大象传媒

Just as we were leaving for school - and this memory somehow always seems to be associated with a dark winter morning, remembering that in our part of the country it was nearly nine clock before it really got light - the gravelly voice of the Radio Doctor would come over the wireless. Dr. Charles Hill would once again be giving us a few tips on how to keep well - the food we should eat to supplement our rations. Perhaps also the remedies for all ills. One of these was often a large spoonful of cod liver oil, no such thing as a quick visit to the supermarket for a box of capsules. Then there was the weekly dose of Andrews Liver Salts "to clear you out" or in more difficult situations syrup of figs. It certainly did the trick. I can also remember (this would have been just before the war) being taken in my pushchair to the local gasworks. I evidently had whooping cough and the smell of the coal tar was supposed to bring rapid relief. Sometimes a lump of coal tar was hung around a babies neck) But if these and other remedies were not successful then the next course of action was a visit to the local doctor. How did we survive or pay for our treatment in those war days - before the birth of the National Health Service?

I write through the eyes of a small boy living in Trowbridge, a market town in the West of England. No doubt the situation here was very different in the large cities being constantly bombed by the Germans. For instance just how did we get to hospital in an emergency? In Trowbridge we had just two ambulances - except for a van which doubled up for this purpose during air raids. Our main ambulance was manned on very much a part-time basis by a gentleman who had a shop in the centre of town. If his services were required then he would leave his shop and hopefully you were soon on the day to our local cottage hospital. How you contacted him is somewhat of a mystery since there were few telephones and I think sometimes the patient's relative may have brought in to help with carrying the stretcher. Worst however was the 'fever' ambulance, a forbidding brown coloured vehicle. We all knew if this was seen someone else was on their way to the local isolation hospital with scarlet fever of maybe a more life threating illness. We all dreaded seeing this van. To the third vehicle. During an air raid the local clinic at the top of Union Street became a casulty centre - as far as I am aware it was never actually used for this purpose, sadly in the only serious raid on the centre of the town two ladies died as a result of a direct hit on their house, but when the sirens went this vehicle would be taken from its normal duties at Ushers Brewery and along with our brand new Dennis fire engine - run by the N.F.S. - patrol the streets, going past our house at regular intervals - always ready for action.

Everyday life went on and with it visits to our local doctor. We had a kindly doctor - still affectionately remembered by the older folk - Doctor Charlie Kingston. He ran the practice from his own large Victorian house in Stallard Street next to the town's railway station. I think of this every time I drive over the very spot, now part of a large roundabout at Holy Trinity Church. The waiting room was built on to the main house - for us this was wonderful as instead of waiting inside we would stand on two large stones and look over the wall watching the activities down in the railway station. Perhaps a train steaming up at the start of its evening journey to Paddington, or a cattle train in the sidings if it was Market Day. We would sometimes go even if only our parents wre visiting just for the fun of it! You could always tell if a large wait was likely by the number of bicycles against the wall of the path leading from the gate. The visit to Doctor Kingston's consultation room was however often further delayed. There was no receptionist (the doctor came into the waiting room for each patient) but his sister Miss Kingston who also did so much for the local community, would be seen to hurriedly go to the front door. Not used by the likes of us! Another private patient had rung the bell and come to see the Doctor. We just had to wait. More time to see another train! There were four other practices in Trowbridge, run on similar lines with usually only one doctor. When Doctor Kingston was away we went to Doctor Taylor, to me another elderly gentleman, in a large house, now the offices of the local Conservative Associaton and the local office of the Member of Parliament.

It was still a time of 'upstairs - downstairs' for the ordinary working folk, so how did we pay? To us the secret was in a monthly visit to a little office next tp Barclays Bank in the town - we went with our mum once a month. An elderly, rather austere gentleman(to me they always seemed old) would be sitting at his desk and something like a halfcrown would be paid. Now I know this was some form of medical insurance(we paid similarly with another company)- we had wise parents - and even if it meant going the ordinary way into the waiting room we knew eventually we would see our Doctor. If necesssary he would visit us at home - either in his car, or on a little motor cycle with his Russian-type fur hat.
Going back to ambulance I didn't need Mr. Boulter - a small five year old very seriously ill was taken by Doctor Kingston in his car. My most lasting memories of that stay in hospital are the sister making sure I had my ration book, my parents being stopped from visiting me because I was crying so much. and the brighly decorated walls of the children's ward.
We paid monthly for the doctor - but what about hospital? I later found out that the two main wards were private, semi-pivate with the remaining parts for other patients. There was a matron in charge - and she had her own private quarters with a maid. No doubt the patients in the first two sections were the same ladies and gentlemen who called at the Doctor's front door! As with many hospitals in those days the running costs wre mainly met by the local community. It was their hospital and Trowbridge was built by fund raising as the annual hospital carnival. The areas which are now car parks were then large vegetable gardens. The hospital had its own gardener and much of the food was home grown. The Wiltshire Times also included a list of the more important towns people like Miss Kingston who donated such gifts such as eggs. This is where my dad into the picture in a different way. He was one of the collectors for the Hospital Contributory Scheme - and on many a Saturday afternoon I would go with him on his rounds in the area of Union Street and The Halve It was a good way of getting to know your neighbours. All those in the scheme had a small cardboard collecting box - I seem to recall the amount given was generally something like 3d or 6d per week, and dad would open the box(on the doorstep) enter the amount in his book and write out a receipt, The box was then sealed with a new label. Only the official collectors could open this. At least that was the idea but I wonder if when the gas meter ran out late at night this fund may have been used for a more urgent purpose! I still have the old box where my dad kept his papers - now used as a tool box and the remains of the labels can still be seen. On Mondays after school I would go with my mum to Lloyds Bank to pay the money in. Working families such as us rarely entered this type of building and to me it was almost like going into Buckingham Palace, with its ornate furnishings and grand counters. Sometimes Sunday dinner was interrupted by a knock at the door. "My Tom has got to Bath Hospital". Then my dad would produce another book - we thought this very important - and write out a certificate. Whether Mr. Boulter was called out I never knew, but somehow Tom got to Bath - presumably the Royal United Hospital for treatment. I have another memory of Trowbridge Hospital, an incident which at the time was to us somewhat of a disaster. Betty my sister was a junior shop assistant at Aplins Chemist and they supplied the hospital with medicines. Each day it was one of her jobs to take a large basket of bottles balanced on the handlebars of her bike to the hospital. As this was usually at dinner time and she passed home we accompanied her on the last part of the journey to the delivery point in the hospital kitchen. One day her bike fell over. You can guess the result! I remember dad going to the shop to sort out the problem with Mr. Aplin but he was very understanding. My sister didn't lose her job as she feared might happen and replacement medicines were quickly provided so that the patients didn't suffer. My dad was towards the end of the war himself a patient, seriously ill from the effects of a misdirected fire hose during a civil defence exercise, previously reported in other memories. This was in the days before antibiotics but evidently a new wonder drug came on the scene at the time - we knew of them as M & B tablets (probably a non-medical name) but he made a good recovery. We were not allowed to visit him but going along with my sister on her 'medicine' trip was useful as we could wave to him through the ward window.

Another very well known figure was the School Medical Officer of Health. A lady with the name of Doctor Jean Murray - today there is a street named after her - but she was responsible for the dreaded medical examinations. Every so often the nurse would arrive at the school, known in later years to many generations of chldrens as the nit nurse! Always a quick look at hands (finger nails in particular and hair) but later a written note had to be taken home and mum would take us up the road to the Halve Clinic - not of course during air raids! The fact that it was during school hours was of little consolation. This might have to be followed by a visit to the school dentist who with his old fasioned equipment and seeming lack of pain killers was not to be recommended. Perhaps also the optician. At one time I must have been in need of extra nourishment and along with other children in the class was given two Horlick's tablets daily in addition to my regulation third of a pint of milk.

The memories live on. How did we survive? It is said that people of our generation living on good old-fasioned food with also no doubt well tried and tested remedies were a lot healthier than today. Who knows -perhaps that is true!

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.