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

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

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

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

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.

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

From Past to but getting to the present

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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