This and That

This all happened in early spring, in what should have been my busy gardening time. With one arm immobilised there was little I could do, but my postmen friends took care of this, which was a load off my mind. Talking of postmen reminds me of another incident. Our old closet stood at the end of the house, and a draughty old place it was too. Our local postman, a young man named Steve, would often find it necessary to use the old loo while waiting for the mail to arrive from Bungay. One morning I was out in the garden when the closet door burst open, followed by Steve with his trousers round his ankles, and accompanied by a cloud of smoke. I stood there amazed for a moment, and then collapsed with laughter. It transpired that Steve had lit a fag before settling down, and threw the match into the pail. There must have been some dry paper around, which caught fire with disastrous results for Steve!

Poor fellow, he was destined to fall a victim to tuberculosis, or consumption as it was generally called in those days. Three young men and one girl all died of this in the village within a year. It was indeed a scourge, and as far as I can remember there was very little that could be done about it at that time. Fresh air seemed to be the only treatment. Small wooden huts like beach huts were provided where the unfortunate victims could live and sleep, with a maximum of fresh air. I can understand why it was practically incurable in those days, as there just wasn't the medical 'know‑how', but I have often wondered why it was so rife. Maybe the lack of suitable food and clothes contributed towards it, and public hygiene was inadequate compared to today, but there was an awful lot of it about.