It’s the 3rd of January I’m home alone and waiting for the district nurse to call to remove my stitches following a small operation just before Christmas. The Wife and Daughter are off to the Trafford Centre to catch the New Year sales, so that’s them gone till well after sundown. So until the nurse arrives and to pass the time, I think I’ll recommence writing my blog. It then suddenly occurs to me what the hell should I write about, and the mind goes a complete blank.
On the television there is a documentary about venomous snakes, and that’s it I’m off again to my early teenage years in Sierra Leone. Now on the subject of snakes I am far from a knowledgeable expert in fact quite the opposite I hate the bloody things, and the type of program I was watching although fascinating, as me on the edge of my seat. The presenters such as the lat Steve Irwin would have me jumping every time a snake that was being handled made a strike.
In my time in West Africa I had seen and encountered my fair share of both venomous and non-venomous snakes. During our time in the village of Wilberforce I reckon that at any given time I was never more then fifty yards from one type or another, directly outside the compound to the bungalow was a coastal gun emplacement which was a remnant of WWII and which looked out over Freetown and into the bay beyond. Freetown being a natural deep water harbour, naturally had to be defended. Whether they were ever used I would not know, but there was four of them at strategic point along the coast but all trained on Freetown bay.
The one outside the compound was built into the hillside, so you only saw the front and the two side walls which were tall at the front but level with the flat roof by the time it had tapered back into the hillside. The entrance was at the side furthest away from the compound, and was totally open, the roof over the years had become well overgrown with vegetation. In the evening you could stand on the veranda looking over the compound fence and hear the rustling in the undergrowth. Needless to say you stayed away after dark.
Not long after arriving in Sierra Leone dad gave me a .22 calibre rifle and what was described as a snake stick, which as far as I was concerned was a walking stick with a very large knob on the end of it. Rifle shooting lessons consisted of shooting beer cans and coke bottles off the compound fence, and if I say so myself I became a very fine marksman. To my shame however tins and bottles soon lost there appeal and I turned my attention to moving targets. I have no idea what they were but there where some very small multi coloured birds that at the very most were not more then two inches long , they would perch on the fence and I would shoot them off. That’s one thing as I look back that I am not proud of. On the other hand there were dozens of small lizards that ran up the walls and across the roof of the veranda. Now these were great sport indeed each one that was shot would shed its tail and the tail would continue to riddle for up to fifteen minutes or more in some cases.
As I became more proficient with the rifle I would at dusk throw stones over the fence and onto the roof of the gun emplacement, you would hear a rustle and sometimes a head would rear up, and bang I’d let off a shot. Whether I actually hit anything is anybody’s guess, but for sure I never went looking to find out. Daft I might have been but stupid!! Well just a bit maybe. As far as going into the blockhouse itself was concerned well that was a definite no no, if the buggers were on top of the blockhouse then they sure as hell would have been inside it.
So it follows that if I had been inflicting death and destruction on these creatures, then sooner or later the boot would be on the other foot. And as sure as God made little apples it did. We had just returned from three months leave back in the U.K. and on returning had moved to new quarters near to Wilberforce Camp. Myself and Swalee my constant companion and our houseboy were returning to the new quarters from the village and like most lads of thirteen we were larking about, pushing and shoving, when one shove sent me stumbling into a monsoon ditch.
Which are troughs down the side of the roads to allow the heavy rains to disperse; well that was the Idea, in fact what actually happens they just become a collection point for rotting vegetation. So as I go backwards my left leg slips into the ditch, and OUCH that bloody hurt, I thought I had broken my ankle or at least took a chunk out of it. But no on withdrawing my foot I find a bloody snake with its fangs in my ankle just behind the ankle bone. I now find out what that bloody big knob on my snake stick is for, as the snake tries to slither away Swalee gives it such a crack across its head as it disappears into the undergrowth, if it wasn’t dead it must have had one hell of a headache.
My leg is on fire and I am literally watching it swell up before my eyes, what the hell am I going to do I don’t want to die on a dusty road in Africa. If you have read some of my previous exploits in Sierra Leone, you will know that Swalee although only two years older then myself was in many ways wise beyond his years. Off came my sandal, out came his pocket knife and quick as you like cuts me just above the puncture marks. Then for some reason he stabs and cuts me high up on the thigh and about two inches long, then ties his vest round the top of my leg. At the time I couldn’t give a dam what he did to me I only knew it hurt like blazes. It’s only when I was able to reflect on the incident that I think that the snake bite might have killed me, but it was more likely that Swalee’s first aid would have been the more of a likely cause. When I consider that I had watched Swalee many times whittle wood, cut mangos, pineapples and anything else that needed cutting with that rusty blade. Swalee’s vest as a bandage not the most sterile dressing in the world, full of holes and sweaty.
Still here we are about two miles out of camp on a dust road with little or no prospect of transportation coming along, but I know I’ve got to get to the hospital which is also within the camp. With what little instruction I had received about snake bites I knew that you should immobilise the patient so the venom is not pumped round the body with a quickening heartbeat. But Swalee was determined to get me walking. “Kei must get to Freetown road” Swalee kept saying over and over again. To the main road was about half a mile, but it took what seemed to be ages before we made it to the main road. At last my luck was changing we had no sooner broke onto the road when a army landrover came up the road returning to camp. Fortunately it stopped which of course it wasn’t supposed to do but thank heavens it did.
Within five minutes I was in hospital. Then the fun really started, “What type of snake was it” asked the medical orderly. “Don’t know a grayish/greenish one” Say’s I. “How big was it” asks the orderly” “ About two foot long and quite a thin one” say’s I. “Is it what they call a boot lace snake because it’s only thin?” I ask. In comes the Doctor who had been sent for as he was off duty, and Dad arrived at about the same time. The doctor armed with a illustrated book of west African snakes of which there are many. Went through the very same questions all over again, and me in absolute agony. Eventually the Doctor decided it was !! and therefore Settled for the “Western Green Bush Viper” as the most likely offender, described as being eighteen to twenty inches very slender can be green or light gray, venomous but not a highly toxic venom. So the good news is your not going to die, but you are going to have a very sore leg for some weeks.
So having filled me up with anti venom injections, antibiotic injections and tetanus injections. Which hurt more then the ruddy snake bite. I was now ready to go to the ward for a couple of days observation. By now Mum had arrived at the hospital and was panicking, Dad being Dad, a typical Sergeant Major, could only say well if you will piss about these thing are bound to happen, you’ll be more bloody careful next time. “What next time dad?” says I.
So there we have it, it’s funny what one tends to think about with just the slightest little reminder of days gone bye. If that’s the doorbell it must be the nurse, more flipping pain.
As a Footnote:-
There are numerous venomous snakes throughout West Africa. To name but a few would be ( The ones in bold I have come across whilst in Sierra Leone) The Puff Adder, The Gaboon Viper, The Rhinocerous-Horned Viper, The Rhombic Night Adder, The Jameson Mamba, The Black Mamba, The West African Green Mamba, The Forest Cobra and the Black Spitting Cobra.Had my bite been inflicted by any of the above it is highly unlikely that I would be writing this account today.
