大象传媒

Ironically I might not be alive today if the Second World War had never happened.The National Health Service had not yet been introduced; when in 1944 at the age of six I became critically ill with pneumonia both my lungs' were infected and I was not expected to live.
My parents'were at my bedside and a priest was called, when Sister Foster rushed in saying "I'm not giving up yet" and stuck a needle in my bottom. My mother always believed that it was her action that saved my life.
Obviously, the only parts I remember personaly about this stage in my life, is an ambulance taking me to hospital. Then being spoilt by staff and patients as I recovered.
I spent about three months in hospital and was there over Christmas. On Christmas morning I awoke to find only a brush and comb from Father Christmas [my mother's hairdresser] I thought he had forgotten me.
A nurse took me on a trolly to the mens ward. Sat me on a piano and tried to persuede me to sing I can't remember if she was successful.
When I got back to my own ward, I found Father Christmas had been and my bed was covered with toys.
We had a 'Christmas Concert' where I heard a Jews'-harp and a musical-saw for the first time, I wasn't impressed.
I have discovered that I was treated in one of the new emergency hospitals, formerly a poorhouse. These were set up in preparation for the casualties of war that didn't materialise; so they were used for the benefit of the general public.
There was a new drug penicillin. At that time it was intended only for treating the armed forces. Now I wonder if it was penicillin in the hands' of Sister Foster that saved my life,along with the prayers at my bedside. One thing is for sure, I'm thankful for the'Emergency Hospital'.

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