Barnabas Tales

by Denzil Lawrence

  Among the internet entries was a reference to the following book:- “Haydn, Mozart & Beethoven – Studies in the Music of the Classical Period – Essays in Honor of Alan Tyson.” (19 essays)

  THE HOME VISIT AT TANNOCHBRAE - THE LURE OF GOLF.

  The Scene is a sitting room. Eileen, in dressing gown, dusts quietly when a key turns in the door. It opens and her husband Douglas comes in. She turns round in surprise.

  “Darling! What on earth brings you home now?”

  “I’ve got an afternoon off. But why are you in your dressing gown?”

  “Oh. I was just going to collect the milk bottles from the gate. You could have brought them in.”

  “But it’s cold outside. And what has that to do with you being dressed - undressed like that?”

  “Well, I’m expecting the doctor back.”

  “The doctor? Which one? That’s young Findlay I suppose. I never liked the look of him. Especially since his wife left him. Anyway, why should he be coming back?”

  “He was called out and said he’d try to finish his other calls - then he’d have time to examine me properly. But you never come back home in the afternoon? Is anything wrong at the office?”

  “The boss gave us all a half day - said the tax inspectors were coming and he didn’t want us giving them misinformation. Put on your clothes. I’m going to give that Findlay a piece of my mind - I’ve half a mind to punch him on the nose.”

  Wife goes out, Husband sits down. Opens paper.

  Knock on door. Husband goes to open it. Dr. Findlay stands outside. With a smile he greets Douglas.

  “Oh, Hullo. Douglas! This is a nice surprise. I came to see Eileen.”

  “Yes - so I hear. When I came home, I found her in her nothings waiting for you. She said you’d already been here.”

  “Yes. That’s right, that’s quite correct - I arranged to see her again and asked her to wait while I got some things we needed.”

  “Oh, for just what may I ask?”

  “Douglas, you know I cannot discuss patients’ matters with you - professional confidences.”

  “Professional confidences my foot!”

  “Douglas - If you’re having any foot trouble, come to the surgery.”

  “Of course. Of course! I know my foot isn’t attractive enough to lead to a home visit.”

  Eileen comes in with a tray of tea, in jersey and jeans.

  “Oh, Dr. Findlay, you’ll have a cup of tea with us I’m sure, and a satisfying piece of your favourite cake?”

  “Thank you Eileen - whatever you’re offering any time.”

  He takes tea and cake while Douglas gets up and goes to window, clenching fists. Then Findlay breaks a moment of awkward silence:-

  “Oh, Douglas - I saw Ronnie - the Golf Captain at the Links - this morning. He said that now your handicap has come down he wants you to play for the team at St. Andrew’s on Saturday. Can you let him know if you are available - and he’ll need to know today? ”

  Douglas turns round - wreathed in smiles. “St. Andrews? St. Andrews! Oh thank you, Dr. Findlay. That’s wonderful! I must get in touch with him as soon as possible. Where could I find him this afternoon?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but he’s probably going round the far links. You could take your clubs and join him. Useful practice for St. Andrew’s.”

  “What a good idea. I must catch him. I’ll go now.”

  “But what about your tea, Douglas, and your foot? Perhaps you should stay while I see Eileen.”

  “No. No. This is much more important! And thank you for bringing such news.”

  Picks up golf bag from corner of room and goes out. Eileen turns to Findlay.

  “That was lucky - I thought he was going to get upset and nasty. But where did you see Ronnie?”

  “Early this morning - at the surgery. I gave him a note for an X Ray at the hospital - he’ll be away all afternoon. I know a lot about Ronnie, and he’ll do as I tell him and put Douglas into the side. Douglas will get his game so he’ll be really happy. I’ll send a message to Ronnie before there’s any chance of him Douglas bumping into him.”

  Dr. Findlay finishes his tea and stands up.

  “Now Eileen, that’s wonderful cake - puts real strength in a man. I don’t much like those jeans and that jersey though – they don’t suit you.”

  Eileen smiles, picks up the doctor’s bag.

  “A choice beween me and St. Andrews - no contest at all!” They both exit.

  TUBERCULOSIS – THREE UNFORTUNATE PATIENTS

  Three of society’s margin-dwellers came to me because of tuberculosis. Their ways of life made treatment harder than it would otherwise have been. Each died early, though not from tuberculosis, and I still don’t know whether I or anyone else could have made much difference.

  The one I knew best was John who died in middle life. John was a proper gypsy. He had a persistent cough and his X-Ray was abnormal. Diagnosis of tuberculosis was easy but in his case treatment was difficult. Tuberculosis bacilli are protected by waxy overcoats, they multiply slowly, and they only respond slowly to treatment which needs to be regularly taken and prolonged. John was sharp, willful, impatient, and lacked enough discipline to take the correct daily group of tablets. Treatment was intermittent and made worse by tastes for alcohol and nicotine. To aggravate matters other gypsies living on the site were furious when we tried to check that they were free from tuberculosis. They blamed John, threatened to kill him, and so he and his family fled with their caravan from the local site.

  John suggested a solution - he would come into the ward each morning at 6 am and Staff Nurse or Sister (a statuesque blonde photographed in her ward with a Cabinet Minister but that is quite a different story) could supervise his daily treatment. After swallowing his tablets he would be free for that day. And in response to threats of violence against him and his family I negotiated temporary use of a rough area in the hospital grounds. His caravan moved onto the hospital site, and early each morning John walked to the ward.

  Treatment went well, the family remained safe, their chickens pecked around the caravan, and after eighteen months I deemed him cured and able to stop treatment. The hospital administrators were told there was no further need to live on site.

  From time to time during the next few years I heard that the hospital was grieved by John's continued presence, by his growing family, his caravan which had been joined by a smaller one, and by the chickens. However without any specific request I did not feel that I should be the person to try to move them. John developed quite severe asthma so I saw him professionally from time to time. Treatment for his asthma was only partly effective, and his caravan must have contained a very rich and interesting soup of allergens. At this stage John asked the hospital administrators for an electricity supply to make his treatment easier. Not surprisingly, the request was refused and on quiet evenings the growl of his generator could be heard. He developed hypertension. Later he was allocated a council house, the caravan disappeared, and after a few years he had a large and fatal stroke.

  Thinking back John had been a physical, active, jumpy person needing lots of human contact. I could not imagine him sitting down to read a book (if indeed he could read), quietly watching television, or settling to a boring and regular job. The early morning arrangement for drug treatment had worked well, but then he promptly took advantage and squatted on the hospital premises until strife with the administration became inevitable. His tense nature probably aggravated both hypertension and asthma.

  Might any other treatment have worked better? Would he or could he have left his caravan earlier and reduced exposure to all the allergens, irritants and smoking which probably made his asthma worse? Of one thing I am certain - he would have hated any serious disability after his large stroke.

  Another “fringe” patient was a nice old tramp, cured of his tuberculosis but who died violently in a shelter at the bus station. It was hard to imagine him quarrelling with anyone. As far as I know
his attackers were never found.

  The third was younger and a serious alcoholic who was so poor at taking treatment that for a short time he was compulsorily kept in hospital until he had been treated enough to be unlikely to infect other people. Pleasant enough while sober, one day in Hereford he picked a fight with a stranger in a local pub, fell drunkenly, and fatally fractured his skull.

  I came to know these three unfortunate men through their tuberculosis. Their relatively early deaths, if not fully predictable, were closely linked with character, personality, and chosen way of life. Would they have changed if events had been foreseen? I doubt it.

  TOASTS - (REAR ADMIRAL ADAMS' TALE FROM THE CHINA STATION.)

  The Rear-Admiral carefully replaced his book. "I can tell you a story about part of China." he said. I sat down to listen - Fossie-face's Ulster brogue and dry sense of humour were well known.

  "In the thirties I served as doctor in a destroyer on the China Station. We tied up for a few days at a town on the Yellow River. There were the usual traders and go-downs. But when the European merchants boarded for drinks they had long sad faces and endless complaints about the General, the local war-lord. He was harassing them and making life very difficult - could we deal with him?"

  "A meeting with the General was arranged, and to settle the difficulties agreement reached for single combat between our Captain and the war-lord. The weapons would be Martinis." Fossie looked at me and I thought of rifles.

  "I was the Captain's second." he continued, "We met the General with his second in a room in the best hotel. The General was squat, heavy, impassive and rather sinister, dressed in a long gown and embroidered hat. He looked like an unusually chunky chess piece. His second was a slightly smaller copy."

  "Battle commenced with prolonged courtesies. To Sun Yat Sen! - the glasses clinked and both champions drained them. To King George! and the second Martinis went down. To the Chinese Nation! To the British Empire on which the sun never sets! To the Chinese Army! To the British Navy! Each time two large glasses of Martini vanished."

  "The toasts continued, and I began to worry. The Captain was a big man and a heavy drinker but even he began to sway and his toasts became slurred, while the General appeared unchanged and unaffected. As I became seriously concerned, suddenly the General's aide-de-camp stepped forward and announced "The General will now retire", grasped his boss by the arms and steered him, still impassive, through the door! The Captain tottered, reached up, clutched the chandelier, and crashed with it to the floor."

  "But the War-lord had retreated and lost face. The traders had no more troubles and were even prepared to replace the chandelier.” The Rear-Admiral chuckled at his memories

  "How very civilised." I thought "That personal combat probably saved the lives of several poor bloody Chinese infantry and some able-bodied seamen. Why don't we settle problems this way more often?"

  (With very fond memories of Surgeon Rear-Admiral Maurice Adams.)

  COPY FOR HOMEWORK. - WAR AS A PROJECT.

  My uncle Dr. John Battersby (a Public Health Doctor who would now be called a Community Physician) might have reminisced thus if he had been questioned by my eldest grandson. However this is fanciful since if he had survived thus long he would have been formidably old.

  The old gentleman stirred and smiled as Sam came in. “A good day at school?” he asked. “Not bad”, replied Sam “but we have a difficult homework. We have to ask someone old what they remember of the War. Are you old enough – Great-Uncle John?”

  “Goodness me, yes, I took part in the Second World War, long ago when I was a lot younger. You didn’t think I was in the First War I hope – I would need to be about 125 years old to remember that?”

  “Would you tell me about it, please? I have to hand in the work after the weekend. Did you do any fighting? Did you kill anybody?”

  “You must understand, I wasn’t really a soldier, I was a doctor and I probably came nearer to killing people by trying to treat them than any other way. We did not have antibiotics – no Penicillin for instance, it was not invented until very late in the war.”

  “Well, just tell me something about it, please”

  “Sam, I came from quite a poor home in Glasgow, my father was a compositor – I’ll tell you what that was later – and there was only enough money to send one person to University. That was me, and your grandmother Janet and my sister Bunt had to go to work. Anyway I qualified as a doctor, worked for a few years in Glasgow and then went to a tea plantation in Assam in the north-east of India. You can find it in the atlas. We had elephants and servants – I had about half a dozen servants as well as my own elephant and elephant boy – and it was interesting in the beginning. But after a time I became rather bored and came back to Scotland. That was shortly before the War started, and soon after it began I was called up to join the Army.”

  “What’s “called up” mean?”

  “Oh, it meant that a letter arrived telling me that I must report to an army base for uniform and training. It was not optional. It was an order.”

  “You had to go. But did you have any choice in what you did?”

  “Not at the beginning. I had some basic training, along with other doctors. We were much good at marching or drill, but eventually we passed out as Army Doctors. You won’t want to hear details, but I was sent to a hospital in Dovercourt, near the port of Harwich. At that time the Germans had a strong air force and bombed the port regularly, so we often had to hide in the air-raid shelters unless we were actually treating a patient. If you were outside in a raid you always wore your helmet, not so much because of the bombs but to protect your head from shrapnel. The anti-aircraft guns would be shooting up at the planes – all those bits of bullets and shells had to come down again somewhere. And our guns were often more dangerous than the Germans. The first time the ack-ack gun nearest to the hospital fired, it shot a hole through the nearest church spire.”

  “The Battle of Dunkirk took place while I was there, and when many of the retreating British army managed to get back to England, and we had lots of soldiers needing treatment – as I told you we did not have any antibiotics so wounds had to be opened and made as clean as possible. Then one day I remember a German pilot was shot down over the sea and badly injured. He was brought in and refused to have any blood from the hated English and he died for lack of it. That gives you some idea of the fierce way enemies felt about each other.”

  “He actually refused the blood because it was English?”

  “Yes. Or I suppose it might have been Welsh or Scottish or Jewish. In Germany they were taught they were the master race, which I suppose explains why he refused. I sometimes think we should have transfused him anyway which would probably have saved his life, but we didn’t. Our own men and women needed as much of whatever blood we had. The Germans were really taught they were superior. Much later it was quite funny when the army unit I was with took over an officers’ mess in Germany, along with the original German domestic staff. One of my colleagues liked to knit for relaxation. He was knitting one evening and I saw the look of stupefaction on the face of the German steward – shocked that the invincible German army, the Wermracht and the SS which had overrun most of Europe and Russia, was now being defeated by soldiers who knitted like old women! But that was far later and while I was in Dovercourt it seemed likely that the Germans and not the British would win. However in time we stopped losing the War, and once the Americans joined after the Japanese attacked them at Pearl Harbour we had much more strength. I was trained as a Public Health doctor to know about epidemics and how to try to keep a population healthy, and in time they gave me that sort of job again.”

  “Did you enjoy being an officer?”

  “Well, Sam, in some ways I enjoyed my time. At home I was brought up in a very strict and religious household, so as a child I had to go to church three times on each Sunday. On that day nobody could read anything which was not improving or about theology – certainl
y not a newspaper. Life in the army was much more free, and the officers’ mess could be quite rowdy and exciting – I remember one party where things got a little out of hand and the walls were shot full of bullet holes – just target practice at the dinner table. Next day the Brigadier was not amused.”

  “But I was never a fighting man. One day when Germany had nearly fallen I needed to visit another town we had captured. My driver was a German, perhaps even a prisoner, and I had an escort from a young British officer going to the same town. The roads were poor and when we reached a river bridge we found it had been destroyed so we had to turn round. I began to curse and swear and abuse the driver for bringing us the wrong way, and then the officer leaned over from the back and asked quietly “Shall I shoot him, sir?” Which of course was never my intention – I was just letting off steam and bad temper. Anyway it frightened the driver even more than me, and he soon found another bridge over the river.”

  “Once the fighting was over we had a defeated, battered country to govern and organise. I was in charge of health and hospitals in the Ruhr – in Munster. The first winter was terrible, and the rations available for the Germans were far less than they needed. At one stage I made graphs of the calories available through those dreadful months, and I came across it years later. The Ruhr was an industrial area, there was almost no fuel, and that first winter was unusually bitter and cold. Many of the houses had been destroyed and people burned anything they could find to keep warm. Then I had a major piece of luck – one of my men came across a large coal dump which somehow had not been looted or found by anyone else. With this we were able to provide hot water and some heat for the hospitals through that frozen interminable winter. And as things gradually improved I was able to increase the diet of the population. Eventually I was moved on, and the City of Munster gave a reception and presented me with some pictures of the city by a local artist. I haven’t got those now or I would show you – your grandfather had them, but gave them to your uncle David when he was serving in Munster, and he returned them to the city along with the graphs of the calories I mentioned.”