In July 1944, just one month after D-Day, I found myself, aged 15, requiring an emergency operation for what was a violent attack of osteomylitis.
I had been admitted with nervous rheumatics having had a history of this as a child. I was first admitted to ward 8 which had women and youngsters as the DRI was quite busy with troops and other servicemen wounded from the second front. My health rapidly deteriorated and after a visiting specialist examined me I was quickly transferred to ward 17. I don't remember anything from then until some weeks later when I realised that my leg was in a Thomas Splint, very heavily discharged and painful. Professor Alexander was the consultant who carried out the surgery on my leg. He was a great character.
Ward 17 was also packed - there were beds down the centre of the ward. A sister, four nurses and a cleaner manned the ward and the nursing staff not only tended their patients but did some cleaning duties as well. Once a week there was a purge, beds were moved, the floors were polished, every corner was cleaned out. The ward was spotless. Visiting hours were very strict; I believe it was one hour on Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday with only two visitors to a bed.
There were a few young lads like myself who, because of the bed situation, were moved to the verandah for months. Bed-splints, traction cages and all, with only a tarpaulin to protect us from the elements. After some months the Sister told me that Prof Alexander had arranged for me to be seen by a specialist, I can't remember who, with a view to me being given a course of Penicillin which might cure my osteomylitis, but sadly I was told my leg was too far gone for this to be possible.
My spirits were very low at this point and Prof Alexander managed somehow to have me transferred to Rossie Priory, which was an EMS and had, I believe, somewhere in the region of 40/50 servicemen, mostly troops who had gone into D-Day plus by landing barge, gliders and parachutes, right into hell. They didn't try to tell me about it, but as a lad I listened fascinated as they spoke to each other of their experiences and they all admitted one thing - they were glad to be alive and didn't want to go back.
One sergeant asked the sister in charge of the hospital if the boys could get me up and walking with the aid of crutches; she agreed and with the troops' help I was soon able to get around, first on crutches, then one crutch and a stick, then two sticks. While on crutches I was too ambitious and had a fall; I was back in bed for a few days and when my dressing was being changed, quite a large piece of sequestrum came out. The nurse doing my dressing asked me if she could have it as seemingly it was regarded by nurses as a good luck token. Crazy!
Rossie Priory was great. Full of banter and memories of it were very happy. People knew the war was being won and there were all kinds of parties held by the girls on munitions and jobs in Dundee and the troops were all invited to them. I was in Rossie Priory until after VE Day, then it was closed and I was transferred to Crieff Hydro, a much bigger place, with mostly civilians, I believe lots of them recuperating from TB. I was there until December 45 or Jan/Feb 46 when I asked the Matron in charge when I would be going back to DRI. She phoned, and seemingly I had been "forgotten about". An ambulance was sent and I was taken back to Dundee. When I walked into ward 17 the sister was surprised and delighted to see me on my feet. Prof Alexander was equally surprised and I was X-rayed, had a medical and discharged after a couple of days, a full 18 months after my first op.
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