Danny arrives home under a Cloud.
We were still finding our way round the ship and can't have been at sea more than 48 hours; we hadn't even "turned the corner" round Aden yet. An Army lad turned up on sick parade. His M.O. found himself facing a foe he may have seen only in textbooks. He was looking at a case of real, live smallpox.
How could this possibly happen ? In those days, every baby was vaccinated soon after birth (it may even have been a statutory requirement). Every serviceman was re-vaccinated at the Reception Centre as soon as he came in. Everbody was certainly vaccinated again before going out to India. And I'm not sure, but I think that they vaccinated us all at Worli before we boarded the boat home.
I'd nver heard of a case of smallpox in the Army or RAF all the time I was out there. (Dr Danny has no medical qualification or experience of any kind other than that acquired in a lifetime of hypochondria. Sleep easy in your beds. Wiki has been milked for following detail).
There were five doctors available - the Ship's Doctor and four M.O.s. Did their man have some form of immunity to cowpox- so that vaccination would never take? So how did he escape smallpox in India (where it was endemic) for so long ? Were there any more like him on board ? There is no cure for smallpox, like most viral diseases it has to run its course. It is highly contagious in the early stages. A minority die, the others are mostly severely disfigured.
There were 5,000 of us on board. Our doctors rolled up their sleeves and set to work, running a vaccination clinic non-stop for 36 hours until they had re-vaccinated everyone. Even so, we were all effectively in quarantine until the expiration of the incubation period (17 days) - and this seemed to start anew at every stage of the journey up to our home doorsteps.
We went through the Canal at night. At Port Said the "bum-boats" were kept clear of the ship (a few rounds over their heads from a sten gun reinforced the message to the slower learners) and no one was allowed off the ship.
The Mediterranian in late May. Gorgeous weather ? No chance ! Grey skies, cold and wet. Everybody in blues now (a lot of the KD went over the side). We put in to Gibraltar to offload the patient into an isolation hospital there. The clouds were well down on the top of the Rock. Then on home. We picked up the Mersey pilot at the Bar lightship and slunk up river flying the yellow quarantine flag - a plague ship!
We berthed at the Landing Stage. Everything looked exactly the same as I' d left it 3½ years before. As soon as the gangplanks hit the Stage, two or three Port Medical Officers rushed on board; in their wake a band of minions followed, with spray lances and five-gallon drums strapped to their backs. With these they set about fumigating the ship from stem to stern. It may have Killed All Known Germs, but it can't have done us much good, either!
There was a silver lining. A bunch of us were rushed straight through Customs, "without our feet touching the ground"', onto a RAF coach, then into the Mersey Tunnel. I was very interested.
Although I'd been driving since 1938, I'd never had occasion to go through the Tunnel since that Sunday in 1934, when just before the official opening, and for one day only, pedestrians were allowed to walk the 2.1 miles through to Birkenhead (and back if they liked). My father and I (12) had done just this (but we chickened out and took the ferry back !). This time we emerged into the light of day and went right across the Wirral to RAF West Kirkby, and - straight into isolation hospital !
Two more weeks of Durance Vile, then they gave me a railway warrant and turned me loose, with a dozen or so lost and bewildered souls also on the final leg home, but strangers to Merseyside. Knowing the area like the back of my hand from boyhood, I was able to act as bellwether for my little flock and put them on the the right trams to their stations (mostly Lime Street, but a few on Cheshire Lines) before hitting the well worn track back up Dale Street to Exchange and the electric train to Southport.
The warrior had come home, to (I think) 14 days Disembarkation Leave. Yet the Medics were even now not satisfied. I had to report to the town M.O.H. every week for a check-up. Needless to say, Mother was very relieved to see her son again more or less intact. When I'd had my crash in February the previous year, the dreaded telegram had come to the door. In war that usually meant only one thing, so on opening it she was thankful to read that I had been merely "injured on air operations against the Japanese".
But that was bad enough. How seriously ? When I'd been in the MFH for couple of days, and learned of the wording of the Casualty signal that the Squadron had to send, I managed (I don't know how), via the Hospital staff, to get a cable away home: "Injuries trivial- letter follows- Love- Danny". But still the suspicion lingered that I was putting a brave face on things, in spite of the denials in my "airletters". So it was not until I started flying again that Mother was partly reassured. Now she could see that I was as good as new: her fears were groundless.
Once more, Goodnight all,
Danny42C.
There's no place like Home !
Last edited by Danny42C; 14th Jan 2015 at 01:01.
Reason: Duplicated Text. And spelling ! ("Georgeous", forsooth !)