Ouch that bloody hurt

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.

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

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

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.

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)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so to the future.

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

So what of the future :-

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

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

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

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

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

Still getting to the present ( I hope)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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