Easybreathingfella

It's 2009 and another long night to look forward to !!

2009-03-20T15:02:00.002Z

Well here we are a quarter of the new year already gone And once again I am questioning what my purpose in life is any more, for those that know my site and have read my previous efforts at writing some form of sensible journal will also know that I am a disabled person with Emphysema, I have not posted a blog since August of last year, the reason being I have either been in hospital or to ill to bother. But last week on one of my better days I was in the local supermarket when someone that I hadn’t seen for some considerable time came over and “Bloody hell Keith I thought you were dead” So I thought I would knock up this blog to let anyone that might be remotely interested know that I’m still around and as volatile as I ever was.

Whilst this condition severely reduces my breathing and therefore my mobility, It seems to me that my only real contribution to this life, which (if I say so myself) I think I do quite well, is an attempt to offer comfort and advice to those people who have very recently been diagnosed with some form of lung disease. Who, for what ever reason are finding it hard to come to a acceptance of a condition that has no cure, to adjust and cope with the mind games that asks “Why Me” and “I will find a cure” which is a great attitude to adopt but only to be dashed once they realise that no such cure is forthcoming.

It is usually at this point with the realisation that they are unable to do physically, what for years they had taken for granted, that the inevitable depression sets in, and many then resort to becoming a virtual recluse. Mainly due to embarrassment i.e. “I don’t want to be seen out struggling for breath”, “if I have to stop and start every few minutes is it worth it”. And therefore it’s easier to stay at home and adopt the “ I can’t do that” attitude and in doing so self impose a prison sentence within ones own home.

So where do I come in, back in 2001 I was asked along with numerous other patients if we would be interested in setting up a self help / support group for patients with serious chest diseases, of which there are very many to choose from ( not that anybody in their right mind would do so). It took a while to pull the idea together but in February 2002 an initial meeting was arranged to discuss the aims of just such a group and just what would be involved in the running of a self help / support group. Excluding medical personal there were seventeen patients present. A follow up meeting was arranged for the following month, and to cut a long story short, “3” yes THREE ONLY turned up. Of those three there only remains yours truly, but foolish as it may seem we pressed on with the club. For my sins I was asked to chair the meetings and seven years later I’m still chairman of the group (I sometimes wonder why I took that original phone call) have we progressed in that time? Well we now have a core membership of 87.
And in that time I have been involved in various committees such as our local Primary Care Trust (PCT) I have been on the local radio and in the local press. I give talks to new patients about living with a lung disease and about the group in general. I have built up a wide and friendly network of Doctors and Nurses in the field of Thoracic Medicine all of which I consider to be friends, not just my clinicians.

You may have picked up on the fact that I use the word “I” quite a lot, don’t get me wrong we have a committee who once a outing or social event as been arranged I can generally just let them get on with it, but when it comes to running a meeting, producing a monthly newsletter well that’s down to me. The newsletter I must admit I enjoy writing, but collating 4 sheets in landscape, folding and stapling and stuffing in envelopes, 87 copies is no fun at all, in fact it tends to work out at about 25 copies then rest for 20 minutes before I start on the next 25 and so on.
So you will not be surprised to know that just before Christmas on no less then four occasions various people took the time to tell me (in Hospital) what a marvellous job I do on behalf of the group. Followed by and it was nearly word for word on each occasion “If anything happened to you I think the group would finish”. Now if that is so, you may now understand why I asked at the beginning what is the purpose to my life? What the hell am I doing, what am I knocking myself out for, if all of my efforts will have been for nought.

In the SEVEN years that the group as been running, I have met many wonderful people, sadly many are no longer with us. The sad facts are that people with chronic lung disease die. And whilst we miss them the next patient to see his / her doctor might be the next one to be diagnosed with a lung disease, and therefore the support will be needed just as much in the future as it is today. Prior to Bolton being able to offer Pulmonary Rehabilitation, our membership hovered at about the 60/65 mark since Re-hab classes were launch in 2008 those numbers have increased by about 20. Bolton Respiratory Support Group offers a way of keeping in touch after the course as concluded and to meet other people with similar conditions, who can exchange views and useful ideas that work for a particular member or members, and newer members may find that it works for them also.

So the question as to be asked. Do I carry on sending out the message that having a lung disease is not all doom and gloom, as long as you work at it, follow your doctors advice, and don’t become a recluse, take moderate exercise, a little breathlessness is not necessarily a bad thing but don’t over do it.

So will I carry on? Well how am I doing so far? YES I‘ll keep banging the drum, I just hope that someone is listening.

Kipling

2008-08-08T01:50:00.006+01:00

For many years I have been a avid poetry reader,I tend to favour the action or story telling poets such as Tennyson, Masefield, Browning and if I'm truthful even Robbie Burns but without any shadow of a doubt my favorite as to be Rudyard Kipling.

Being the son of a serving soldier in my adolescent years I found that my schooling was somewhat disrupted by constant postings abroad to sunnier climbs, which was a great way of seeing parts of the world that other boys between the ages of four and nearly fifteen could only dream about, whereas I was able to live the dream.

But even this was not enough to satisfy the pictures I could conjure up in my minds eye. Kiplings, graphic tales of India's north west frontier as in: "East is east, and west is west and never the twain shall meet, till earth and sky stand presently at God's great judgement seat". Or John Masefield's "I must go down to the sea's again,to the lonely sea and the sky, and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by" Or to be facing the Russian cannon on the heights over Sevastopol in the Crimea in the words of Lord Alfred Tennyson and "The charge of the Light Brigade" and back to the North west frontiers with Kipling once again and "Gunga Din" The last few words are unforgettable. "Though I've belted you and flayed you, by the living God that made you, your a better man then I am Gunga Din". And even the more modern poets such as Alfred Noyes, "The Highwayman". And not forgetting the classics such as, Robbie Burns and the "Lady of Charlot", the list is endless.

For hours I would read the great poets, but the one poem that I cherish above all else, and yet again another from the pen of Rudyard Kipling "IF".

I have tried to live my life by adopting the Morals that this poem teachers, I have tried many times and many times I have failed. As a proud Yorkshireman, I have a tendency to call a shovel a shovel without trying to fancy it up for the benefit of other folks, which constantly gets me into hot water with bureaucrats and those in authority, all of which I take with a pinch of salt. But when so called friends shun you for speaking the truth then that's dirty cricket.

A few chosen passages from "IF"

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Yet many including myself still allude to that " If I could have my time over again" or the best one of them all "If Only". I have come to accept that this life is not a rehearsal for the next, and even if it were we would never know it. So be thankful for what you have and live your life as though this day was the last, for one never knows "For whom the bell tolls".

Now in my twilight years I can look back to those boyhood days in Hong Kong, Singapore and Africa and feel content that the road throughout life as had its ups and downs, it's stony patches and it's smooth, it's laughter and it's tears. Would I change much of my life, well certainly there are a couple of things I would change but we don't get the chance to apply the "If Only" theorem, so we might as well get on with it.

To quote the greatest crooner ever namely old blue eyes "That's Life" and I did it "My Way". Which I suppose it means that my poems have served me well " I Think".

Home is the sailor, home from the sea

2008-05-19T12:32:00.003+01:00

Home is the sailor home from the sea.Off of the ship and hospital for me.

Well I’d love to say I enjoyed my latest cruise, but I would have to put my tongue right into my cheek if I said I did.

This blog as taken something like nine weeks to be published, the reason First Choice Holidays/ Island Cruises. Having read the blog I am sure the reader would agree that a formal complaint would not be unreasonable. But what do you think?

Don’t get me wrong there was very little wrong with the ship for the able bodied, the food, entertainment or the company we kept.

It was mainly down to the this bloody condition of mine. I wouldn’t mind but to say I took all the necessary precautions that I possibly could , and paid for the privilege.

Ninety nine times out of a hundred I follow my own instincts and I suppose the same could be said of this particular holiday. I booked on the spur of the moment, so nothing new there then!! But on this occasion I asked about taking my own oxygen. Big Mistake. The airline said I could take my own oxygen for resort use only, and could not be used on the aircraft. I would have to order and use oxygen supplied by them at a cost of £75.00 each way. I explained that for a flight of just over two hours I wouldn’t need oxygen, and I was quite happy to use the oxygen on the ship only (If Needed).

But the very fact that I had mentioned the possible need for oxygen, placated the need to fill in a twelve page questionnaire of which only about three questions related to my circumstances anyway. In addition I had to get a letter from my doctor to say that I was fit to fly and that aviation oxygen was suitable for my condition. My doctor confirmed all that was required, and threw in for good measure that on a short haul flight it was unlikely that I would need oxygen.All too no avail.

But having spoken to both the airline and cruise line I was satisfied that all was in place for a stress free holiday, i.e. I was able to take my electric buggy on board the ship, arrangements for assistance whilst boarding the plane, and transfers from the airport to the ship in Palma. So all that was required was to sit back and await the day of departure.

The 24Th March, one day prior to sailing, I receive a letter from the travel company in response to my twelve page questionnaire, notifying me that I would not be allowed to take my own oxygen, and that no oxygen would be available on the ship unless pre-booked at least two weeks prior to departure. The oxygen on board is only for emergencies.

Major Tom to ground control. I have just gone into orbit. Back on the phone, use what ever skills you acquired in your sales career I tell myself. Ever so politely I give a reference code and enquire, “Can I assume that your special needs department have not communicated the conversation I had with ......... ........ on the 27th of February with regard to my own oxygen “I’m sorry Mr Orton but I was asked to write to inform you that the oxygen was not allowed on board”.(I’m still being very polite)” I have a e-mail in my hand From ...... ...... that states quite defiantly that I can take my own oxygen, but I am not allowed to use it other then in the resort, which by the way is a ship” “ Also can I enquire as to what sort of organisation writes to a client the day before departure with the type of news you are imparting, when you received the questionnaire in very early February. All documentation that you required from me you required as urgent and was replied to by return............. “Can You Hold Mr Orton”.(Opus 53 in E flat minor) for 15 minutes.

I have spoken to my supervisor who say’s if you have documentation from ...... ...... stating you may take your oxygen then that’s fine Mr Orton. “Right what I now require from you is a e-mail to this address. Confirming our conversation and that you confirm I am able to take my oxygen on the flight along with the name of your supervisor”. “Ah but Mr Orton” Er, no ah buts’ I shall expect the e-mail within one hour, and thanks for your assistance.
Thirty minutes later my e-mail arrived, which covered all the bases.

With more paper work then I had ever travelled with before we arrive at the airport, armed for all eventualities we approach the check in desk. “Good morning Mr Orton we have reserved seating for you, and we have arranged for assistance for boarding the plane, can you manage on your buggy up to the plane then we will put it in the hold for you”? “Yes that’s ideal for me thanks”. “Just the two cases”? “Yes” and two pieces of hand luggage? “Yes” here we go I thinks, but no the luggage is loaded on the weight sensitive belt all ok there then, and there it was gone. So far so good but I was dreading going through the x-ray at passport control, and in particular the hand luggage.

Oh well as my old mum used to say “A faint heart never won a fair maiden”. So here we go then me the wife two pieces of hand luggage and an electric buggy.( AT THIS POINT I HAVE AMENDED MY ORIGINAL BLOG because I feel that it was not suitable for general release) Enough metal work to set off every alarm in the airport. In one of the bags I had, a portable nebuliser and a battery charger for the buggy. The other contained, a box of medication that would rival a pharmacy for tablets and a cosmetics bag for the wife.

So the bags go through the x-ray I go round the metal detector to receiver a pat down by a security officer, I didn’t mind one bit but I would have preferred the good looking blond lady next to the bloke that patted me down. I digress, on collecting my bags two BIG security guards have placed my bags on to one of the side tables. “Are these your bags sir” “yes” “ would you mind unpacking both bags please”. “Is it ok if the wife does it”? “ Just get them unpacked sir (with attitude)” You should have seen their faces they were as they say “A Picture” You do realise that you cannot take these aboard a aircraft sir!! “Oh yes I can I have permission in writing for me to carry on board my medical supply”. May we see your documentation ? “ I thought you might want that, were shall we start from three months ago or as recent as yesterday, have it all I have highlighted the passages relating to what you are questioning”.

These are not on headed paper sir!! No they are e-mails from First Choice Airlines and if you wish you could contact .............. .............. at customer services (special needs) to confirm there validity. “No Sir that seems to be in order, and these sir”? My medication, “and this bag sir”? “ The wife’s makeup bag” “ Did you read the declaration at check-in regarding dangerous items”? “Yes” “then we shall have to confiscate these tweezers and this liquid foundation crème” “Oh absolutely it’s nice to know you chaps are on the ball when it comes to dangerous items”. I got the feeling that they thought I was taking the p---, ME would I?

So we are on our way, all went well up to entering the aircraft, you may recall they had sat me at the front in row 2, but the plane was now loading in the centre, but thanks to a astute stewardess she managed to get me a swap into row 12, for which I was most grateful. Twenty minutes after take off I was brought my oxygen that the airline had supplied. Did I need it “No” did I use it “yes” well at cost of £75.00 each way with no refunds if it was not used, wouldn’t you have used it.

On landing in Palma no problems till I get out side to find the transfer buses to the port are double deckers with the down stairs fully taken. Having explained to the courier that I could not climb stairs they implied I could hire a taxi to get me to the port. I don’t think so say’s I producing from my ream of paper the request for a taxi to the port if the transport provided was a continental coach with many stairs or high steps. On production of this document, they very quickly arranged a people carrier which four of our fellow passengers were most grateful to benefit from.

On arrival at the ship the “Island Escape” we were allocated a disabled cabin on deck four, which was suitable for purpose and not much more. I have always had outside staterooms previously and found it very claustrophobic, although I had originally wanted an outside suite they had amended my booking to a disabled cabin due to the fact that I would not have been able to get my buggy through a standard cabin door. I have to say that I have travelled on a number of cruise lines and never experienced the type of badly thought out facilities for the disabled traveller.

Every cruise ship is required by maritime law to carry out a lifeboat drill within the first twenty four hour of embarkation. Each passenger is required to report to the muster station on the sounding of the alarm, seven short and one long blast of the ships horn. At which point all lifts are turned off, now I am on deck 4 the muster station is on deck 8, I am to wait for manual assistance for someone to I assume carry me up 4 decks which is 8 flights of stairs, considering I weigh 17st 4lbs so I reckon they would need to send a couple of burly chaps.

In addition, nowhere on any deck was there a disabled toilet, the toilets that were on the decks had a raised lip at the doorway and were therefore not accessible to a number of disabled passengers. Which means that wherever you are on the ship, you must return to your cabin to alleviate your functional requirements. Not the best situation when you need a lift as they are either full, or going up and you want down, or get to the deck either above or below your deck and then go up or down missing your deck completely. Also apart from being able to get onto the fantail of the ship, there was no way I could get out onto the promenade decks, as once again there were three inch raised lip in the door frames, which I could bounce my buggy over but then I get stuck as the buggy is to low to clear the door frame before the back wheels are able to propel me over. So there’s me sat on a see-saw and well and truly stuck. Tried it once never again, by now you will have concluded as I had this ship is not disabled friendly.

But the best was yet to come, the first port of call was Obliea in Sardinia, I enquired at reception about a suitable shore excursion, I was told that there wasn’t one that would be suitable for me to use my buggy. So I asked if I could go into town on the buggy, the answer was yes but it was about a twenty minute walk and not much to see unless you could get into the main part of the town, which they felt was doubtful. So not to worry we’ll stay on board, I’m not bothered as long as I can get to Rome. Well Mr Orton that too might pose a problem. “Why I was there in September and there was no problem, that was on the Norwegian Gem a proper ship”. We only use the double decker coaches and the drivers will not load your buggy because they are not insured. Well I am going to Rome so what do you suggest. To be fair the lady, she did say that she would look into the possibility of what she called a van, but meant a people carrier, so I left it with her to try to come up with a solution.

That evening on returning to our cabin there was a note pushed under the door. Can I contact the excursion desk in the morning as a suitable vehicle could be arranged but it might prove too expensive? The following morning I called at the desk to be told that a van would cost 400 Euros, and could you find someone to share the cost? How soon do you need to know ? by 4.00pm ships time. We had seen the couple that shared the people carrier from the airport around the ship so I enquired If they were going into Rome. Bingo same problem as us accessibility so I told them that I was considering hiring a people carrier to get there at a cost of 400 euros, sounds good to us, and my Brother and his wife were with us would there be room . You bet your life there is it as eight seats, so job sorted, I went back to the reception desk and got it booked.

We arranged to meet on the Friday morning at 8.00am the pick up time was 8.15. All present and correct so we make our way down to deck 3 to disembark, at that point the van had not arrived so we went on to the dock, I could not have been out there for more then two minutes it was windy and very cold and the wind got me. My airways immediately shut down and I was gasping for breath, I had no choice I had to get back on board how I managed to steer my buggy back on board I’ll never know but I did and for the next twenty minutes I was fighting to control my breathing, needless to say the van came and went, Joyce had given Stewart and his wife 200 euros and sent them on there way. All the time passengers were coming past me to get off the ship and although I am gasping to get my breath you can still see clearly what is going on around you, and I was getting some right funny looks I might add. Joyce was asked on two or three occasions should they send for the doctor, Joyce knows that left alone to control my breathing is the best thing to do so declined the doctor, but she also knows when I cannot get on top of my breathing and need a doctor. Put it down to years of experience, or as Hilda Baker catch phase goes “She knows you know”.

So twenty some minutes later I felt able to get back to the cabin, for the rest of the morning and a fair bit of the afternoon I slept. That evening we all met up in the lounge bar, to be told of a super day that had been had by all, made even better by the fact that the driver not only took them into Rome and gave them the grand tour, he then took them to various points of interest and waited till they had looked and taken pictures then moved on to the next site. This would have been fantastic for me, but cel-a-vie, so that was my Rome.

The next port of call was for Florence or Pisa, but unfortunately it was a non docking port so tenders were used to get people ashore so that again ruled me out, I might just have made it into a tender but sure as hell I wouldn’t be able to get out so that was another day stuck on board. The following day we docked in Nice, to a dull overcast morning so having been to Nice and Monaco on previous occasions I was not that bothered about going ashore. The following day however was Marhon in Minorca, which I knew was flat and quite a nice town well worth a visit. But once again the Gods transpired against me yet again, the Captain announced over the P.A.system that due to inclement weather the port of Marhon was closed, but we would circle the Island a few times to see if things improved, they didn’t and at about 3.00pm the ship set off to return to Palma. So apart from about two minutes on the dock for Rome I never got of the ship.

On the plus side the entertainment was first class, the food was adequate, but other then that there wasn’t a lot to shout about, as one of our fellow passengers said “ I would describe it as Butlins on Water. Now I am not a snob but I know just what they meant.

So it will come as no surprise when I tell you that I couldn’t wait to disembark and get to the airport to get home. But my troubles were not quite at an end at this stage oh no siree, you will recall the coach from the airport to the ship situation, I was assured that suitable arrangements would be made for my return to the airport on the conclusion of the cruise, I bet you cannot guess what arrangements had been made. Yep you’ve got it “not a dam thing”. So once again we went through the “ I was assured bit all over again” anyway a taxi was arranged, which duly arrived once loaded up the driver asked the courier to sign her docket for payment. The courier looked at me and said “ You’ll be paying for the taxi Mr Orton. Surprise surprise I never said a word, I worked on the principle why get agitated by arguing the ethics and responsibilities of the tour operators. Just get me home. I’ve had enough and when I’ve had enough, I have had enough.

Palma airport, bells are ringing buzzers sounding, well I’m nor surprised I’ve still got the same items in my hand luggage, so having got through the pat down bit I went to collect my bags anticipating another long drawn out explanation. To my surprise not a word was said, it was the bloke behind me that set the alarms off. So just the flight home to negotiate, then I could relax for the first time in ten days.

I do hope my cruising days are not over, as under normal circumstances every thing is at hand and you are never more then a couple of hundred yards from what ever is happening on board. So for someone with my disabilities cruising is/was a first class option.

Although I shall not be availing myself of the services of Island Cruises and First Choice Holidays in fact in my opinion they should be renamed “Last Choice Holidays” they certainly will be in the Orton household. I should add a caveat to that “The cabin crew on both outward an inward flights were first class and could not have done more to ensure my flights were comfortable”.

Then to top it all two days after my return I finish up in hospital with a chest infection and stress induced fatigue. That was a new one on me. So the lesson to be learned is Keep My Cool under all adversities, or as Doctor Banner (The incredible hulk) say’s “don’t get me mad, you wont like me if I get mad”.

Oh well here’s to the next holiday somewhere less adventurous perhaps Scotland or the Isle of Man?

Ouch that bloody hurt

2008-01-04T15:56:00.000Z

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.

Sticky Toffee and Date Pudding.

2007-12-04T15:26:00.000Z

Following on from "Chewys", Tag Blog. One of the question was "Name three things you have eaten today. One of my three answers was "Sticky Toffee Pudding. Which drew a few comments like I've never heard out it but sounds yummy, or Is it as good as it sounds.

So for a number of my friends across the pond, here is the recipe. Have a go it's real easy to make and you will want a second helping. Honest.

Ingredients:-
For the pudding :-

100g Chopped dates
90ml Boiling water
1/2 tsp Vanilla extract
35g Softened butter
65g Demerara sugar
1 Egg
1 tsp Black Treacle (molasses)
75g Self raising flour
1/2 tsp Bicarbonate of soda
60 ml Milk

For the Sauce:-

25g Butter
75g Dark soft brown sugar
120ml Double Cream
1 tbsp Black treacle (molasses)

Method :-

1) In a small bowl, soak the dates and vanilla extract in boiling water for 5 minutes, then drain and mash.
2) Cream together the butter and Demerara sugar.
3) Beat the egg, and add to the butter mixture, then beat in the black treacle (molasses) 1tsp.
4) Fold in 1/3 of the flour and all of the bicarbonate of soda.
5) Add half the milk and whisk continuously whilst adding the rest of the milk and flour till all is used, then stir in the mashed dates. and mix well.
6) Spoon in the mixture into four ramekins, and bake for 20 minutes at 180 degrees Celsius.

The Sauce:-

7) Melt the butter, add the sugar and half the cream, bring to the boil and then simmer for about 5 minutes until the sugar as dissolved.
8) Stir in the black treacle 1tbsp (Tablespoon), turn the heat back up and let the mixture simmer for 2 to 3 minutes, stirring occasionally.
9) Remove from the heat and add the rest of the cream.
10) To serve, turn out the puddings, and level by cutting off the tops, turn upside down on a plate, and pour 2 tablespoons of sauce over the pudding. Serve with either Creme Fraiche or Ice Cream.

To finish off but optional:- pour on a good slug of dark Rum to really blow you away.

Go on try it, I have made this pudding for years, alas I am unable to stand at the cooker long enough nowadays. But I've taught the wife well, so it is still one of me favorite puddings.

Let me know how you get on.

Frustrating being frustrated

2007-12-02T14:08:00.000Z

When I first started writing a blog a friend told me that you laid yourself wide open to everyone with a on line computer, which in this day and age must be a hell of a lot of people worldwide. So with this in mind there are no names used, other then one and my own.

So how does one become frustrated by the actions of other people, people who you tend to regard as friends and confidants. People you have known and cared for over a number of years, but when the boot is on the other foot !! Hello is anybody out there.

Six years ago, I was asked to start a self help support group for people suffering with a Lung Disease, having being diagnosed some years previously with a condition known as C.O.P.D. (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) knowing little or nothing about lung diseases at the time. Over the years I have acquired a reasonable amount of knowledge about the various forms illnesses that directly affect the lungs of which there are many. After numerous admissions into hospital between 1999 and 2002, I think it would be fair to say that I had become reasonably well known to a number of the medical staff at the local hospital. So much so that in November 2001 I was approached along with others, by Senior Respiratory Specialist Nursing Sister Michaela Bowden to look into the possibilities of starting a self help support group, and in April of 2002 we officially lunched the group.

At this point I should acknowledge the support and backing received from the entire Thoracic Team at the Bolton Royal. From day one to the present day, the Consultants and Specialist nurses have been truly wonderful and have supported the group in every possible way, allowing for the fact that their occupations are demanding on both their time and energies.

Not much to get frustrated at so far you may think, and you would be right, apart from the fact that everyone gets to clock off, I don’t. I get phone calls morning, noon and night from members of the group, and sometimes from people I have never heard of, but they have heard of us or more to the point ME. Asking for advice on various complaints, and some that even the doctors have not heard of. I’ve had calls threatening to commit suicide, (the last one being Sunday the 25th) because they can no longer cope with their illness. I constantly get asked for tips or suggestions of how to handle specific breathing difficulties. Whilst I am able to pass on tips that are known to work well for some people they don’t always work for everyone. So my advice is and always will be “If in doubt call your own Doctor”.

Over the last five years I have given talks to both medical groups and patient groups which have been well received. I never pull my punches when it comes down to long term prognosis, If a Doctor tells a patient that there is NO cure for Lung Disease such as Emphysema or Bronchiectasis. Why do I still get constantly asked if I know of a cure, which warrants one of two answers, if in a open seminar or general meeting I say “There is no known cure, but your illness can be managed with the use of correct medication. But don’t take my word for it ask the experts” or if it’s a telephone call, I try to always be polite but often make the point “If there was a cure, can you tell me why I’m sitting here with a oxygen pipe stuck up my nose”.

So to get to the reason I am totally frustrated at times.

I have been told on many occasions and I quote “You’re a bloody marvel the way you cope and handle your illness” Well surprise, surprise I’ll let you into a little secret. Have you heard about the beautiful and graceful swan gliding serenely across the lake, whilst below the water its feet are paddling fifty to the dozen just to stay afloat. Well I guess that’s me, all calm up front whilst paddling like hell below the surface.

A fortnight ago I was at the hospital not for my chest problems, which makes a change. But four years ago whilst in hospital one of the registrars noticed a small lump to the right side of my nose, and referred me to the E.N.T. unit (Ear, Nose and Throat) who promptly diagnosed what is known as a Rodent Ulcer, which of course prompts the question what’s that ? “Skin Cancer” Oh Sh1 t what does that mean and can it be cured ? Yes normally we would just cut it out, but with your chest we would prefer to use radiotherapy to get rid of it. So the following month I’m in Christies Hospital having my nose blasted with the appropriate treatment, and six month later they carry out a biopsy and give me the all clear.

You know what’s coming, Yes It’s back, but on my cheek just in front of my left ear ( payback time for all those years in Africa, Sun block what’s sun block) So I have to have it dug out this month ah well “Cell A Vie” The following two days were spent taking gifts to the house bound members of our group, nothing fantastic, a diary and a set of 6 hand made greeting cards and Christmas card on behalf of the group. On Thursday we had our regular meeting, I explained to the group that I might not be at the December meeting and the possible reason why. Yesterday was our Christmas Meal and outing to Oswaldtwistle Mills for some Christmas shopping therapy. When the coach arrived it was one of those very high continental coaches. One look at the nine steps to negotiate to get on told me it was a none starter, so it was back to the car to drive myself and Joyce to the venue. The meal was excellent but by 3.00pm I had had enough so we returned early after letting a couple of members know, not that it matted as we were not on the coach anyway.

So why is this voluntary position so frustrating ?

Calls to thank us for the gifts.............................To date......................................Nil.
Calls to see if I’m OK after the meeting............ To date Nil.
Calls to see if we got back yesterday OK..........To date.....................................Nil.
Call since Friday teatime for advice...................To date.....................................Four.

I don’t want praise, I certainly don’t want sympathy, a little more help in running the group would be appreciated. But I don’t think I would be out of order to expect the occasional call to ask “Are you OK old son” Or is that to much to expect ? Or is it that I’ve turned into a grumpy old man? I never used to be a whinge, honest I wasn’t.

I’ll finish with a joke for you :-
A 85 year old Great Grandmother dies and arrives a the gates of heaven to be greeted by the Angel Gabriele. “Hello love, just take a chair for a few minutes whilst I take this other lady through to meet the boss” “ Yes ok” says the 85 year old. A few minutes pass and Gabriele re-emerges. “That previous lady is just finishing off with the boss shouldn’t be too long now” says Gabriele. “Yes that’s fine I’m rather excited “ say’s the 85 year old. All of a sudden there is a almighty and prolonged scream. “What the hell was that” enquires the 85 year old. “Oh it’s OK don’t worry it’s just the previous lady having two holes in her back drilled to hang her wings on” say Gabriele. “ Oh I not to sure about that, it sounds very painful” says the 85 year old. “Oh it only hurts for a short while, but it’s worth it in the end” say’s Gabriele.
Just then there is an even louder and longer scream. “What the hell was that” asks the 85 year old. “Don’t worry yourself one little bit, it’s just that they need to drill a hole in her skull to fit the halo into” Say’s the Angel Gabriele. “Sod that for a game, I’m not having that get transferred to the other place” say’s the 85 year old. “Oh no you don’t want to go there, they will do all sorts of nasty thing to you including rape and buggering you” say’s Gabriele. “That’s no problem I’ve already got the holes for that” Says the 85 year old

I've been Tagged

2007-11-16T17:49:00.000Z

Chewy, as posted a very amusing tag game, give it try.

Two names you go by (besides your given names)?

1. Knockout , as in K.O.
2. Ourkid , called by my younger brother.

Two things you are wearing right now?

1. A oxygen mask.
2. Dressing gown and Jammies

Two longest car rides ?

1. Route 66. now ain't that a kick in the head.
2. Bolton to Bucharest, Romania, 1992 mercy mission.

Two of your favorite things to do:

1. Public speaking
2. Eating out, if you had to taste my wifes cooking you'd know what I mean.

Two things you want very badly at the moment:

1. Tomorrow.
2. A new laptop.

Three animals you have or have had:

1. Princess, My Boxer but that was over 40 years ago.
2. Shelly, a Jack Russell, mad as a hatter but loyal for fourteen years.
3. Jack, a King Charles,2years old. Named by my youngest grandson.

Three thing you ate today:

1. Chicken Sandwich.
2. Steak Diane.
3. Sticky toffee pudding.

Two things you are doing tomorrow:

1. Attending a church Christmas fair.
2. Distributing gifts for my house bound members of our support group.

Two favorite holidays:

1. 1994 Motorhome trip across the U.S. on route 66.
2. The Next one ?

Two favorite beverages:

1 Whisky and soda. but not to much soda.
2. If I must Coffee.

Three people I tag :-

Mary, Get your own Name
Rachell, Pasture Musings
Lin, If the creek dont rise

Bump, that's me back to earth.

2007-11-09T13:01:00.000Z

Having recently returned from holiday with the batteries almost fully charged, and sufficient energy to write a couple or so blogs. My answer phone is full to capacity, with requests from members of a patients group I run, asking for advice on this or that. A couple telling me they missed me at the last meeting, I fact one even said that it was rubbish without me, flattery will get her anything she wants. The drawback is she is 87 and wears Nora Batty stockings, (for the benefit of those across the pond N.B Stockings are thick brown elasticated socks that normally slip down the leg forming creases) other then that she's a real sweetie.

In addition to my members requests there's a message from Specialist Respiratory Sister Norma Brandish, "Hi Keith when you get back can you give me a ring most important and I need a favour, oh I hope you enjoyed your holiday, is Joyce OK ? love Norma" So not being one to let anyone down I ring Monday " Thoracic Medicine" Hi can I speak to Norma please? "Yes, is that Keith" " yes is that Pat" "Yes how did the holiday go?" Twenty minutes later I remember it's my call, "anyway put Norma on and I'll catch up with you next week in clinic". "Sorry Keith you've JUST missed her she's gone out on house calls, I'll get her to ring when she gets back". " How long as she been gone" about ten minutes, (long pause) Oh.........I'll get her to ring" "thanks Pat.

Norma rang back about 4.30 ish, Hiya Keith how did the holiday go, another fifteen minutes, I'm not bothered though it's their phone this time. Eventually, Norma says I need to ask you a mega favour," you can always ask says I" We have two new lots of patients for the rehabilitation course and could you do one of your talks to boost them up a bit, because there all early stage C.O.P.D. and a couple in particular are showing signs of depression. Yeh OK Norma when is the first one? "Thursday and the second clinic on the 23rd can you do both of them"? " By heck Norma you don't half give a lot of notice, but for you anything". I'm such a creep. But it's nice to feel useful now and then.

So there I am feeling rather full of myself in the last couple of weeks, I'm feeling well in myself, people seem to need me in some capacity or other. I've had some nice comments on my blogs (past present and future) where I turned back the clock to reminisce about my younger days of long long ago. All of which confirmed what I have long known, I'm still about 35 I'm fit healthy, a bit of a Jack the lad, been there done that and bought the tee shirt. Then I remember the lyrics of a Tom Jones Number " Then I awake and look around me, and see the four grey walls that surround me, and then I realise I was only dreaming" For those that might be wondering no I'm not in prison, it just feels like that sometimes. When people ask why do you push yourself so hard, I suppose it's down too the mind set of a 35 year old in a older body, that will not totally surrender to the ageing process.

Then this morning the boss comes into the den, I know she's the boss because I have her permission to say so. Did you read that letter yesterday from the social security. No, it will be my higher rate disability cheque which I get each and every week( subject to postal strikes) in addition to the standard rate of incapacity benefit, I receive a further £18.36 which only serves to remind me that I am pretty much knacked. Why they cannot pay it as one payment beats me, but no it as to be separate. You would think one payment would save them money in the long run.

No it's not your disability cheque, I really think you should read it says Joyce !! So now my mind is running riot. It's not my cheque, it's a day early and Joyce thinks I should read it. Oh Shit they don't believe me and they want the money back, a quick calculation tells me that, an average of £18 per week times 52 weeks times 5 years is Oh double shit, that's £4600 ish. Well all I can say is I hope they can whistle Dixie. So go on then Joyce put me out of my misery, what does it say. Here, read it yourself !!
Dear Mr Orton,
On reviewing our records we note that you are now able to claim benefits to the winter fuel allowance. Therefore please find our cheque for two hundred pounds to supplement the cost of your heating over the forthcoming winter period. The Cold Weather allowance is available to the old and infirmed to provide warmth and comfort in your own home. Etc,etc,etc I remain yours Etc.

So that is when I hit the ground with a bump. So that's it, it's official, it must be right because the government says so. I am officially past my Best Before Date. I guess I'll just have to live with it I am OLD.
So in the course of one letter from feeling on top of the world too feeling well and truly P****D OFF. You no doubts will excuse me whilst I go and have a real good sulk.

The Photo :- Taken in my younger days Royal Engineers T.A. aged 22, now I'm really really nafted off.

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

2007-10-29T09:43:00.001Z

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)

2007-10-29T09:43:00.000Z

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)

2007-10-26T03:24:00.000+01:00

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)

2007-10-23T11:10:00.001+01:00

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

2007-10-15T22:18:00.000+01:00

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 !!

2007-10-04T15:01:00.000+01:00

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.

2007-10-01T16:55:00.000+01:00

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

I've just got to make that train connection.

2007-09-19T17:31:00.000+01:00

November 1945, a soldier was returning home after two long years. He had drawn his pay, his travel warrant and a five day leave docket. Having travelled up from Aldershot camp, to St Pancras one of London’s major rail links to the north. The first action of the day was to check the departure times for Sheffield. Having established that the next train was at 5.40 pm, changing at Nottingham. The train was due to arrive in Nottingham at 9.55, with the connection for Sheffield departing at 10.05 pm.

The time now 1710 by his Wiess wristwatch, a lovely piece of Swiss precision. Having confirmed the time, some form of compulsion made him rub his left shoulder only to trigger an immediate sharp burning pain, as he caught the embedded remains of a bullet wound. The memories of that day in May when the troop was just south of Minden came flooding back. The war was rapidly coming to a close but there were still small pockets of the S.S. that were prepared to die for the Fatherland rather then surrender to the advancing allied troops.

As part of an advanced troop Harry and his platoon entered Minden only to be met by a hail of machine gun fire and sniper fire from various high vantage points. The troop took up defensive positions, the troop sergeant major followed by three of the lads rushed the building were the machine gun fire was coming from, as Harry surveyed the scene he saw the flash of a rifle from a third floor window of the local Hotel. Working his way round the edge of the small town square, he and two other lads entered the hotel, slowly climbing to the third floor Pete Dixon, Harry’s pal they had been together through North Africa, Sicily, Italy and now virtually at the end of the war. Pete rushed the room only to be met by a hail of bullets, Harry close behind stopped a bullet in the shoulder as he tossed a grenade into the room.

He and Taffy Thomas rushed the room only to find....”Oh my God there now't but bloody school kids”. They found three bodies, all members of Hitler Youth Corps. On returning to the square they found that the remaining pockets of resistance had capitulated once the machine gun post was silenced. The remaining Germans were rounded up to reveal that apart from two officers and a sergeant, the rest were all members of Hitler Youth the youngest being just thirteen. Though looting was generally frowned upon. The SS Captain had no further use for his Wiess watch, and if these bastards could force these kids to fight and die for the Fatherland then he deserved to be relived of his watch.

A Quick look at the watch told Harry there was enough time to grab a cup of tea before the train.
1745 hrs the train draws away from the platform, only five minutes late thinks Harry still as long as there are no more hold up’s, all being well I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight. Slowly the train gathers speed as it leaves the outskirts of London. The train was packed, standing in the corridor for the next four hours or so, wasn’t something that Harry was looking forward to. Things didn’t improve when the train pulled into Luton as another five or six tried to squeeze themselves into the already crowded corridor. Two hours later the train pulled into Leicester, Harry was delighted as what seemed to be a mass exodus from the carriage. At last there was somewhere to sit, no sooner had Harry got himself settled , when two W.R.A.F (Woman’s Royal Air Force) got on the train. Being the complete gentleman Harry and the chap opposite relinquished their seats, so it was back to the corridor but at least this time he could sit on his kit bag and stretch out his legs a little.

It was 2040 hours as the train pulled out of Leicester, a quick look at the watch confirmed that there was just 75 minutes to Nottingham and a further 10 minutes to make the connection for Sheffield a total of 85 minutes. That’s cutting it a bit fine thinks Harry, still nothing I can do about it so I might as well sit back and relax.

As he sat his mind drifted back to the heat of North Arica, were he and a young Pete Dixon first met Pete was eighteen and Harry a veteran at twenty. They had fought together at El Alamein, they had drunk ice cold beers in Cairo, they had then landed on the shores of Sicily, at Augusta in the south and fought their way through Sicily to Palermo in the north. Then onto the mainland of Italy to Monte Casino. And at every opportunity, sampled the local products of the vine.

Whilst enjoying the delights of R and R (rest and recuperation) in Rome, They took in all the tourist bits and some of the lesser locations to delight in a little La Dolce Vita. On the final day in Rome they decided it would be a good idea to take a swim in the Trevi Fountain. For that little indiscretion they both landed up on a charge, Harry lost his second stripe and Pete was busted back to private, with five days in the guard house, which was never served as the regiment was moving up to the front line the following day.

A dash through northern Italy, mopping up small pockets of resistance. The German army was now in full retreat. Turn left into northern France ready for the final push into Germany. They knew that once they were into Germany the resistance and defence of the homeland would be fierce. But they simply had no way of knowing to what ends the Nazis hardliners would adopt to defend the Fatherland. As Harry recalled once again that fateful day in Minden when Pete lost his life not against the cream of the German Army but a bunch of bloody kids playing soldiers. What a bloody waste, the date 5th May 1945 three days later the German Army capitulates. On the 8th of May the unconditional surrender of the German forces on land, sea and air was signed. Victory in Europe Day was declared.

All change, all change, was the shout that stirred Harry back to reality. All change, all change for Sheffield, Manchester and Liverpool. A quick look at the watch confirmed his worst fears 2202. Oh shit three minutes to get to the other train, a quick dash down the platform showing his travel warrant at the barrier “what platform is the train for Sheffield mate” asked Harry. “Platform six and you’d better be fast it’s due out in a minute or two”. Bloody hell that’s at the far side of the station, kit bag on the shoulder and run like hell, over the connecting bridge down the steps only to see the last carriage passing him by. Oh F**K.

Looking round Harry spots the platform attendant, excuse me pal what time is the next train to Sheffield. “Don’t know pal you will have to ask at the main barrier on platform one”. So it’s back across the bridge. The ticket collector was asked, “what time is the next train to Sheffield”. “Na lad thas missed thi last un for’t nite. Next uns the milk run train at ‘haf pas fiv” . Oh hell says Harry, “where is the waiting room then? “ We aint got one of them not one that’s open anyhow, well not since it got bombed “. “ When was that then?” asked Harry. “November 42”. Bloody hell you don’t exactly rush your repairs here in Nottingham do you?..... “Eh” said the ticket collector.

Oh well nothing for it but to get my head down on one of these benchers. Thank God for my army great coat (thick, heavy and long overcoat) So with great coat tightly buttoned up and kit bag under his head Harry settled down for the remainder of the night. Just as he was drifting off he was rudely interrupted. Excuse me corporal, I’m sorry to trouble you but you don’t look very comfortable!! Harry roused too see the most stunning looking lady he had not seen the likes of for many a year. “Sorry, but I was just dropping off, what did you say”? “I said you didn’t look very comfortable on that bench”. “ You can say that again Ma’m, it is a little hard.

I wonder, would you like to come back to my place for a hot drink and I’m sure I could find you something to eat. Now, Harry being the sort that never lets an opportunity pass him by. Well yes Ma’m, thank you ma’m, I’d love to thank you very much ma’m. “ Right lets drop the ma’m bit shall we, just call me Devinia, and what shall I call you corporal”? The names Harry ma’m, sorry I mean Devinia. Right Harry lets get going it’s about ten minutes walk towards Trent Bridge.” I’m right there with you Devinia”, say’s Harry with a twinkle in his eye, and a newly found spring in his step.

As they walked along, Harry related his journey from Aldershot to missing his connection here in Nottingham. Devinia explained that she had been to the station to see her sister off on her return to Glasgow. Also that her husband was at sea with the Merchant Navy, and had been so for the last two months. On approaching the house a very large Edwardian detached property. To Harry a lad from the Manor estate in Sheffield this represented pure wealth, defiantly the posh end of town.

As they entered Divinia showed Harry to a large sitting room, with very fine period furniture, thick piled carpets and Persian rugs. Good God thinks Harry “this is a bit different from a two bedded council house with linoleum on the living room floor and rag twist rugs, and nothing but stone slabs in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable Harry, take your coat off and loosen your battledress tunic if you wish. Would you like a drink Harry? “Yes please” just as the last button on his tunic was opened “can I have a cuppa tea please”? “ Well yes if you wish, but I thought you might like something a little stronger” said Devinia. “Oh right, what have you got”? “I’ll tell you what you help yourself whilst I go and change into something more comfortable for this time of night. You will find whatever you want in the drinks cabinet in the corner”. Said Divinia pointing to a very elegant cabinet, in the far corner. Harry went to get himself a drink, on opening the cabinet, he was amazed to find it fully stocked with just about every spirit Harry had ever heard of and a good few he had never heard of. Settling for a large whiskey and soda he poured his drink and crossed the room to sit on a very large settee to await the return of Devinia. Taking a good look round the room there were many family pictures, but the one that immediately caught Harry’s eye was the one in a lavish silver frame of a merchant seaman, with all that gold braid, this must be at the very least a Captain, a master of his own vessel. Was this Devinia’s Husband no he looks far too old, it must be her father. Yes that must be it; It’s obviously a family of seafarers.

On her return Harry almost choked on his drink. As she stood at the entrance of the room in a very sheer negligee, in fact had it been any sheerer she might as well not have bothered wearing it at all. To retain a little modicum of modesty she did however ware a pure silk dressing gown. “I see you’ve got yourself a drink can you do one of those for me sweetie, What would you like to eat”? asked Devinia . “ Well I don’t want to put you to any bother anything will do fine”. For the first time Harry really studied his host. She had the perfect hour glass figure, with shoulder length auburn hair. She reminded Harry of a picture he had had of the film star Rita Hayworth, which had taken pride of place above his bunk at boot camp back in 1939, when he had first enlisted. Looking at Divinia once again he figured that she was in her mid to late thirties, she could easily be taken for much less. The ravages of war had not diminished her stunning beauty. “ So Harry, have you made up your mind as to what you would like to eat, I can offer you a steak or a nice piece of salmon which would you prefer”? “Well as long as you are sure it’s no trouble, I’d really love a steak, I’ve not seen a steak since I was in Cairo and I’m not convinced that one came from a cow either”. “How do you want it cooked”. “Well done pleased”. Fine pour us both another drink and I’ll get the steaks on.

On returning from the kitchen Devinia laid two plates on the dinning table. The steaks were not just bits of steak but enormous T Bone steaks American style, garnished with potatoes, broccoli and best of all fried onions. I have to ask said Harry “how do you manage to put on such a spread with all the rationing”. Well I told you my husband was at sea didn’t I ? “Yes” said Harry. “Well each time he gets home he brings loads of goodies it’s just one of the perks of the job”, said Devinia. I suppose that’s where all the booze comes from then? “Well yes I suppose I’m lucky in that respect, but how was your steak” enquired Harry’s host. “It was absolutely fabulous” said Harry. We’ll have a coffee then perhaps you might want to have a lay down before going to catch your train. Coffee as well is there no end to your supplies. “Well I tend to be running short by the time hubby gets back to shore” said Devinia. How do you like your coffee Harry”? “Milk and two sugars please”. Right do you want to go up to the spare bedroom, top of the stairs turn right and second left, I’ll bring your coffee up to you shortly make yourself comfortable.

Now rightly or wrongly, Harry took that to mean strip off and I’ll be in shortly, about ten minutes had elapsed when into the doorway stood Devinia. Backlit by the light coming from the landing, the dressing gown was now gone. The fullness of her body could clearly be seen through the shear negligee. “I’ll bring the coffee to the bedside table and we can continue our chat if you wish for a short while” said Devinia. Harry said “sure fine I’d like that” if the truth be known the last thing on Harry’s mind was a chat. As she leaned over to place the coffee tray on the table, the fullness of her plentiful breast were virtually falling out of her night gown. As a serving soldier Harry had seen the flesh pots of Cairo, the seedier side of Rome and other towns and cities across Europe. But this, this was something totally new to him and he didn’t know how to respond. Should he make a move was that what was expected, or was it that Devinia is such a nice lady and genuinely wanted to help a stranded soldier returning home on leave.

He didn’t have to wait to long before he knew what he was expected to do. “I’ll take my coffee to the other side of the bed to finish it. I’ll lay on the bed whilst we chat, if you don’t mind o.k.”? “You bet” said Harry, not believing his incredible luck. This only ever happens in them mucky magazines that you buy in the plain covers at the local newsagents, and the type of mag’s that do the rounds in the barracks. As she laid down beside him he could feel the warmth of her body against his, whilst he had been aroused ever since she appeared at the bedroom door. But now he was so aroused, if he were to turn over to quickly, he would have done himself a permanent injury. But as she started to stroke his shoulder, slowly softly he could stand it no more. As he turned on his side and threw his arm across her.

He went with such a bump as he rolled off the station bench. The platform attendant who had been trying to rouse him by rubbing him on the shoulder, was now looking down at him on the floor. The attendant said “ I thought I ought to wake you corporal , has the milk train to Sheffield is just about to pull into the station”. As the train came to a halt Harry stood with his kit bag strategically positioned to his front and with a distinct limp Harry boarded the train on his final leg home.

I ONLY WISH I HAD SOME BRAINS

2007-09-08T19:54:00.001+01:00

I always thought that I had a modicum of intelligence, very little seemed to be beyond my comprehension until that is, I decided to go for wireless technology.
Matthew, Kathleen and James

I recently changed my television, telephone and broadband provider from NTL to the new Sky package which when advertised looked far more attractive and better value for money then the previous supplier.

So the engineer arrived to install the T.V. system and Telephone socket. 20 minutes later it’s all done. “Ah but, ah but” say’s I “but what about my broadband connection”. “That will take about ten days to come through, you’ll get a letter with a code and instructions, and the following day you will receive your router then you can get reconnected to the Internet . Fortunately NTL had not pulled the plug on their broadband connection. So I was still able to communicate with the outside world.

So I wait for the equipment to arrive, which it did the day before we were due to go to Ireland. On returning from holiday I find that my broadband connection to NTL had been severed. So now I have to get to grips with this new system and get it installed on the computer.

Instruction (1). Remove items from the packaging. Do you know I think I could have figured that one out all by myself. I digress, but it reminded me of the label on a carton of tarimasu, the label was on the bottom of the carton and said “DO NOT TURN UPSIDE DOWN.” Anyway back to the unpacking.

I follow the instructions to the letter, and the wizard is there to prompt me press next etc. At the end of a sequence of instructions, I am informed you are now ready to go WIRELESS. The final instruction is “You may now remove the cable connection to your router and press next. The screen tells me congratulations you have successfully installed Wire Free technology.

This is fantastic thinks I, I’ll check for e-mails having been off line for about three days, I thought I would be inundated with mail. Of course I had forgotten that I was with a new provided. So it was a huge surprise to find that there was no mail waiting. Then I suddenly twigged on to the fact that apart from one person nobody else knew what my new address was going to be. So I’d better send a few mail shots out with the new address. Suitably composed I press SEND. To be greeted by ERROR local connection not available, retry or cancel, I’ll try the retry option. ERROR local connection is not connected to your computer. That’s strange thinks’ I, I’ll try the Internet, might as well check my bank after the holiday, pump in the required details which I know off by heart and press enter. Cannot connect to this page TRY etc etc etc.

One more try, and then the bloody laptop is going through the window. No it’s doesn’t want anything to do with E-Mails or the Internet.... Read the booklet again, turn that bloody television off and let me concentrate. I am convinced I have followed the booklet word for word, action for action, so why doesn’t it flaming well work. Right connect everything back up again and start all over, yet again.

Having now reconnected everything, would it be worth trying the Internet again? Well why the hell not thinks I. Pressing the Internet connection icon, up pop’s the Google Home page. Yep I’m in, O’bloody’ray.
Quick try the e-mail icon, yep that’s up and running too, O.K. only a couple of welcome messages from sky and one from my friend. Oh happy day’s.

Or that’s what I thought, but as soon as I had disconnected the cables. I was back to square one. But worst was still to come with the cables re-connected the computer slowed down to a snails pace. In fact it took what seemed like an eternity just to get into the start up screen. Well call me a defeatist if you will, but I put up with that for about ten days. Then during a visit to my daughters, I just happened to mention to my 13 year old grandson the problems I was encountering with the computer. Quick as a flash “you need a DONGLE granddad” say’s Matthew, “A what” say’s I. “A dongle, you put it in the back of the computer into a USB port”. I must have looked really vacant, because Matt said “it looks like a memory stick that you plug in to receive the wireless signal”.

Oh I am with you now Matt, No I don’t need one of those it’s already got one in the computer. Matt in his usual laid back manner, shrugs is shoulders ya OK granddad and walks off. Another ten days or so elapses, When my local Vicar Greg calls in to see me. Now I know he is well into computers so I tell him of my plight, and for the next hour he tried in vain to get the ruddy thing to work correctly. Do you know I still don’t know why Greg called round.

At which point the wife comes back from walking the dog, I’ve just seen the Sky engineer down the road and I’ve asked him if he could pop in and sort you out, as he only lived locally he agreed to pop in when he had finished work. True to his word at 6.15 Steve calls he must have spent all of 5 minutes with the computer and declared. “You need a wireless receiver to pick up the signal from the router to computer. What says I. A wireless receiver. I have to ask” is that per chance what is known as a Dongle”. Well yes I have heard them called that, but if you go to P.C.World and ask for a 108 net scape wireless receiver they will sort you out.

Sorry Matt. I should have listened to you, he was right all the time.

So off to P.C.World that week-end, and we are fixed up in a matter of minutes.

Right lets get this gizmo home, and put the job to bed. You will recall I said the computer was running painfully slow so I think to myself do this right Keith. Un-install what you have at the moment and create a restore point, which I did back to the 5th August, when everything was running ok. That done I try out the computer prior to re-installing the Broadband hardware yet again. Utopia every thing was fine speed back to normal. As we say in England all is fine with the world.

Right, here we go re-install. By now I know the book verbatim, the final screen you are now ready to go wireless, disconnect the lead from the router to the computer. I’ve been here before thinks I. All disconnected, reboot right. Windows is saving your settings, windows is closing down, screen goes blank, then DER DER Windows jumps back into life.

Fantastic, so we are off and running again. “Not so fast say’s the mighty God of computers; you still cannot get onto the NET or send an E-MAIL unless I say you can. Reconnect all the wires and I’ll let you in again.” But,but it’s supposed to be wireless. “Not unless I say it is”. That’s just how it felt that the powers that be, were conspiring against me.

Another few days went by, till out of the blue my eldest grandson (16) dropped in. What bring you up here unannounced, well I’m back at school tomorrow and Mum say’s your still having fun with your computer !! Now I don’t swear in front of my grandchildren, but I came very close to it on this occasion “FUN” Well granddad I ‘ll have a look at it for you if you want? “Want, be my guest son”. “Have you got your book of instructions “ asks James. Yes I have but if you want I’ll quote it to you. “No Granddad I’ll read it if you don’t mind”.

A couple of aaar’s and whooo’s later “ got it”. Got what say’s I. “I think I’ve got it” says James. Sound like a line from “MY FAIR LADY” (By George he’s got it.) and indeed he had. 9 minutes flat it had taken and I was totally wireless and logging on to the Net.

So I have come to the conclusion that I should revise my opening sentence from a modicum of intelligence. To modicum of intelligence unless it appertains to computers in which case it should read is thick and unable to comprehend the finer points of technology. Which is true, I am fine if whatever I am doing does what I expect it to do, then all is well with the world. It’s when it does something that is completely unexpected, that’s when I am at a complete loss as to what I should do next. Thank the Lord for Grand kids.

Just to rub salt into the wounds, when I asked James what he had done to make the blooming thing work. He said I read the book Granddad. Just read the book.!! Don’t you just love clever Grand kids ?

A night at the pub.

2007-09-05T10:25:00.000+01:00

I'll share a little story that was doing the rounds awhile back as a joke. But in fact it is based on a true incident.
and this is how it goes.

Friday night was Edith's and Molly's big night of the week, it was the night out at the pub. That may not seem remarkable until you consider that both ladies are in their late eighties. Both use a zimmer frame and both are practically deaf, and literally shout at each other to communicate.

From the residential care home to the Seven Stars was just a matter of a few hundred yards, with no roads to cross, and at a steady pace it took about eight or nine minutes depending on the direction of the wind.

So of they shuffle, and on arriving at the pub :-

Molly says to Edith you go and get us a seat, and I'll get the drinks.

Edith... I don't want anything to eat, just get me a Mackason (milk stout).

Molly.... No not eat, get a seat, pointing to the tables.

With that Molly shuffles off to the bar, and Edith goes to find a seat.

Molly to the Barman,.... Two Mackasons please son.

Barman.......Certainly madam, Pours the drinks That will be £5.00 please madam.

Molly.....Pardon?

Barman.....That will be £5.00 madam, in a raised voice.

Molly, How much did you say young man?

Barman...£5.00 Louder still.

Molly... That's what I thought you said, how come we normally pay £3.80p.

Barman....Ah, well we have live entertainment on to-night.

Molly... You've got what on to-night?

Barman....Live entertainment, very loudly.

Molly... Oh, what is it?

Barman... It's a country and western group.

Molly... It's what?

Barman.... COUNTRY AND WESTERN

Molly....Oh, No need to shout.

And with that Molly shuffles off to join Edith.with bottles and glasses stuffed securely in her coat pockets.

Molly to Edith... You wont believe how much I paid for these Mackason !

Edith....What did you say?

Molly... I said you wont believe what those Mackason's cost ! loudly

Edith..... There £3.80p for two bottles.

Molly... Not tonight there not, they cost £5.00.

Edith.... THEY COST WHAT?

Molly.... £5.00.

Edith..... How come ?

Molly.... They've live entertainment on to-night.

Edith... They've got what on?

Molly... Live entertainment.

Edith....Oh, who is it?

Molly.... I don't know, it's some C*"T from Preston.!!

And a good night was had by all.

Close your mouth, your catching flies.

2007-09-02T08:07:00.000+01:00

Grandad tell us a story Grandad. Matthew my youngest grandson was forever asking me to tell him stories about my adventures in Africa. At the time he would have been about 4/5 years of age. He would sit for hours just to listen to my many stories, and knew most of them by heart. "Tell me about the one when the snake bit you, or the one about the shark attack" In fact if it involved danger of any kind, those were the stories he would want to hear about. This continued till he had started school.

Now like any Grandad, I used to love telling him my tales. But how much of a influence I had on a young and impressionable mind I had no way of knowing, that is until I get a call from Kathleen my daughter, his mum.

The phone rings and Kath says "Dad can you come down to our place to-night". "Yes, sure what's up" I'll tell you when you get here" says Kath. So now my mind is running riot, oh God she's not pregnant again is she? Oh no I know what it will be about, James the eldest grandson, will have got his entrance exam results to go to Bolton School. Proper clever dick is our James, Takes after his Grandad. No not me t'other one.

On arriving at Kath's we are greeted with the usual do you want a drink, yes we'll both have a coffee. So off trots Kath and Joyce to the kitchen. Well it's a certainty that for whatever reason we are here for, Joyce will know long before the coffee is served up. Within a few minutes there was howls of laughter coming from the kitchen. I knew what ever it was that we had be asked to call down for wasn't that serious, or was it?

Joyce comes into the living room with the coffee, and throws me a look "oh boy are you in trouble" said Joyce. "What the heck have I done now" "I'll let Kath tell you" says Joyce.

Right Dad, (said with attitude) I went to the open day at Matthews school this afternoon, I had only just stepped through the door when Matthews teacher, sought me out. Can I have a word with you about Matthew. To add to the intrigue she showed Kath to a ante room.

The teacher told Kath that she had no idea that Matthew was so well travelled for someone so young, and to be bitten by a snake at such a young age must have been traumatic.

Sorry, says Kath but apart from the normal family holidays we haven't travelled that widely, and as for being bitten by a snake is news to me. "Well I must admit you have surprised me"said the teacher. "During Story time we can always depend on Matthew to tell us about his time in Africa".

"AFRICA Oh the penny as dropped" says Kath, It's not Matt it's my Dad that lived in Africa.

Well again you have surprised me, because when Matt tells a story it is always "I did this" and I did that, and what's more he tells it with such conviction that he his totally believable.

So I think it would be fair to say that Matt is a chip off the old block, once removed. A born story teller, the best of it is we should have known. I always said he was vaccinated with a gramophone needle. When he stayed over at the weekend, as soon as he woke he would be off "Grandad or Grandma, (whoever was nearest at the time) "did I tell you about when"..........

But as we know kids grow up, and fortunately Matt grew out of using my stories. In fact now days with MP3s and Nintendo Wii game consuls it takes him all his time to string more then a couple of sentences together. However get Matthew going with the Jokes or Impressions at which he is brilliant at, and a true comic shines through, but I would say that wouldn't I.

Though I love him dearly I think I prefered the old chatter box Matthew.

The Deputy Prime Minister

2007-08-31T04:49:00.000+01:00

Following my posted blog "Mum, mum where are we going mum" I was amazed to find a reference to Sierra Leone on the news that very evening. The news item stated that Sierra Leone was one of the poorest countries in Africa. Brought about through the ravages of a civil war, the burden of third world debt, and the oldest problem of all. "Corruption".

As a twelve-year-old back in 1958, I was not of course aware of such things. To me the country was in the main a scenically beautiful place, and provided a potential for great adventures. Of which there were many, some just real good boyish fun, some that were bloody dam dangerous, and other situations that involved other army families in the Freetown community.

I have often thought about my childhood friends, where are they now? The only childhood pal that went on to achieve fame was a certain "Glynn Pardoe", who played football for Manchester City and England. The only adult that I know of that went on to greater things was our scoutmaster "Ronnie Sampson" who was at the time a staff sergeant in the pay corps. Ron after leaving the army as a Major went on to a distinguished career in the diplomatic corps. Following, the end of the Falklands War, Ron was installed as Deputy Governor of the Falkland Isles from 1978- 1981. Now well into retirement Ron still gives talks on cruise liner’s mainly in Caribbean waters and the South American and Panama Canal area’s.

So over the years I have tried to keep a casual interest in Sierra Leone. One reason for this is that I would have loved to go back to see what had become of the place. There were of course a number of reasons why this as never happened. The first being, I was fourteen and a half when we left Freetown, so between then and the many years later as a married man with two kids, it wasn’t ever likely to happen. The second reason in the mid eighties through to the late nineties, at a time when it would have been financially practical to visit, one of the bloodiest civil war did rage throughout the country.

And the third reason, How long do you think they keep records of undesirables? Yes that’s me a fourteen year old undesirable. I suppose, if I had to plead my case today this is how it might go.

For some weeks Dad had been feeding a rather nice brown and white mongrel dog, which had parked itself under the window of his office. It was there in the morning and still there as he left for home. Now there were no shortages of dogs in Freetown, but they were skin and bone or rabid, and attracted fly’s in swarms. But to find a dog that looked healthy and friendly was about as rare as Rocking Horse manure. Then one afternoon the dog started to follow dad’s Land Rover, through the camp, out of the gates and on the road to home. Well what would you do? Dad stopped the vehicle and on jumps the dog.

On arriving home my brother Stewart who was two and a half at the time, immediately took to the dog. Perhaps because he had never been so close to a dog. For my part it was something I had always wanted, but it was never going to happen not whilst we were in Africa. So everyone was happy including Mum. We gave our new dog the name of Patch, because of his brown and white patchy markings.

So for the next six months both Stewart and myself spent many happy hours on the beach, in and around our compound, walks through the local village,and what a fantastic guard dog, he could bark for England, If any strangers approached the bungalow we knew well in advance.

Arriving home from school one day, I was surprised to find that Patch wasn’t waiting at the compound gate, which is where he normally met me from school every day. "Mum where’s Patch Mum" " Don’t know son I’ve not seen him since coming back on the shopping bus". (A three-ton army truck). Right, I’ll go and have a look in the village. Not really a clever thing to do alone, but I had to find my dog.

The local village was called Willberforce and although it was only a few hundred yards from the bungalow. I suppose a hamlet would be a better description then village, there were about a dozen houses (brick built) and about twenty shanties made from corrugated iron sheets. A central well which also supplied the water which ran into a sunken sump to wash their clothes in, and also doubled as the local baths, and a small shop selling just about anything the Syrian owner could get his hands on.

Well after about an hour of searching, which must have been about four or five times round the village, I returned home hoping that Patch would have turned up by now, That however was not the case. Not to long after I got home Dad arrived home, once he had been told that Patch was missing, he too went out to look for him. On returning, he told me that the chances of finding Patch were very slim indeed. In fact a really healthy dog with plenty meat on his ribs, was probably in someone’s cooking pot by now. Stewart was devastated, I was reduced to floods of tears. And so we resolved that that was the end of Patch.

About a month later, who should be sat under dad’s window. Yes got it in one. "Patch" Not quite as plump as he was and had some small lacerations on his hind quarters. But this was quite definitely Patch. So Patch is brought home to be bathed and cuts treated. You had to be there to see the fuss he made of the whole family.

Five days later the S- -T hit the fan, outside the bungalow was a very large black Rolls Royce, the chauffeur steps out, and opens the door to let out a very grand coloured gentleman, which you didn’t tend to see to many of. I was on the veranda with Stewart and Patch. When over comes this smart man and demands that I give him Patch, because it was his dog. Mum was at bingo in the Sergeants Mess and wouldn’t be home till dad picked her up after work, What was I to do, well I had acquired a few choice words from being round the army lads. So I told him to F- -k off you f- -king bas- - -d teefman and you can pi-s off cus your not having my dog.

TEEFMAN, I should explain at every window of all the army properties were steel grids to stop thief’s but the locals could not pronounce the "th" so they used to say he is a teefman, and the wire at the windows was always referred to as teefwire. Anyway my tirade of abuse seemed to have the desired affect as he withdrew back to his car, "I’ll be back to see your father" was is parting words.

True to his word, just after tea he was back. Having told dad that there was a bloke who came to take Patch because he said it was his dog. "What did you do son" "I told him to buzz off dad" " good lad son, I’ll sort it". So as the man approached, dad went to meet him. It started off in a normal volume for conversation, but suddenly the volume got louder and louder, till "KEITH come here now". "Yes dad" " Did you call this man a f- -cking bas- - - d and a teefman" " who me dad, no not me dad". When the man starts calling me a little liar. "Now look if my lad say’s he didn’t call you a teefman and told you to f- -k off, then he didn’t tell you to F- -k off. But I’m telling you right now, whoever you are you can f- -k off right now".

"I am Dr Karefa Smart, Deputy Prime Minister of Sierra Leone." Said the smart man, " and I’ll have you thrown out of my country immediately" " You do that, you just do that, it will be the best days f- -king work you have ever done. Shall I start packing now" said dad. With that once again Dr Karefa Smart retired back to the Roll’s. " not so bloody smart now is he dad" say’s I . As I felt my left ear starts to sting, "what did you do that for dad". "For swearing, don’t do it again". "Yes Dad".

The following day, dad was sent for by his Commanding Officer, Captain Panton, who proceeded to read him the riot act, got to do it Harry, orders from the governors office. But don’t take it to heart the governor say’s you’ve got to give the dog back, ring this number and arrange for the dog to be handed over. With regard to the deputy P.Ms threat to have me thrown out of the country, when do I go Sir? "Nice try Harry but you’re here till 61 when this lot get there independence". Apparently, dad said " oh shit sir I was hoping he meant it. "He did" said Captain Panton. "But you will be staying and that’s official".

Well dad should have had just over a year left on his posting, but six months later we were stepping on to the tarmac at Heathrow. Whether Dr Karefa Smart had any thing to do with our early repatriation we shall never know. But do you think my name as a undesirable is still on record somewhere. Not that it matters, for I shall never return. But the memories linger on.

Footnote:- In the elections that followed independence in 1961 the opposition party won the election outright. And therefore Dr Karefa Smart never became the Deputy Prime Minister of a independent Sierra Leone.
Should you wish to check it out GOTO http://www.awarenesstimes.com/ you can see that Dr Karefa Smart is still going strong today. Though frail at 86 he is the leader of the UNPP party. But it would seem that he has been making his own rules as he goes along. Other members of the UNPP have called for a distancing policy from Dr Karefa Smart. Seems to be that he still wants it all his own way. Nothing changes does it even after 46 years.

Should Campaigning Become An Obsession?

2007-08-28T01:33:00.001+01:00

Perhaps I should explain, in 1998 I was first diagnosed with a respiratory disease, with the rather grand title of Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease or it is more commonly referred to as C.O.P.D. But what ever you call it, for the sufferer it quite simply means that you cannot breathe in the " Normal Manner" whatever normal is. The truth of the matter is that no two sufferers are ever the same, similar yes, but never the same.

The reason being that C.O.P.D. is an umbrella term, which is used to cover many forms of lung disease. Would you like to have one for yourself, Cus’ there are plenty to choose from in fact there are over 40 known diseases ranging from Brittle Asthma, to Sleep Apnoea, from Lung Cancer to Bronchitis, from Sarcoidosis to Pulmonary Embolism, from Tuberculosis to Emphysema and the list goes on. "Me", I hit the jackpot "Emphysema".

I, of course jest when I say would you like one. I would not want to wish any one of these diseases on my worst enemy, of which thank God I have very few if any. Well apart from the newcomers to a smoking awareness scheme I run. However, after a short introduction and a few graphic pictures. It has and always will be the first question I put to any newcomers. "Which one would you like because you have a 65% of getting one". You will note that the scheme is called smoking awareness NOT a cessation scheme.

I have never told anyone to stop smoking, which has to be their own choice and theirs alone. Besides which as a smoker myself for over forty years, it would be somewhat hypocritical of me to tell others to do what I could not do myself. But the one thing I can do is to offer myself as an example of the consequences due to smoking.

In the last five years, I have chaired a support group in and around Bolton, and have given talks to various groups including medical conventions. I have been an ardent supporter of the British Lung Foundation, in funding their research into lung disease. I am also a delegate of our local P.C.T. (Primary Care Trust) And at every opportunity, fight for and champion the need for local funding of respite care for those with lung disease. Something that Coronary and Cancer patients are readily offered as a right.

As I am constantly pointing out to the P.C.T. If I can’t breathe it matters not one jot how strong my heart is, I’ll still die of organ failure due to lack of oxygen. Nearly 38% of all hospital admissions are chest-related infections and that’s even higher during the winter months. It makes perfect sense to me and to numerous Thoracic Consultants I have spoken to over the past few years. That if more money were available for pulmonary rehabilitation it would have an immediate effect on two fronts. (1) The patient would be fitter and therefore more likely to fight off infection. (2) Thereby reducing admissions to hospital, which creates a shortage of beds, for those whose need is far greater. The cost of providing Pulmonary Rehabilitation backed up with the Care in the Community initiative (Home Nursing) would reduce the cost of admissions by as much as 32% of the total care bill. But seeing the big picture is something the P.C.T. have no concept of.

Some of my close friends have often questioned why I feel so strongly about the need for better funding for Thoracic Medicine. The answer is very simple, thanks to the many people I have met over the last eight years. Consultants, Specialist Respiratory Nurses, Ward Sisters and Nurses. Who have always treated me as a person not a set of case notes. Also other patients who sometimes feel that they need someone with whom they can talk too who will offer advice in simple English that they can relate to.

The Support Group that we started in April 2002 as a core membership of 83, for more then 60% of us, any of the improvements above, which I feel so strongly about. When implemented and they will be implemented. Will unfortunately, be far to late for the likes of me and for many others.

But if through these efforts, I can encourage just one person to seriously consider their future health. Or the patient that has received a diagnosis to-day, and the one tomorrow and every other day of this week in hospitals and GPs surgeries, not only throughout this region but throughout the country. Who can then go on to be offered the prospect of a vastly improved prognosis. Then every word wrote, or spoken, every speech delivered or convention attended will have been worth every bit of effort expended.

I could of course sit back and do nothing but then, I would become like so many others with this condition. Many with lung disease are house-bound, and choose to become so because any form of exhaustion could bring on a attack resulting in a shutting down of the airways, and all the pain and discomfort.that goes with such an attack. So it becomes too easy to opt out. Choosing not put yourself potentially in harms way. But I choose to keep as active as possible, and unfortunately sometimes I have to pay for it. But that's my choice.

So Should Campaigning Become An Obsession?

I have stated that I have never told anyone to stop smoking. However I have threatened two very important people in my life, if they ever start smoking, I’ll come back and haunt them. WHO? My grandson’s James and Matthew.

Mum, Mum were did you say we are going Mum?.

2007-08-21T20:49:00.002+01:00

The month January, the year 1958, and once again the packing cases have been filled. Tomorrow I shall be embarking on my second great adventure. Dad, a serving soldier, had once again been posted overseas, and tomorrow Mum, my baby brother Stewart and myself were to begin the journey to rejoin dad somewhere In Africa called Sierra Leone.

I had just had my 11th birthday, Stewart was to have his first birthday in just two days, the 27th. So, on Tuesday the 24th my uncle Albert drove us all from Sheffield down to London, where we stayed overnight to enable us to get to Blackbush Airport in Kent by 7.00am, for a flight scheduled for 8.00am. (this of course was well before the two hour check in and security checks). We arrived in good time, which allowed us time to say our farewells to uncle Albert, check in for the flight and for mum to get a nice cup of tea.

I can see the scene as clearly today as if it were only yesterday. The airport was ex WWII fighter command station, and consisted of about four nissan huts. What was obviously the main station office and control tower had been converted into the Check In and Customs, the luggage collection point and waiting lounge, and that was it.

To give you some idea of then and now. There were no tickets just an Army travel warrant. Yes, you had to have a passport, and they were stamped, you were asked to pass your hand luggage over. No case tickets were affixed to your luggage, just the flight number written on in chalk,the packing cases were to follow by freight, and you were now moved to the departure lounge, to be more correct a large draughty office with a counter serving tea and biscuits, which were free. The scene could have been the same in any railway station in those days and consisted of a very large water boiler, a large tea pot, and the basic thick rimmed white cups and saucers.

At 7.30am we were told that we should go to the plane ready for take off, so we go outside to look for the plane not that it took a lot of finding, it was the only one there. So that's what's going to take me to Africa is it ? I recognised the plane immediately it was one of them that you see in all the war films, you know that one where all the parachutist jump from, it's a DC10......... But in fact it wasn't, it was a twin engined Viking, the British version of the DC10. The operating company was Airworks, who apparently contracted for all of the flights for British service personal and their families. Or if you were a civil engineer on contract in the middle east in those days, the odds are you would have flown by Airworks.

So we get on the plane and I was right it is the one for parachutists, extremely basic in the interior design very little of the airframe had been covered in, and had a carrying capacity of just 42. We were about two thirds full. So we strapped in and waited for the off. Although this was my second great adventure, the first being to Hong Kong when I was just four, on which occasion we went out and returned on the original slow boat to China. But for me this was my first flight. So this was it as the engines roared into life, so much so that I was convinced the wings were going to drop off, but as we moved forward they were still there.

To take a flight to Sierra Leone nowadays it would take from Heathrow approximately 9 hours. But, in 1958, it took just a little longer. The first leg of our journey was to Paris, to what is now the Charles De Gaul airport, with a stopover to refuel, we take off at 12.30pm for the next leg of our journey to Gibraltar.

It was on this leg of the journey that I found out what them paper bags are for, which they handed out when boarding the plane. I reckon they knew something don't you? Flying in a twin engine Viking is I assure you NOTHING like the modern jets. In fact, the expression "Flying by the seat of your pants" comes to mind. Turbulence, you have never experienced turbulence till you've flown over the Pyrenees in a twin engine Viking. One minute your flying at what seems like hundreds if not thousands of feet above the mountains, the next minute you are looking up at the peaks above you. What was the words of that song from "Those magnificent men in their flying machines" Oh yes, "Up Down Flying Around, looping the the loop and defying the ground." Well we never actually looped the loop, but my tummy certainly did. Oh those up's and downs; pass me another one of those paper bags.

So we arrived in Gibraltar at about 6.30pm and disembark for a overnight stay. Now for a rough arse kid from Sheffield, this hotel had to be seen to be believed, it had like shiny floors in squares and even bigger shiny rectangles on the walls and massive columns to hold the roof up. Well for a eleven year old it seemed like a magnificent palace. I now know that this was commonplace for hotels to be clad in marble, but there were no package trips to the Costa's in them there day's, and even if there was we were not the sort of family that could afford to take foreign holidays. Following a evening meal and early to bed, we arose the following morning ready to continue the next leg of the journey: breakfast and back to the airport.

Six of our fellow travellers had reached their destination at Gibraltar, being naval personal. For the rest of us the next refueling stop was to be at Villa Sinarious, in the North West Sahara, which was a very small island off the mainland. ( I have since been informed that it is that small Island next to Lanzarote). To be more precise it was a large sand bar. However, it had a more serious purpose for it's location, following the end of the Spanish Civil War, the royalist prisoners were incarcerated on this Island and some were still there. The airstrip was made out of interlocking metal sheets, the noise and vibration at both take off and landing was very scary. We were not allowed off the plane, which would have been pointless as there was literally no where to go, but the heat was so oppressive, that we were well pleased to be taking off yet again on the next leg.

So now, we are flying over the African mainland on our way to the Gambia, for yet another stopover for the night in Bathurst (which is now Benjul) Once again I enjoyed a good evening meal but this time there was no early bed for me directly outside the hotel veranda was the Atlantic Ocean, so I'm off for a swim. I can well understand why the Gambia as become a popular tourist resort, though very primitive at the time as far as the infrastructure was concerned. But it would be hard to find a bluer sea or whiter beaches. Following breakfast we are off again.

And so we now finally embark on the final leg of our journey, flying at low level allowed us to see wild life on the plains of French West Africa and the north western forests of Sierra Leone, before approaching Freetown to complete the journey. A Journey of two and a half days, for a trip that would take about nine hours in this day and age. As you disembark from the plane you clear customs and board a small ferry to transport you to the mainland and the Capital, Freetown. Freetown is known as the finest natural harbour in West Africa, it also holds its fish market on the dockside, and long before you see Freetown, you smell it.

But for all of this in the two years and nine months we spent in Sierra Leone I still can recall many, many happy memories and my one regret is that I never went back. I was told a long time ago that I ought to commit my memories to the written form, but some of the tales I could relate, even I find hard to believe let alone the unsuspecting reader, but trust me, ther're all true.

But who knows through the medium of a blog I could possibly be tempted to shared a tale or two.
Possible Title's :- The Governors Daughter, Snake Bite, The Deputy Prime Minister, Shark Attack, Mamba on the veranda, Diamonds Riots, The Cotton Tree and more. I only need encouragement

You only need to ask, thanks for taking time out to read my recolections

Best regards

Keith.

Is it just me?

2007-08-21T20:49:00.001+01:00

Is it just me, or as the world really gone mad. A few weeks ago I was asked "if there was one thing in history that I could change, what would it be"? After giving the question much consideration were does one start to right a wrong from the past.

Short of writing a article to compete with War and Peace. Go as far back in known history as you can and you will find countless reference’s to man’s inhumanity to man, You might choose to start with Cain and Abel now slowly work forward to New York’s 9/11 or London’s 7/7. Far cleverer people then myself have debated the reasons as to why man cannot live with his brother man, by reason of religion, ethnic background, colour or creed or shear bloody minded attitude to another point of view.

The answer to the question I was asked, "Hiroshima" Surely, something that was planned over a period of time. A bomb that was developed from scratch on the basis of physics principal. Tested and documented effects of the outcome were known, if, but more likely when it was used. The decision to drop the bomb took hours of debate. Having released the bomb it took approximately 38 seconds to ignition. The result was to kill a total of 70,000 immediately and a further 48,000 within ten minutes of exploding at the epicenter. Since then a further 248,000 (estimated) have died as a result of radiation induced illnesses. Three days later it was considered prudent to repeat the operation again, this time over Nagasaki. With a further estimated 260,000 deaths.

This being just one example of the insanity of war, or any conflict that throws country against country or tribe against tribe, one man against another for his belief or his opinion. But anyone that has stood at ground zero, or as seen the permanent reminded of the bell tower in Hiroshima, cannot help to be moved, too ask the question WHY. For something that took just over half a minute of time. The result was total devastation. To this day, this one moment in history remains responsible for the highest death toll of any single action.
Thank God, no one as chosen to repeat the Atomic or nuclear option since, and hopefully never will.

Yet to-day there are conflicts throughout the world still claiming the lives of non-combatants, women and children. From the Iraq, to Afghanistan, from conflicts of the past, Korea to Vietnam. The misguided ideology of the terrorist to endeavour to control by fear. So whether it be Country against Country or cause against cause. And still the senseless futility continues. Will we ever learn.