast out from the family. Which would do nothing to help Swalee , but in doing so it would bring further hardship to the family as in effect Swalee was the main breadwinner. But that was the African way. They may have nothing in terms of money or possessions’, but they had a code of conduct that could not be broken.

I must admit that at the time I did not understand the why and the wherefore, but over the years little Primbelee came up in many a family conversation, and I slowly came to understand the mind set of the indigenous people of Sierra Leone. (The Mende Tribe).

Dad promised mum and me that he would do what he could to trace Swalee and hopefully Primbelee. He first contacted his opposite number in Kenema the third largest town/city in the country and the home of two of the largest diamond mines in the world also the place where the diamond riots started in 1959. It was fifty plus miles between Bo and Kanema, but Staff Sergeant David (Dick) Spooner of the Royal Ordinance corp’s said he would make enquiries, but told Dad it would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack, but promised to do his best. In the meantime Bangora was discharged from hospital and given leave, and time to recover from his injuries. A month had passed by before anything was heard from anyone, then one morning Bangora turned up, I am told that he had been trying to get to see dad for about two weeks but could not get into camp whilst on sick leave. He knew that Swalee had not returned to the village, but that was not unusual as it could take a long time to sell a baby. Which in the main were bought by the Arab population, mainly of Syrian origins. But Bangora had doubted that Swalee had gone to Bo in the first place they both had reletives in a small village between Bo and Kanema and thought he might have made his way there (I cannot recall the name of the village) Dad once again contacted S/Sgt Dick Spooner, again he promised to look into it.

The very next day the land line phone (the wind up type) rang it was Dick, “Harry there’s a young lad here wants to know if when he comes back to Freetown, will I ask you has he still got a Job” Again I am told that dad used a couple of choice words then said put him on. “Swalee where is Primbelee. “She with very nice man sir, I tell you when I come home” and the phone went dead. Dad rang straight back Dick answered, Hi Dick put Swalee back on. “Wish I could Harry but he was gone as quick as he came, asked the sentry to see bossy man, then asked could I find sergeant Orton in Freetown I twigged who it was so I said I would try to put him on the phone” “No, No you ask sergeant Orton sir, if I still got job” I guess you said yes because he shot out of here with a smile from ear to ear.

Six days it took Swalee to walk back to Freetown and to the camp in Wilberforce, about a two hundred and thirty miles trek and the cast off’s that were reasonable, were now once again rags, but that could be put right very quickly, the main thing was that Swalee was back and safe. But what of Primbee, we were delighted to hear that Swalee loved his baby sister so much and although he had gone to Bo could not bring himself to sell her into what would be modern day slavery. Instead he had made his way to the village of relatives and persuaded them to take her in on the promise that he would send money every month to pay for her keep. That’s why it was important for Swalee to know he still had a job.

Not that long after Swalee returned, we again were on the move. This time to a three bedroomed bungalow at a camp called Juba. Now here was my idea of paradise, beach front location, veranda with a bit of scrub between me and the beach. Once on the beach there was the beach club to get your coca cola and for the adults bottles of beer, in fact that’s were I had my first bottle of beer it was Beck’s Beer and to this day whenever I see it on sale I always buy it. The Beach club sounds quite grand but it was little more then a large garden shed, with about three tables inside, and a large veranda with about a dozen further tables to sit out on, which very few ever did with the golden sand or a choice of a rock hard wooden chair which would you rather sit on?

To the right of the beach club as you faced the sea there was the inlet to the Mowea River, which had you travelled up it you would skirt past Wilberforce and deep into the interior of the sierra mountains and from which the country took its name (Sierra Leone or Lion Mountains). The soldiers of the west African rifles used to sing a song, all about the Mowea River and it went something like this:-

Home again, home again,when shall I see my home. Oh happy is the day, when a soldier get’s his pay. On the banks of the Mowea River.
There was much more to the song, as it seemed to go on for ever as they marched either to the cook house or the paymasters office. But the Mowea River to us the lads and lasses of the service men it was our own private swimming pool, about twenty five yards up river was a very deep section, the river was about thirty yards across at this point, with a pure white sandy bottom which you could see clearly. There was in addition to us swimming in there occasionally some really big fish which were not adverse to taking a chunk out of a leg or an arm, What type of fish ? No they were not sharks but barracuda, although there was the occasional shark in there, which was probably forced into the river by the local fisherman, who lived and fished from the other bank.

The method of fishing was crude but affective. They would anchor one end of the net to the shore, then the rest of the net would be trailed out to sea about fifty yards then looped round in an arch and brought back to shore then it was down to pure muscle power, you could always tell if it was a good catch by the amount of effort put into dragging the net at each end back to shore. There was always more then enough for the needs of the village and now and again there was a shark or two in the net. It was after the locals had been fishing that you took a closer look before jumping in. In normal circumstances it would be quite safe as there was a sand bar across the mouth of the river but of course it was tidal and now and again the odd shark did manager to cross the sand bar.

But for me Juba ment, School, home, lunch, beach and coca cola. And nine times out of ten by two o’clock in the afternoon Swalee was with me. To go into all the adventures Swalee and I shared in our two and a half years would take forever and would be worthy of a book but needs someone better then I to pen a novel. But here are a few quick snippets of Swalee the hero, companion and friend.

Next door to us lived the bandmaster R.S.M.Bill Wooton, his wife kept chickens and one night there was such a commotion coming from the chicken coupe. Mrs Wooton went to look at what the racket was about. Shining her torch into the coupe (first mistake) it suddenly went dull not unnaturally she looked at the front of the torch(second mistake) even with a reduce glow shinning in her eyes, she was hit with the venom of a spitting cobra, fortunately the chicken mesh round the coupe prevented the cobra from striking. But resulted in Mrs Wooton having both eyes removed washed and replaced. She was blinded for about six weeks. Were does Swalee come into this he was the only one with the guts to check the coupe the following morning, but the snake was long gone along with the eggs.

Or, the time Stewart, now two, was playing at the waters edge, mum was some way up the beach when out of the corner of her eye she saw a quick movement which turned out to be a rat closely pursued by a big black snake, just as Stewart was about to come back up the beach in a direct line between mum and the snake. Mum’s shouting at Stewart to stay were he was, but Stewart just kept coming. Swalee quick as a flash picked up a beach towel and worked round the back of the snake, throwing the towel over the snake which was a dodgy thing to do as a mamba can strike up to it own length. But once covered they become motionless for a short while. So Swalee had possibly saved Stewarts life. He most certainly had saved the rats life.

Or the time Myself, David and Christopher Wooton, Glynn Pardoe got this great idea to give a certain young lady the fright of her life. A real stuck up posh bitch in our eyes, and she was a Lady oh yes a real lady, Lady Isabella Dorman, the daughter of the Governor of Sierra Leone. Arriving at school in the governors ruddy big Daimler, and she never mixed with us the scum of the army classes, with her pre packed picnic basket of cucumber sandwiches, whilst we had Marmite, or banana butties which we shared but not Isabella oh no. So we hatched this plan to put a rock python in her desk. But were does one get a python from just like that? Swalee we need a python just a little one not much more the a baby can you get us one? Yes Kei, very fine chop (food) Kei, no we don’t want to eat it, Swalee could not understand why you would want a python if not to eat it. Still a couple of days later Swalee comes to the beach club with a python with beautiful markings which he was handling so it seemed that it wasn’t aggressive rock pythons rarely are, but tree pythons that can be a different story. David and Christopher took charge of the snake, I don’t mind snakes but I’m not their greatest fan.

The following Monday, the snake was placed in Isabella’s desk ready for her arrival, front row left hand end seat, once nicely seated and the desk lid lifted followed by the biggest scream I had ever heard then or since echoed round the class, the desk went one way Isabella the other. And we four lads were in hysterics. That is until we all finished up in Government House with our parents to see the Governor. We got a right roasting for that little prank. But it was only a baby python at about four feet in length. David and Christopher took charge of the snake till eventually they sent it to Twycross Zoo at a length of eight feet in just twelve months. And Isabella well she started to see things from our point of view, she became one of the gang and even shared her butties with us.

Swalee would always send his money off to his reletives each and every month with out fail and mum would send a bundle of clothes she had collected from the other mothers with girls of which my first real girlfriend Maureen Edworthy, was a good source with six sisters. Most of course would have been much to big for Primbelee but no doubts the other girls of the village would have benefitted.

When we eventually left Sierra Leone to return to the U.K. in June 1960 one of Dad’s last official duties had been to set up a direct radio communications between Freetown and London ready for the Independence talks in London April 1960. A lavish party and a mock ceremony of handing over of the Keys was performed at Wilberforce Camp in May 1960 in celebration of the Official Independence date granted for April 1961. When we left faithful Swalee was at the dock to wave us goodbye as we boarded the launch to take us across to the airport. I am not ashamed to say that there were floods of tears from Mum, myself and even Stewart, but most of all from Swalee.

We promised faithfully to keep in touch, which we did until 1973 and I had just moved to Harrogate when I get a phone call from dad,”what are you doing tomorrow son” “ not a lot why” you might want to stay in I’m going to come over, he was now a Recriuting R.S.M. in Hull. The following day there is a knock at the door, thinking it was Dad I shouted come in, but another knock rang out. At the door stood a Six foot four inch, well built and very well dressed Black Man and I mean black with big white eyes that seemed as though they could pop out of there sockets. Oh my God it’s Swalee, as we collapsed into an embrace, from behind Swalee stepped dad. With the understatement of all time he said I bet that surprised you didn’t it, Did it ever!!

It seems Swalee had contacted the War Office to trace the whereabouts of Sergeant Major, Harry Orton, Royal Signals. He was directed to the recruiting office in Hull and rest as they say is history. But what was Swalee doing in England. On his eighteenth birthday he had join the army and had gained the rank of acting 2nd Lieutenant so he out ranked dad which was a bit of a laugh, but was in England to start a officer training course at Sandhurst a week later.

You can imagine the questions that were thrown at Swalee. How the family, how is is Primbelee, why did you join the army? And many, many more. His father had died in 1962,his mother was well but now lived with his eldest sister, and both his of his older sisters were married and still lived inWilberforce , his brothers again both married one had also join the army and was a lance coporal the other had his own barbers shop in Freetown, and what about Primbelee? She now lives in Kanema and was married at sixteen to a miner. And as two pickins (babies) In fact Swalee was the uncle to no less sixteen nephews or nieces. Swalee himself married in 1965 at the age nineteen and had three Children two boy’s and a girl,named Keith which he could now pronounce Stewart and Sylvia mum’s name.

Eight weeks later we all travelled down to Sandhurst to watch Swalee’s passing out parade. Swalee returned to Freetown the day after finishing his course, we continued to write not that often but up to about 1975 when moved to Leeds on a permanent basis as commuting from Harrogate to Leeds every day started to wear a bit thin.
So where is Swalee now, I have no idea, I only hope and pray that during the civil war from 1998 to 2002 which as claimed the lives of over 200,000 people, Swalee and his family managed to avoid the conflicts. Swalee and his Family were from the indigenous people of Sierra Leone, The Mende tribe the civil war was fought mainly between the repatriated slaves that were returned to Sierra Leone, the Creole or Kito tribe. That goes back to the 1700’s and yet nearly three hundred years later and there was still conflict between tribes, let alone nations.

I have noticed that at present there are two professional footballers playing in England with the name of Bangora both from Sierra Leone, I suppose that if there were a connection to Swalee he would perhaps be a Granddad or a Great Uncle. I wonder, I just wonder.

So that brings us up to the present relatively speaking. So what are my observations on current day affairs and my hopes for the future.

Well if I have not bored you two much that’s for part three, I hope you will join me and express your thoughts for the future of this OUR world.

Past, present and future !!! (part 1.5)

From Past to but getting to the present

Ebony and Ivory (Swalee and Kei) were running about in the dust and mud tracks of Sierra Leone long before Stevie Wonder penned one of his most famous numbers, and it as only just occurred to me whilst writing this trip down memory lane, why it as always been a favourite of mine. So here was Swalee, a young black African lad who looked as though he didn’t have the strength to stand on his own feet let alone clean a house, fetch and carry, fill large a copper boiler and empty the shity bins, but he certainly did and far far more, which I will relate to you, as this part of the story unfolds.

In the first couple of months that Swalee was with us he would turn up in the morning just as Dad was being picked up to be taken to the camp. You could have set your watch by him, the puzzle was how did he know? Swalee had no watch and even if he had he couldn’t tell the time anyway. He always had his work done by 4.00 o’clock just about as Dad’s Land Rover pulled onto the drive ! (I mean a bear patch of reddish dust). Still It was amazing how is timing was so spot on each and every day. The mystery was solved after about a month, Corporal Bangora Dads driver was also Swalee’s uncle, so with a very slight detour Bengora would pick Swalee up in the village and bring him down to the house. In the evening Swalee would set off up the track as soon as Dad arrived, and waited out of sight till Bangora picked him up for the return journey to the village. It’s not that Swalee could not have walked to and from the village as it was only a little less than half a mile. And Swalee would walk far greater distances into Freetown, about four miles with his two eldest sisters who were 12 and 11 to sell mango’s and African apples in the fruit market, and as mango’s were everywhere, so it was that everyone else was selling the same goods, they would be there all day for just a few pennies. What they didn’t sell they would leave to rot by the side of the road.

So why did Swalee scrounge a lift in the LR for such a short distance. Well simply to ride in a vehicle which was a novelty in its own right, but why the subterfuge? Had Bangora been found out he would have been placed on a charge, busted back to private and as dad said at the time he would have got 14 days in the guard house with loss of pay, and that would have meant real hardship for his family. I remember when Dad found out he gave Bangora a real dressing down, but chose to turn a blind eye to the actual indiscretion (my Dad was a real C.S.M. “Company Sergeant Major” and a proper sod in many ways, but he did have a good side to him) He told Bangora, “no trips to the Mammy markets or trips into Freetown, and for Gods sake don’t get caught or we’ll both be in the shit, savvie”.

Now, there was no way that Swalee could be kept busy from 7.30 to 4.00 ish five days a week so in the afternoon from about 1.00 o’clock when I got home from school there was time to kill and slowly at first but surely our friendship began to develop. Yep, those were the days School bus at 7.30 arriving at Wilberforce camp at 7.45 School started at 8.00 and finished at 12.30 home for 12.45 then the rest of the day was mine. The idea was that you stayed indoors out of the midday sun, but you all know the song “Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun”. Yep, that was me all over out in the sun at every opportunity. I was and am of a fair complexion and don’t go brown I just burn so after a few months my hair was white and my body bright red. I looked a right sight when we returned to England on a six month leave in February 59 I was ridiculed by all the local kids in Sheffield, not surprisingly I couldn’t wait to go back to Africa.

I digress, Swalee would do anything for Kei, and Kei to my shame at first took full advantage of this fact. The Bungalow was surrounded by a very large compound the wall was constructed of concrete and steel plates. But within the compound was a very, very large garden full of everything you could think of Mango trees were common place but we had two of our own, Coconuts about 3 or 4 palm trees, Bananas, at least again 3 or 4, African apple (which I have never seen since, it was about the size of a large bulb of garlic, pink in colour and when cut into tasted of apple but as though you had cut a thin slice that type of texture) Pineapples in rows producing fruit as they grew over a period of time, and last but not least yams which tasted like S**t but the locals liked them. The garden was I hasten to add was well laid out on our arrival and nothing to do with my parents gardening skills.

So how did I take advantage of Swalee, I used to love watching him climb the palm trees for coconuts. Or climb the mango trees for far more mangos then I could have ever eaten. It was a case of Swalee fetch Kei coconut, or fetch Kei Mangos, with a little point of a finger soon got the message through. Now I have explained that Swalee was about six stone or less when he first arrived, but I didn’t mention his feet, apart from the fact that they were enormous ( and in Swalee’s case it was very true what they say about big feet ) but in addition to that they were very flat and wide, which made climbing coconut trees an absolute doddle for Swalee. As for me I never quite got the hang of it. My last effort ending in a fall of about 12 feet and a broken arm for good measure.

So whilst in plaster Swalee took me into the village to meet his family. If you were to think perhaps of the poorest family you know, by comparison they would almost certainly be extremely rich. These people had nothing, and I wont even try to describe the living conditions. I was introduced to various siblings over a number of visits for they were never all there together at any one time. I knew each one by name, but sadly with the passage of time I cannot remember any of them other then Swalee and the baby of the family Primbelee I cannot say for certain that that is the correct spelling but pronounced in three syllables sounds like Prim-be-lee. There is a very good reason why I remember Primbelee, but that’s for later.

Between the bungalow, Wilberforce village and Wilberforce Camp a distance of about 3miles in total, that was made up of half a mile to the village, and two and a half miles to the camp. Directly outside the compound to the right was a concrete gun emplacement from the second world war vintage, just past that and a sharp right turn took you onto the track for the village, but once through the village and the track started to be covered by a high canopy of trees with thick bush to both side’s of the track. Not somewhere you would not want to be as darkness descended or in the rainy season or the monsoon season as it was correctly known. One day not long after returning to school and during the monsoon season the school bus broke down not that long a distance after leaving the camp and just before it would have normally turned onto the track towards the village. Now when you say monsoon rain I don’t just mean a heavy downpour, I mean rain that is so thick it’s like walking through thick fog and it bounces back off the ground to about waist height. Down each side of the roads are monsoon ditches and even on the tacks there are ditches, which are supposed to allow the rain to drain away without flooding the roads, needless to say they didn’t work. They just could not cope with the capacity of rain fall.

But there I am about two miles from home, the driver is going to go back to the camp for assistance, which would be about an hour at least. So me being the big brave white hunter, I decide to make my own way back home. Not the best decision I had ever made, about 15 minutes into my quest and now deep in the cover of the canopy and bush, with the rain beating down through the canopy it makes some really strange noises, I sensed that in the distance was the clearing of the village was close at hand but I couldn’t really see it I just sensed that it was there. Then suddenly a heavy weight dropped onto my right shoulder, Oh S**t it’s a snake that’s dropped out of the trees. As I let out a scream and a quick swish at my right shoulder. Kei,Kei it me Swalee, “Christ you made me jump” Swalee looked at me gone out I don’t think he understood a word I had said. Apparently Mum was getting a bit panicky by me not being home by 1.15 under normal circumstances you were never more then five minutes late. Somehow Mum had managed to communicate her concern to Swalee and he had set off to look for me. I was never so grateful to see those big bulgy eyes, to lead me home. I remember telling Mum I was fine you needn’t have worried. The truth was I was crapping myself.

I am sure from that day forward our friendship blossomed. Our first of three moves came after we had been at the bungalow for six months, and for about a month prior to moving we had Swalee climbing up and down the fruit trees in particular the Coconuts and Bananas, Yams and Pineapples and African apples not for our use, but so Swalee’s sisters could take them to the mammy market. Being able to offer a wider choice of produce, they earned in that month what they would have earned in a year under normal circumstances. Our move to the flat at Signal Hill, along with Swalee. As the arrangement with Corporal Bangora continued which Swalee loved because he was now travelling nearly three miles to get work, but on the more open roads he travelled mainly laid down in the back of the LR. Nothing much happened At Signal Hill apart from one occasion when the communal swimming pool was open (which wasn’t very often as no one ever cleaned it) I went for a swim, Swalee stood by the edge of the pool and I beckoned to him to jump in, though reluctant at first he eventually jumped in we were having a great time until some Staff Sergeant from the Pay Corp’s turned up and I got a right rollicking. My first lesson into the us and them syndrome. Whilst Sierra Leone never adopted a segregation policy it did occasionally raise its ugly head within the Colonial Civil Service. The left overs dregs from the days of the raj.

We then returned to England on a six month repatriation leave, whilst it was great to be home to see the family, I was still enrolled into school for about 5 of the six months. I detested every minute of it and could not wait to get on the plane back to Freetown once again.

On our return new quarters were waiting for us back in Wilberforce but this time within the camps perimeter. When Dad returned to work a new driver was allocated to be batman/driver etc. Having made enquiries as to the whereabouts of Corporal Bangora we were to find out that he was in Hospital after being attacked with a machete during some tribal ritual to do with Ju Ju (Voodoo) but alas there was no trace of Swalee Dad went to see Bangora in hospital to see if he knew the whereabouts of Swalee. Indeed he did as Swalee had turned 15 during our absence he was now a man and had had to undergo the tribal initiation into manhood. Which consisted of certain tribal markings three small lacerations to just on top of each cheek bone, a series of markings under the skin on his chest. But the knock on effect of becoming a man was that he expected to take his baby sister to the town of Bo, famous for the diamond mines of Sierra Leone. With the intention of selling her, “yes that’s right selling her” With Swalee now a man he was expected to make his own way in life and take a wife by the time he was sixteen. His family could no longer therefore afford to keep the youngest child, and being a girl it was considered the easy option and the done thing. So did little Primbelee finish up in effect what would have been a modern day version of slavery.

The answer to that and how we were reunited with Swalee will after wait for the next part of the story to unfold.

But a thought for you to ponder in the meantime. Was Madonna right to buy a African child ? it certainly wasn’t something that was unheard of in Africa. It had been going on since 1674, and in the modern era it was still happening in the late 50s. And almost certainly still happens today.

Past, present and future !!! (part 1)

Having just arrived back from Holiday, I had every intention of writing a blog about my observations on board ship and what I perceived as a hope for the future.

I log on to find Shrinkwrappedscream as written a fascinating blog about her families safari holiday featuring KICOO.This got my mind turning back the years to my time in Sierra Leone. And my best friend Swalee.So taking a leaf out of Shrinky's writing prowess, I shall break my efforts into three parts.Part One...... THE

PAST.
For anyone that read my previous blogs (Mum Mum) and (The Deputy Prime Minister) will know that I, my mother and younger brother landed on the shores of Sierra Leone in January 1958 at the tender age of 11. Dad had been posted out three months prior to establish a base for when we arrived. and boy what a base!! A four bedroom bungalow, Painted a brilliant white, apart from the shutters on each of the windows which were blue. The whole thing stood on ten pillars, with a double stairway to the veranda and front door.

Having been transported too the jetty where the launch had landed, having just come across from the airport some four miles offshore. Dad was there to meet us along with 2 Land Rovers and 2 Drivers. One for us and the other for the bags of which there was very little, because our crates had been sent out before us. So off we go to our new home in Africa. I was not in the slightest bit interested in all the information that Dad was passing on to Mum. All I was interested in was the place itself, the sounds, smells the street market directly outside the Jetty. So this was Freetown the Capital, I can see it today as clearly as I saw it for the first time 49 years ago. Apart from a dozen ish, large ish, modern ish shops there was very little there until you got onto Perdemba Road then British Empire grandeur had really shone through with buildings like the Parliament Building and Law Courts. but the most poignant feature was not a building, but the Cotton Tree or better known as the slave tree.

Sierra Leone, was selected as a suitable place to repatriate slaves from North America. And So in 1896 thousands of slaves were transported back in circumstances and ships no better then when their predecessors were taken into slavery stretching back to the late 1600's and early 1700's as new colonies were established in the new world.

So having arrived at our new home the second Land Rover's driver dropped off the bags, and made a hasty retreat from whence he came. The first driver a Corporal Bangora parked the LR and proceeded into a small outbuilding, to emerge nearly as quickly with a ironing board and the biggest chunk of metal which loosely resembled a iron, but with no wires, with two karkie tunics and a couple of pairs of shorts, this was clearly Dad's kit. Now the British Army don't allow N.C.Os. (non commissioned offices) to have batmen, but a British soldier on attachment to the West African Rifles, anyone with the rank of Sergeant or above was practically a God. So Corporal Bangora was dads driver, batman, linesman operator (general dogsbody for the radio transmitter). So that was Dad sorted, but what about poor old Mum.

Mum, now finds herself in a totally strange environment from what she had left behind in Sheffield. The nearest army neighbour was about two miles away down the road “err” make that track towards Freetown. The Bungalow from the outside looked very impressive, now the inside well that was something else. No running water, no WCs other then a thunder bin and a bottle of disinfectant, any more detail is not required just let your imagination do it’s worst and even now your not close. As far as the kitchen was concerned there was a two ringed calor gas cooker and a conventional electric cooker and a fridge. All of which were purely academic as 80% of the time there was no electricity, so oil lamps and candles were a necessity rather then a stand by. The rest of the kitchen consisted of an old fashion Belfast sink (which you would pay a lot of money for today) a couple of tall kitchen units and a table.

The living room consisted of two settees and two arm chairs and that was about it. But the bathroom that had to be seen to believed, with no running water there was a copper boiler outside and a siphon type of pump, so to have a bath or a shower you first light a fire under the boiler and wait for the water to hot up, for a shower you had to judge when you thought the temperature would be OK to get under. With no control on the temperature it was a bit of a lottery whether you got scolded or not, after a while we could time it quite well. The bedrooms were just that bedrooms, a bed and a mosquito net and a rail to hang your clothes and a set of draws. So that’s what Mum had to look after, until such time as Army Quarters could be found, the army had rented the bungalow for a period of twelve months or until married quarters became available.

The following morning at about 8.00am there was a knock at the door, dad went to answer closely followed by myself. On opening the door I can only say it as it was, there stood this young lad about 5ft 8or9 inchers but defiantly taller then me, who must have weighed less then 6 stone if that, he looked like a human skeleton. In fact looking back it reminds me of a few lines from a poem by Rudyard Kiplin “Gunga Din” and goes like this
“Now the uniform he wore was nothing much before,
and rather less then half of that behind.
But a piece of twisted rag and a goat skin water bag,
was all the field equipment he could find”.
Well OK he did not have a water bag, but the rest of the description could fit him to a tee.
Now I have to admit I had not been in the company of many coloured people in my eleven years but one thing I am absolutely certain of, I had never seen anyone this black and I don’t mean dark brown I mean ebony black, which made his eyes seem to be popping out of their sockets, big, bright, white eyes. So this was my first sight of and introduction to SWALEE.

Now Swalee was not much of a talker, in fact his English was limited to a few well rehearsed phrases like “Swalee, very good house boy” or “Swalee, very good cleany house” and of course the classic “Swalee, very good for clean shit bins”. It transpired that Corporal Bangora had sent Swalee to get the job of house boy, Bangora was his uncle. So that’s how we acquired a house boy. Dad was always addressed as sir, Mum was always Missie, me I became Kei. Swalee like all of his country men could not pronounce the “th”, and Stewart became Baba Stew. Now for a rough arsed kid from Sheffield It took me a long time to get my head round the idea of having house servants.

Swalee, lived in the local village of Wilberforce, in what might loosely be termed as a house, in fact it was a single storey square tin box made up of corrugated sheets, the dimensions I would guess at being about 16 – 18 feet square. This housed Mum, Dad and seven siblings, 3 girls and 4 Boys, Swalee being the eldest at the age of fourteen. And potentially the breadwinner of the family. The youngest was just two years of age and a Girl

Over the following months we were moved on three more occasions. The first move was just six months after arriving, we were moved to a army flat at a camp called Signal Hill, after that we moved back to Wilberforce but within the camps perimeter and finally to Juba camp, a bungalow overlooking the best beach in Sierra Leone. Also the place I had the running argument with the Deputy Prime Minister. And what of Swalee, and our friendship in all this time. Well thats a whole new story for part two if you will allow me to tell it.

All At Sea

Today must be Tuesday as we roam around Rome. So to all my friends in Blogland I'll be back shortly. well After Pisa. and Nice.

I have found a sure fire way to lose weight. Ask a Italian taxi driver to drive you from Naples to Sorrento. And I will guarantee you a weight lose of at least 1 and a half stone. Were did it all go I was sat in it.

If I can, anybody can !!

I decided to write this blog for no other reason then to get off my chest the sometimes futile message that living with Emphysema is not a automatic death sentence.

As such, I doubt if it will attract much attention from the many fit and healthy bloggers out there in Blogland. But if I can reach just one or two then my two finger typing will not have been in vain.

In 1998 I was admitted to hospital with a suspected Angina attack, following numerous tests it was decided that I was to be re-diagnosed as having C.O.P.D. (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease). Now most people I have spoken to and I assure you I have spoken to many, have never heard of the disease, let alone what C.O.P.D. stood for or the consequences of having it.

I on the other hand had got a very good idea of consequences. My Mother was diagnosed in 1993 as having what in those days was termed as C.O.A.D. which was exactly the same apart from the "A" which stood for Airways. Mum had been a heavy smoker certainly for as long as I knew what a cigarette was.

I started smoking at about 14, the usual thing pinch one out of Mums packet for on the way to school. The Tuck shop near school would sell singles, and if you were really well off with pocket money you could buy 5 Park Drive for 6d that's six old pence. In today's terms that would be Two and a half new pence. Then it was off to the back of the bike sheds to smoke them. Or later that evening at the youth club to really impress the girls, yes it was cool to smoke (If Only).

And so to work as a apprentice motor mechanic I neither had the money or the inclination to smoke at work, with oil on your fag it tasted vile anyway. But come the week-end now that was a different matter I could always find money for a packet of fags, I had also graduated to packets of ten at a cost of 1 shilling and 9 pence. Less then 10p in today's money. (If Only).

Continuing my graduation to even more ciggy's and the so called better brands continued to increase throughout my working life, at this stage 40 a day. Till in April 1998, My doctor told me the results of tests had confirmed C.O.P.D. My G.Ps advice at the time was Stop Smoking and with proper medication we can control your disease. I could, I thought handle anything that was thrown at me but I could not get my head round the "Word" Disease, I thought leprosy is a disease, contagious illnesses are disease's, STD is a disease. What the hell was I doing with a disease, little did I know it is a general term for any degenerating illness, which by definition gets progressively worse as time goes on. (If only)

Even though mum suffered from shortage of breath on exertion she was still able to potter around in her bungalow with the help of a carer. Until May 2000 when she was rushed into hospital at deaths door, however she rallied, but was unable to continue living alone in Derbyshire. I was able to get her a place in a residential care home just half a mile from us. She never really settled as she felt she had lost her independence. Mum passed away in August of 2006, so from 1993 to 2006 a total of 13 years she had fought the disease and to the end never gave up. I use this as an example, you will see why shortly (And yes at this point I still had not fully kicked the fags) (If Only)

Having been diagnosed in 1998 and knowing just a little about this condition, I felt as though I needed to know more about this debilitating illness. So you ask around and as with most cases in life you invariably come across the "Barrack Room Lawyer", or sometimes better known as "I know everything there is to know" but the truth is they more then likely no nothing at all that is useful.

I met just such a chap, and I hate to say it but it was someone I looked up to and respected, in fact a man of the cloth. He told me that once diagnosed with Emphysema you have at most three years to live. It wasn't put quite as blunt as that but that was the very clear message, having given me chapter and verse on a couple of parishioners he had been involved with. One of which I also personally knew very well, so his opinion did carry some weight. Of course his most useful piece of advice was to stop smoking. Oh yes I was still sucking on the weed. But there again I'm a clever devil I am (If Only).

So her we are nine years later and I'm still here. Not as mobile as I was nine years ago, I get out of breath much quicker on exertion. I have to use oxygen for about 4 hours a day on iffy days, about 9 hours on a bad day, and on a good day I don't use oxygen at all, the trick is stringing the good days together. And for relaxation, I now Blog thanks to a good friends encouragement. I also run a Self support group for people with lung disease. I produce a monthly newsletter which goes out to over 80 members. I have given talks on the effects of living with C.O.P.D. to medical seminars and to general patients groups. on behalf of our own group I have arranged 3 and 4 day mini cruises to Spain, Norway and Belgium, numerous social events and day trips. I was once told by one of my members, "Bloody hell Keith, we can't keep up with you" Although I hasten to add it was said with a smile on his face and a wink of the eye.

I have been a reformed smoker for just 18 month, and yes in that time I have I am sure been a real pain in the arse at times. I have never told anyone to stop smoking, that through my eye's would be totally hypocritical. But if only I had listened to those who were telling me. Boy do I wish I had listened. (If Only)

But now let me tell you why I really push so much. It is a known fact that patients with C.O.P.D. have a tendency to say, I can't do this or I can't do that because I get out of breath and I am scared of having an attack that could put me in hospital or even worse give me heart failure. I know totally how they feel, as I've been there, done that, bought the t-sheet. But and it's awful big but, if you cede to the I'm tied in the house syndrome, or I don't want to do that, or I cannot be bothered just in case. Then that is a sure way to set that clock ticking down, and some would do well to manage even three years.

Recently, we in Bolton have seen the beginnings of a truly remarkable exercise program for victims of C.O.P.D. What is remarkable about it ? It is manned and run by a group of Specialist Thoracic Nurses, Physiotherapist, Dietitian's and Occupational therapists. Which they themselves set up without additional funding from the local P.C.T. (Primary Care Trust) or better known as the miser's that hold the purse strings. I am proud to say that our own group were able to fund the purchase of the equipment needed.

Whilst it may well be to late for the likes of me to really benefit, the real benefit is for those that will be diagnosed tomorrow, the day after and those that don't know they have a problem YET. My message to them and anyone else do not give up on yourself. As I said at the beginning IT IS NOT A DEATH SENTENCE.

So as I prepare to go off on a 12 day cruise through the Mediterranean with all the little trimmings like 10 Restaurants, 15 bars, 2 Show Theaters, Casino, and a Movie theater. Then of course there are the things I cannot do like the Gym, The Climbing Wall, Deck Sports, but what the hell win some lose some. It never fails to amuse me when very good intentioned people ask " Are you sure your up to it" or "But what if you get ill" I reply I can get ill sat in my arm chair, I can get killed on the road whilst driving my car, I could also die tomorrow from a totally undiagnosed illness. So I choose to go for it. I will never do anything knowingly stupid. But if I'm likely to have a problem, I would rather meet it head on, it's far better to have tried, then knowing deep down inside that I never tried at all.

On Tuesday I was at the hospital to obtain a fit to travel certificate, I was told by a certain specialist nurse that I was coincided a blooming marvel, well I don't know about that, I think they were just being polite and kind as always. But I was asked, "Does nothing worry you" well the answer was of course yes. "This Cruise I'm going on is the Maiden Voyage of the Norwegian Gem and we all know what happened to the TITANIC".

So if I go missing for a while don't worry I'll be back. And if I'm not, will some kind soul out there check the shipping forecast and find out where that bloody ship sank.

Please engage brain before opening the mouth.

I being fairly new to the blog scene, sometimes I cannot comprehend the mind set of some of the complete and utter idiots out there. They in the main a faceless idiots that I am never likely to meet, so why does their written word get me so up tight.

Recently I along with countless others have been following the stories, exploits and general funnies of a certain lady. This Lady introduced me to the wonderful world of blog land, and what a wonderful place it could be if it were not for the likes of some mindless idiots.

The Lady concerned recently received what could be potentially devastating news, many, many have offered words of encouragement, including myself. I personally lost a Daughter to a brain tumor at the age of thirteen. So I feel I can empathise. Whilst I still feel that the news would have been given a more personal and prioritised call or letter from the consultant, had there been anything that rang immediate alarm bells.

But for this Lady to open her post to find messages from a obvious woman hater, and a religious sect on behalf of the chosen one. Please, were do these morons get what ever modicum of brain power they are cursed with from.

I have made my feeling known on the sights concerned, in no uncertain terms. I am also gratified to find that other bloggers feel the same way and have not been afraid to speak out also.

To the Lady and her family, hang in there, hang loose and tackle all adversities one at a time. I hope and pray that you will not be having to tackle many.



Keith