Barnabas Tales

By John Wood

short stories related when a retired physician looks back upon his colleagues, a long career in an english hospital, and life outside. many tales have a grain or two of truth and some contain much more. tales are grouped as follows:- family and medics - very mixed ; tales from abroad and other times ; miscellaneous prose ; tales from nearer home ; plays various ; a few of our travel tales.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Wood
• Release date: Oct 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9780992989200

Book preview

BARNABAS TALES

A Pot-Pourri of Stories, People, Travel and Nonsense

by

JOHN WOOD.

Published by Woodavens Books at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 John Wood.

Smashwords Edition - Licence Notes. This book is licenced for your personal enjoyment and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share with another person please purchase another copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and it has not been purchased for you, then please visit Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

BARNABAS TALES - by JOHN WOOD.

A Pot-Pourri of Stories, People, Travel and Nonsense.

Many years of attending Kate Jones’ writing class have led to a collection of old homeworks and things dashed off in class. Some have been polished here, some left untouched and I have gathered a number together. Where Kate had marked my homework and made corrections I have generally incorporated them, and anything worthwhile owes much to her inspiration and friendship. Towards the end various pieces in the travel sections come from the logs which Bridget and I keep when we are away from home.

There is a separate collection of ditties and doggerel to be published elsewhere.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Family and Medics – Very Mixed

A Home Visit - to Advise a President, Kampala 1971.

Annie is Ready Again –An Indomitable Manikin.

A Friend in Need – A cigarette packet tries to comfort his victim.

Granpop - Alexander Battersby.

Hampstead Sorrows – Cyclothymia.

In Praise of Home Visits – or Carry on Consulting. Medicine on the Hoof.

Letter for a Friend.

Annual Tribute on Nightingale Day – 12th May, as Celebrated in Muheza, Tanzania.

An Old School Friend and the PM

Old Rooms – The most Ancient Consultant reminisces.

One Very Singular Life – Prof. Alan Tyson – Fellow of All Souls, CBE, House Physician.

The Home Visit at Tannochbrae – The Lure of Golf.

Tuberculosis – Three Unfortunate Patients.

Toasts – Rear Admiral Adams’ tale from the China Station.

Homework Copy – War as a Project.

The Lanhope Countrywoman.

The Specialist Visits at Home – Hard Work.

Basil Miles – Physician and Naturalist.

Charles Renton – Surgeon, Scot, Sailor, Peacemaker – Thoughts for Funeral address.

Tales from Abroad and Other Times

Androcles and his Friend.

A Better Day in Baghdad.

Belinda goes to a Far-Eastern Army-ruled State.

Selling the Cherry Orchard.

A Desert.Honeymoon

Military Control in Hesse State.

Moroccan Travel Guide.

Figaro’s Tale.

Baba Noel – Virtue Rewarded at Last.

Mageroya Island and the Shetland Bus.

A First Day on the Slopes.

Long Day’s Drive in Iraq.

Honeymoon on the Turkish Coast - True Love will find a Way.

Yugoslavia in Ruin.

Miscellaneous Prose - Whimsy and Nonsense

Courtesy.

A Desert Island Story.

The End of the Cricket Season.

Letters after the Golf Match - The Sport of Gentlemen.

The Spice of Life.

Numbers.

Sky-Blue Thinking Leak.

The Leather-Bound Ledger.

Preston Wynne – Sunday Village Cricket.

Sounds and Hearing.

Tick Bird Crisis.

The New Decisive Democratic Party.

Tales from Nearer Home

The Bothy below the Golden Eagles.

Until the Flag Drops.

Douglas in Trouble.

The Stand-In.

Night Watch.

Eclipse Night.

The Tunnel.

Hop Picking at Coldbank Farm.

Hen Night at the Local Pub.

Homecoming.

Dormington Knocker’s Tale.

The Visitor.

It’s an Ill Flood …

The Light Fantastic.

The Two-Tone Van.

Rescue at the Mill.

Preparing the Sermon.

The Test.

Not High Tide.

Windy Willows Reunion.

The Frome Bridge.

Archeological Fragment.

Very Late Spring 30 Years On.

Plays Various.

Preparing for Armageddon.

The Empty Locker.

Selecting the Players.

Cinderella Scene 1.

Top People’s Cumulus.

Halloween at the Vicarage.

10 AM at the BEEB.

Spooks in Love.

Opening the Fete.

A Few of Our Travel Tales

All Very Sporting – Yugoslavia.

Gozo Inscription.

Stopped in my Tracks.

Lost Contact.

Hush for the Day.

The Chick of Glen Coruisk.

A Summer Day on the Mid-Wales Line.

Letter to Archie from Kampala.

Cocoa Water Rafting and Northern Lights.

Kidepo – Last big Ugandan Safari.

Letter about Irish Sail.

Time to Leave Skye.

Lycia.

Palm Sunday, Muheza.

Kampala to Marangu Safari.

Santorini.

Schruns.

Shelter on Corsica.

Family and Medics - Very Mixed

These are mostly descriptions or tales about family, especially medical ones, and professional friends. Most are self-explanatory.

A HOME VISIT - TO ADVISE A PRESIDENT - KAMPALA 1971.

David Barkham was one of the Consultant Physicians at Mulago Hospital in Kampala, Uganda, when Idi Amin seized power. I was his Senior Registrar in 1968 and 1969. An outstanding clinician, he always set his face against doing research which he thought, for him, was a waste of time. He had been Physician to the Kabaka of Uganda who was overthrown by Milton Obote, and then Obote in his turn was removed in 1969 by the Army under Idi Amin (after Bridget and I had left Kampala). David became doctor for Amin and his large family. He was expelled at short notice after a very curious consultation with Idi Amin. I heard this story in London while having supper with David and his wife Anne soon after their expulsion and have turned it into imaginary dialogue. David’s experiences may possible have contributed the germ of an idea to the story of The Last King of Scotland. He was certainly President Amin’s British doctor, but any likeness stops there.

The bungalow windows overlooked a lush garden. Ann, for you - the telephone.

Ann Barkham stood up beside the low tea table. David, Hello. All right – I’ll expect you to pick me up from Margaret's before 5.30. Don't be late. Thank you for telling me where you will be. Bye, dear.

The old Mercedes climbed Nakasero Hill passing mounds of flowering Bougainvillea covered the house fences. At the top the car stopped in front of the Command Post. Automatic rifle raised, a soldier stooped at the window. He nodded, the gates opened and David parked by the steps and lifted out his case and stethoscope. Another soldier opened the door and followed him into the cool shadowed hall. Wait here. A young woman walked past and a small child peered from the far end. Through an open door television flickered in a darkened room.

Come this way. The President will see you.

The huge man looked round as David entered the room. Welcome, David. Come in. Sit down.

Good afternoon, President. How are you? How are your family?

I am well. I do not need an injection today. How are you? I have brought you here for advice. How many years have you been in this country?

Nearly ten, but in Mbale for the first two before coming to Mulago Hospital.

And you used to see Mutesa?

I had the honour of attending him as well as yourself and your family, sir.

David, I am very disappointed and angry about my Army Council - they are a group of loose individuals up to great mischief and lining their pockets at the same time. They have started behaving like crooks instead of as my soldiers. I must deal with the ringleaders. I will come straight to the point. Would your government send troops to help me control them?

President - That is a question for the High Commissioner and not for me - I am a doctor, not a politician or a diplomat.

Of course, of course - I know all that - but you read the Times each day. You must advise me about the probable reply.

President - I don't know - it might depend on the circumstances. Do you wish to tell me more?

Once in Obote’s time British troops came to stop a coup, and then without any invitation. You remember how grateful the British government was when I replaced Obote. Surely they would support me if I asked? My big problem is the army - my army. Each division and each commander is only interested in money, women, drugs and drink. The Army Council keeps demanding money for wages and equipment, which I need for other things and last week we had a blazing row so I ordered them to pull themselves together! In the end they put me under house arrest! What do you make of that?

I'm astonished President - but what about now?

I am here and in full charge again, so far as anyone can be. The fools were unable to decide what to do or who should give the orders. They dislike each other too much to agree, so after three days they withdrew their guards, presented me with a medal and escorted me back here as the government head.

There was no rumour of trouble.

They could not agree what to announce.

What they did sounds like treason?

Not exactly - though that does not excuse it. You may know that the Army Council has the power to remove the Chief of Staff and President.

But you appoint the Army Council.

Yes – but I only appoint or remove two members at a time. But tell me - would Mr. Heath send troops or his airforce to enable me to clean up the Army Council?

President, the removal from your country of businessmen and shopkeepers has caused much comment in the British press. I think troops are unlikely, but this is a matter for the Commissioner and the Military Attaché.

If not the army, then I want a visit from your Queen or one of the Royal Family. They would enjoy a visit - dancing, music and feasting – and I and my people would be very happy. Princess Anne could go riding. We would change the name of the game-park back to Queen Elizabeth and they could all visit it. David - do you have any contacts to arrange that?

President - I deeply regret that I have no Royal friends or contacts. Once again the High Commissioner would be the best person to ask.

There was a knock at the door. An immaculately uniformed officer entered, saluted, and gave a paper to the President who scanned it briefly. The officer murmured and the President handed back the paper. Very well. Very Good. Approved. The usual procedures. Keep no record. The officer smiled, saluted, then looked at David as he passed and his smile vanished. Good day, doctor. Good day, Colonel. He left the room.

The President sat down again and began to discuss recent legislation. He asked about his recent Act forbidding lorries to move after dark. What do the British here think of that?

It should save many lives and also many lorries.

Ah, so you approve? I must telephone Mr. Heath to suggest it to him. He should do the same in England.

Eventually the President stood up. Thank you David for your thoughts and advice. Tell me, have you and your delightful wife decided yet about applying for Ugandan nationality? That could easily be arranged.

President, I greatly appreciate the honour you do to me and to Anne. Please may we continue to consider this carefully - we have many deep roots in England.

"Very well, think about it. Now I will take you to your patient, the daughter of my fourth wife.

They entered a bedroom where a little girl lay. She had a sore throat. David examined her and prescribed a gargle.

She needs an antibiotic.

President, she has a mild viral infection which antibiotics will not cure. Her throat will get better without - if she develops a fever or remains unwell in two days, please call me again.

She needs an antibiotic.

President, I have given my best advice, based on twenty years experience.

The President's face hardened, he lifted his arm, and his bulk seemed to dwarf the doctor. Then he smiled, patted David on the back with a hand which almost knocked him over, and put his arm around his shoulder. I value your judgement. Think about my nationality offer. And give my love to your beautiful wife. May Allah protect you both.

David climbed into his car, shakily turned on the lights and ignition and drove home to a distraught Anne.

The President spoke to his aide, Order Musa to bring antibiotics.

Seven days later the evening bulletin reported that a group of expatriates were to be expelled immediately for Political Gonorrhoea. David’s name was included, but no details were given. He tried to contact the President directly and then through the Minister of Health but without success.

Tears wet Ann's cheeks as they looked out of the VC10 heading north. I used to love seeing Entebbe become a toy town, but this will be the last time. David took her hand We have left a lot but we are going home together.

ANNIE IS READY AGAIN (AN IMDOMITABLE MANIKIN)

This sad little letter was prompted by examination of a Resuscitannie given to us by the Local Nuffield Hospital to be sent to Teule Hospital, Muheza. These manikins enable people to practice resuscitation skills using cardiac massage and providing artificial mouth-to-mouth respiration. But when Bridget tried to inflate Annie’s chest she failed, and we found the reason was an obstruction in the trachea. With some difficulty and a pair of plyers this was extracted and proved to be half a denture. We never heard who had lost it or what happened to the other half. Photographs and a short article were, disappointingly, rejected by the British Medical and British Dental Journals. Let Annie tell her own story:-

Dear Reader,

My name is Annie and I’ve experienced a lot, though I’m still not twenty. Without risk of contradiction I’ve had far more kisses and chest squeezes than hot dinners. I used to live at a private Nuffield hospital, but one day something awful happened. I was enjoying one of my sessions – you know how it goes, puff, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, puff, puff - when suddenly I felt something in my throat and the puffs stopped moving my chest.

Well, at that place they don’t put up with girls who can’t respond, and first I was placed in a cupboard and then given away to be sent to Africa. I’d heard about trafficking but never thought it could happen to me. It was quite an unpleasant surprise, but a girl’s got to be prepared to adapt.

Anyway, before the trip I had a short medical. When they found my chest could not move, I felt fingers and something poking around my neck and throat. It was very sore, but eventually a pair of pliers fished out two teeth on a dental plate, and now once more I can ventilate comfortably. I do think it was careless of someone to drop their dentures down my windpipe.

So I’m looking forward to Africa and I keep smiling and determined to go on providing my services – puff, puff, squeeze, squeeze. Lie there and do your duty, has always been our Resuscitannie family motto.

Yours sincerely, Anatomic Annie.

A FRIEND IN NEED?

(A cigarette packet comforts his victim.)

In the Chest Clinic in Hereford I saw most of Herefordshire’s patients suffering from Carcinoma of the Bronchus, usually amounting to two or three new patients each week. Most had been long-term smokers, and the prognosis for almost all was bleak. Few would be alive a year after diagnosis. For very many years the tobacco companies resisted all suggestions that cigarettes were harmful, and of course nicotine is an enormously powerful drug of addiction. (I remember one colleague telling me that on wakening he had to have his first cigarette of the day ready to light beside the bed – though surviving an early coronary thrombosis did cure him of his dependency.)

The link between people and their cigarettes is really strong. A possible dialogue between a smoker and his close companion follows as a breathless ill man looks back over a long love affair, picks up a packet of cigarettes, looks at it doubtfully and puts it down again. He addresses the packet and it replies promptly to the sick man’s every sentence:-

I trusted you and thought we would be friends for ever.

We are still very close - I am sure that our partnership will endure.

Do you remember? I was a teenager when we fell in love.

Yes, that is the best age to start relationships.

You gave me a lot of self-confidence and status among my young friends.

I'm good at that.

When I was tense you helped me to relax and to pick myself up when I was tired or jaded.

That has always been part of my attraction.

You used to warm me on cold mornings, and were nicely cool after steamy nights.

I remember it well.

We spent a lot of time together, you and I. Our relationship cost a good deal of money.

That was not my doing - I had to pay my bosses and their bosses.

Once or twice I tried to give up our affair, but I used to feel dreadful. Then when my lips met yours the sun would shine and the birds would sing again.

I always felt much more satisfied when you came back to me.

But now people say such dreadful things about you.

You should not believe them - spoilsports, authoritarians, all making up evidence against me.

Is there any truth in these awful accusations?

There is no hard evidence. It is all based on doubtful epidemiological studies.

Could I have caught anything from you?

Perhaps a slight taste for luxury and self-indulgence. That is all! And remember, I am the product of nature - very Green and wholesome.

I now get these curious pains when I walk and I am very short of breath.

The best thing is to slow down - stop for a few minutes and let me warm and relax you. Whatever you do, don't worry.

And my skin is very wrinkled.

My - you do fret unnecessarily. I never object to wrinkles.

I don't like to mention this, but I coughed blood yesterday.

My people assure me that I have nothing to do with that.

I think I ought to see my GP.

You should not believe everything he tells you - GPs have a very biased and prejudiced view of our relationship. Sadly, I begin to feel that we are growing apart. However I am delighted that, through you, I have got to know your children. I expect that they and I will remain close and I shall hear about you through them.

Is this nearly the end of our road together - after all these years?

Perhaps it is the end of yours - but I intend to carry on. How old did you say your grandchildren are? I believe I may have met some of them already. Meanwhile my friend, now you need me more than ever- light up and finish the packet.

GRANPOP - ALEXANDER BATTERSBY

Most of this first book section is medical – my Glaswegian grandfather was a compositor, but his son became a doctor, so I have stretched things to include Granpop here.

All Grandparents should be special, but Granpop was out of the ordinary. Domestic jokesters, children-up-in dates, and judicial humorists were lumped together by Gilbert's Mikado as nuisances who never would be missed. I beg to differ. My grandfather Alexander Battersby was a passionate talker and games player who never really grew up. In a silent self-contained railway compartment he would provide the spark and interest which started everyone talking and, on a long journey, he would organise a game or two. Years after he and my grandmother had died, people would remember and ask about him.

From holidays, he sent postcards home with characters such as fat seaside ladies and trampled little husbands clearly identified and labelled with family names. A compositor in his youth, he was fascinated by words and spelling, and for his job he even needed an ability to spell in mirror image. Puns were a part of his stock-in-trade.

Alexander could create a game from very slight ingredients - a table in a room, books as bats, other books to make a net, one table tennis ball, and with these a tournament could commence. If a pack of card was available a game of Ping was almost inevitable.

Previously an international draughts player, when he was old and I was very small we crossed Glasgow on its miniature tube train to a social club he sometimes visited. On a previous visit he had been quite upset that without any warning they had brought the current Glasgow draughts champion to play him. But despite advancing years and no preparation, Granpop was the victor.

Although a domestic jokester, a humorist and perhaps throughout a long life a child-up-in-dates, Alexander was a remarkable character. The ability to start people talking and make friends with each other is a most enviable talent. I hope that some of these special genes may even have come down to me.

By all accounts religiose to a fault in early life, by the time I came along my grandfather’s passion for games outweighed almost all other factors, and he was a most splendid elderly relative for a small, timid, only-child grandson.

HAMPSTEAD SORROWS - CYCLOTHYMIA

Over coffee in a ward office Sister told me her story. This is not quite her history, but an imaginary letter based on her troubles.

Dear Margaret,

I do hope you won’t mind me writing to you and getting some things off my chest. We sent a round-robin at Christmas but it concealed troubles than shared real news. A year ago you advised me against being swept off my feet straight into marriage, but I thought you were just jealous or a spoil-sport. How wrong I was! But William was such super fun, energetic, lively, loving – oh so loving! – and I was sure we would make the most wonderful marriage.

But alarmingly after a few glorious weeks the bounce and energy drained away from William. It happened quite quickly and instead of being carried along on a torrent of love, ideas, surprises and presents, I found that I had to provide all the support and push and chivvy him along. He seemed deflated, and he stopped sleeping properly. I sometimes found him sitting with his head in his hands when I got home after shopping or work, and there might be a programme playing on the radio which he hated but lacked the energy to switch it off. And when I asked his mother, she looked rather shifty and said – Yes, he had been rather low from time to time., but then she brightly added she was sure a lovely wife would be the answer! She claimed in the past that he had simply got better after a few weeks. And I could not get him to go to the doctor.

I even wondered about drugs, but there was no sign of them, and just sitting at home he could scarcely have access to any. At one stage I had to bully him into shaving and insist that he wash his hair. He was almost like a teenager, and more or less stopped eating. He wasn’t particularly bad-tempered, just slow and miserable.

As you can imagine I was distraught, and began to feel low, lacked energy and slept badly myself especially with William awake and restless in the bed or moping downstairs. The doctor prescribed something for me, but said that he could not give anything for my husband without seeing him, and the one thing William was definite about was refusing to see my doctor or any other. He stopped working but the family firm went on paying his salary.

This happened early last year, and then quite suddenly he began to improve. I first noticed it when he shaved and went out for a haircut and you can imagine my relief. Soon I stopped my tablets and we began to live again as man and wife. We booked a holiday, and I arranged to take leave from work in the summer.

But before the holiday came one day he announced that it was not good enough for me and he had booked a cruise on the Queen Elizabeth. How can we pay for that? I asked. Oh, don’t worry your beautiful little head about that, he said and like a fool I accepted his reassurance. Then a few weeks before we were due to go I came home and found William looking very pleased and a little wild-eyed. I’ve invited some friends tonight for supper and the Harrods’ catering team is coming in. As I looked at him in astonishment, he said And there is another little surprise coming for you!

And so there was, for within a few minutes not one, but two Rolls Royces stood outside the door, with uniformed drivers asking for a signature! When I went in to speak to William, he was telephoning British Airways and ordering seats for a Concorde flight the next day for us and for Lawrence Olivier. And when I tried to cut off the phone he became very horrid.

The doctor came, and William was removed. To my astonishment he seemed to know the men who came for him. Hello again – to the chateau! he said, and I spent the evening getting rid of two Rolls Royces and various distinguished guests. We even had a minor film star arrive for supper whom I had to send away. Then of course there were demands for payments, some of which I could bat away. I settled others for small amounts, but it was an enormous worry. And when I went to visit William he was in high spirits – thought it all a great joke.

Anyway that episode settled, and since then we’ve not endured any swings of mood quite so extreme. When he’s at a normal level, our marriage is pretty good but I cannot forget I’m living on the slopes of a volcano which threatens to erupt every few months. When he’s moderately high he talks about having lots of children, and when he’s low the world is so awful that it would be criminal to bear a baby, while I can’t help feeling that any child might have the same problems.

So I wanted to tell you about our life and ask for advice. Now that I know William and his family better, I find he had been in hospital five times for similar episodes, mostly when high but once when very depressed after poisoning himself. He had previous girls, but no relationship survived his lurches into illness. And the family (they think I should be flattered by this), thought being anchored to me as a wife in would provide a cure. That is what they say, but I suspect they really wanted prime responsibility for William lifted from their shoulders. So I fear they avoided mention of his illness when we first fell in love, and strongly encouraged William and me to have a whirlwind romance and to get married immediately.

Much of the time I like William and even love him still, but if we stay together I see dreadful times ahead. His close family, which includes several noted psychiatrists who should have known better, and more or less threw me into bed and matrimony to take over care and responsibility for his behaviour.

So I thought of you, Margaret, a close old school friend and a rising lawyer. Can I or should I sue the family? They knew, or should have known, that they had a seriously manic-depressive member. I think they conspired to catch me like an unsuspecting butterfly, in their net. And I’m not simply prepared to flutter ineffectively. I know about caveat emptor, but surely they had a responsibility to warn me? I fear that it may be them, or me, or William! So for old time’s sake please advise me.

And soon please, – I think he’s getting high again.

With love, Jane.

IN PRAISE OF HOME VISITS

(Or Carry on Consulting. Medicine on the Hoof)

Home visits are always interesting both for General Practitioners and Hospital Consultants. Sometimes an Alsatian dog greets the visitor, or a lady begins to undress before it is clear whether her caller is the doctor or the meter-reader. There may be other unexpected hazards. A colleague (Basil Miles) visited the dowager in her stately home. Her symptoms led him to examine her abdomen as she lay in a huge feather bed. Folds of flab rolled and quivered as he carefully felt for liver or spleen. Then he slid his hand to the far side and suffered a sharp bite from a small bad-tempered aristocratic dog lurking beyond the fatty mounds. Inspect well before you press the flesh!

Most patients are very trusting and leave the door open when expecting a visit. General Practitioner Frank Brown was knowledgeable about horses and racing. As he approached a house in Tupsley one day his watch showed that the Grand National was due to start. He knocked on the door - no reply. He knocked again, tried the handle, found the door was open and went upstairs. One room had curtains drawn, and inside he saw a man in bed asleep. A television set stood in the corner. Frank wakened the man, asked him if they might watch the race first, and switched on the television. The man sat up in bed and both watched until the Grand National was finished. Then Frank switched off the television, expressed thanks and asked What is the matter with you? Nothing replied the man in surprise. Why are you in bed? I work night shift. And then Frank realised that he was speaking to a complete stranger and had come to the wrong address!

Alfred, another GP, was straight-laced and devout. One day no-one replied when he knocked on a door, so he went straight upstairs to his patient to find her in bed with another but unrelated patient from his practice. The visitor turned his bare back, and an embarrassed Alfred completed his examination and consultation in an uncomfortable and somewhat strained atmosphere. Both removed themselves from his list.

Hospital Paediatrician Hugh Fisher often visited farmhouses to see sick children. One day in Mid-Wales shortly before Christmas the parent, a farmer, was effusive in his thanks, dropped his voice he added "I’ve put something in