I had just joined the 19th Indian Dagger Division, only a few weeks previously. One day soon after our midday meal I believe it was that I felt sick. I had a temperature of 103 degrees, felling sick, had a nasty headache and not wanting to do anything, other than curl up in bed and fall asleep, hopefully waking up fit and well. Instead I was force d to carry two kit bags - one extra large, my blankets, pack, ground sheet etc., etc. to where a small truck awaited.
At the hospital I had to carry everything inside. At the time I thought I was being treated abominably. But as I write this , it's just occurred to me after all these years, that no one wanted to handle my equipment in case they became contaminated. Its possible they had been told I was suspected of having small pox.
I was put into a small room by myself for a couple of days under observation. Little red pimples or blotches appeared on my skin.
I was then removed to a tent on the hospital grounds. It was full of small pox victims, lying on straw palisades on the ground. One thing I am never likely to forget - I entered the tent, and was told to lie on the palisade just inside the tent on the right. On the left, on the very next palisade was a soldier , his face and arms and his torso were absolutely covered in quarter inch and half inch scabs. He really looked a terrible mess.
I knew I looked as bad myself. But what stands out more in my memory than the above, was what the medical orderly accompanying me said; remember I looked exactly the same as this other chap:-
"He'll be dead tomorrow", which meant I would be dead in the morning.
As it happened, the poor soldier was dead next day.
As for myself, my hair was brushed, my feet tied together, and I was placed on a trolley, covered with a sheet, taken to the morgue, and left there.
Sometime after, someone entered the morgue, lifted the sheet to identify the corpse and noticed an eye movement. I was then rushed back to the ward.
The fear of being disfigured gave me the strength to refrain from scratching. During my worst time of the illness, the matron came round the ward with three American officers. They stopped at the bottom of my bed.
Matron: "I call this one my wonder man."
American Officer: "Why is that?"
Matron: "I've had to tie other patients to their beds to stop them from scratching themselves to death. But this chap just lies there. He doesn't move. I watched him day after day , but he doesn't move. That's why I call him my wonder man."
The result of the strain of not scratching, the embarrassment of the disfigurement and remarks made by people caused an "anxiety state". This brought on "depression". After my illness I found I couldn't stand the noise of the guns. This made my "anxiety state" worse and my "depression" worse.
Whilst recovering in hospital from small pox, a column of half inch long black ants used to run up a leg of my bed, along the side, round the back, and down the other side.
When the sergeant major came round and asked "Any complaints?"
I remarked, " What about these ants, can't we have the bed legs in small food tins filled with water. That would stop them."
"What would that look like," replied the sergeant major.
"We could die for all the army cares," I said, "but only if we have a crease in our trousers."
Next day, the sergeant major walked through the ward, got to the door at the other end, called out, "Any complaints?", and vanished before anyone could open their mouths.
I had word with the understanding matron and small cans of water were brought in. Result, no more ants.
I had been to Deolali Bazaar, with my old school friend Gerry Guilford. As we walked along the road a quarter mile from our depot, we heard quite a commotion going on round the corner we were approaching.
Another fifty paces, and we came across the reason for this disturbance.
A crowd of about 30 Indians were attacking two British soldiers. I immediately left Gerry and walked across the road, calling "Ustay, Ustay". (Steady, Steady).
The crowd turned, and in that split second the two soldiers made their escape, not giving a thought to the situation I was in. (Though I can understand how they felt).
I calmed them down and walked off.