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On a return journey to Bamenda Camp from a border motor patrol, where I had looked down on the bluish mountains of Nigeria, which in its self was a truly remarkable sight, being so rugged, wild and yet so beautiful. I kept getting pains in my stomach, mostly in the region of my belly button, and after a very long bumpy journey, it was pleasing to eventually arrive back at Bamenda Camp, for a general clean up and a good nights sleep. During the night, the pains in my stomach were beginning to be quite unbearable, so next morning I reported to the medical hut on sick parade, which was for the first time while in the army. I did not like having to do it, because of not wanting to be classed in the same category as the regular skivers who frequent sick parades, but this time, because of the pain, I apprehensively joined them in the queue. There was no Doctor at that particular time in Bamenda Camp and therefore I was inspected by a Sergeant from the Royal Army Medical Corps, who happened to be the senior Rank in charge of the medical Centre. The Medical Sergeant on his inspection of my stomach, noticed a five-inch diameter area around my belly button was hard and inflamed, this of course added to the pain. He gave me some tablets and confined me to my tent, because again at the time, there was no facilities to take patients, these facilities came about five weeks later in the form of a Nissen hut. Even though the camp had no facilities to take patients, an R.A.M.C. Orderly was assigned to look after my needs. He did his best under the circumstances, dressing the infected area, making my bed and going for my meals etc. I can not even recall his name, but his help to me was paramount and although I can not remember saying at that time, I was indeed truly grateful for all he did for me. The camp itself was still quite muddy, because of all the activity going on in building the camp and because of this, the mud seemed to get everywhere, in the tents, on clothing and even bedding. Nothing escaped the mud, no matter how one tried to avoid it. Adding to my despondency, the pains were getting worse and my belly button was now discharging fluid. The time confined to the tent was spent mostly on my own, because of our platoon doing motorised patrols and with not feeling very well; it seemed better that way. Of course on there return from the patrols, they made a beeline to see how I was and any help they could do, which in itself was quite comforting and certainly will never be forgotten. After three days of considerable pain and discomfort, I noticed protruding from my belly button, in what can only be described as something like the tip of a finger. From the look on the Orderly’s face when he saw this, I knew it spelled problems for me. Under assistance I was taken back to the Medical hut, for a more intensive probe. As I stated earlier there was no Doctor at that time in Bamenda camp, therefore the man in charge was the R.A.M.C. Sergeant. He said something must have crawled down my belly button and that he would have a probe about, this sounded quite feasible, as the Cameroons was alive with bugs and insects. Being laid out on a table, the Sergeant gave me a local anesthetic around the infected area. I noticed in the Sergeants hand, he carried a thin wire about eight inches long, he then to my horror proceeded to probe down my belly button with this wire. To say there was a local anesthetic administered was an overstatement, the pain was terrible, but I just gritted my teeth and took it, as my only wish was to be cured and out of pain. The probing seemed to last ages, when I heard the Sergeant say, “ We will have to dispatch him to Buea Camp Medical Centre.” The Buea Camp was 300 miles away; near to where the troopship Devonshire had docked a few months earlier. All arrangements were made very quickly and I was to accompany a Major and his driver from the Royal Engineers, who were returning to Buea Camp. Not once during my illness at Bamenda did the Platoon Officer, Lieutenant Everett- Heath or Platoon Sergeant Wakefield, came to see how I was. I am quite sure if the roles had been reversed, I would have definitely been down to see them, but that’s people for you who wear blinkers. After receiving my final travel instructions etc, from the tent, which housed the Company (HQ), I overheard the voice of a friend of mine, Dave Heslop the company clerk, telling someone, “Parky’s got cancer.” On hearing that statement, I felt as though I had been hit with a sledgehammer. My mind just raced, I thought they must know something I didn’t, one can only grasp, how I felt at that particular time and believe me it was not pleasant. There are no mothers and Fathers to turn for comfort and it makes one in life grow up very quickly and indeed that’s what I had to do and believe me I did. The Major in the Royal Engineers, who I had never met before, unlike the Sandhurst trained infantry officers that were in our regiment, had no edge on him whatsoever and from the outset was very amiable towards me. As the roads to Buea were still bad, the journey was split into two days, with the rainy season just about at an end; with only an odd shower, the roads were beginning to dry out a little. The road to Mamfe was of red clay and because of the constant convoys and the start of the dry season, the road now was quite bumpy and certainly treacherous. I must have felt every bump and jar on that road and to the Major’s credit he did keep asking how I felt. The journey to Mamfe took about four hours, which was a good deal faster than seven weeks previously, when the regiment first arrived in the Cameroons. On reaching the R.A F camp at Mamfe, the Major told me to report to the RAF Medical Centre. Reporting to the medical Centre feeling very tired and disheveled, without doubt I must have looked a pitiful sight. The conditions on the journey to Mamfe had contributed to my appearance and still feeling quite ill, did not help me very much, in my downcast state. The RAF Medical Orderly, soon had me showered and into a clean bed, where he redressed the infected area of my stomach. It felt like heavenly bliss, with clean sheets and bedding, but my bliss was about to be shattered. A Doctor or I presumed he was, came into the hut and asked me who I was, on my reply, he gave the Medical Orderly one hell of a telling off. He the looked at me and said “ This hut is for RAF personnel only!” Nastily, he then told the orderly, to get me dressed and get me out of the hut, which reluctantly the orderly did. Showing me to the door he said “ I’m sorry mate, but I do know, there are vacant beds, in tents further down the camp.” I must have wandered around the Mamfe Camp for quite awhile, looking for somewhere to bed down. Mamfe is very a very hot and clammy place and with me not feeling very well, the sweat just poured out. Still wearing my dirty O.G uniform, I found an empty tent that had six beds, but no mattresses. Flopping down completely knackered, I was soon asleep and even though I never had a mosquito net in my possession, because all my main kit had been left at Bamenda Camp. More by good fortune I wasn’t bitten. Even the mosquitoes wanted nothing to do with me! Reporting to the Major next morning, I never mentioned what had happened to me, why I do not know. I have regretted not doing so ever since, because I am positive, the Major would have gone berserk, if he had known and heads would have rolled. When one does not feel very well, the last thing you want is to be involved in, is any form of hassle and this is what I can only put down in my defence, in not doing so. After all these years, it still prays on my mind, the way I was treated by that so-called doctor at Mamfe Camp. I have often thought about trying to find his name and where he is now, because I would like to deal with him in true Barrow fashion. As I wrote earlier, the RAF. look on the army as shit and in true reality with scumbags like that doctor, it is they that are shit, of the very highest order. Proceeding on the journey from Mamfe to Buea, the Major wanted to have drive of the Landrover and this he did. He drove very fast on exceedingly bad roads and of course the inevitable happened, the vehicle skidded into a ditch and overturned on its side, luckily although shaken up a bit, no one was hurt. The Major apologised for causing me more discomfort and thankfully with his driver once again taking over the wheel, we all arrived at Buea Camp in one piece. An R.A.M.C. Doctor came to the vehicle and assisted me into the Medical Centre. He said to me “ Come on old chap, that must have been an awful journey.” Those kind words were very reassuring indeed and it wasn’t long before I was showered and in bed with clean pajamas. The next day a doctor gave me a thorough examination and when he looked down my belly button, he said it looked as though someone has had a wire down there. I never said a word, about what the Medical Sergeant had done at Bamenda Camp, but it might have been on my medical card, because his statement was too coincidental. The nurses at the medical Centre at Buea were from the Queens Alexander Nursing Corps, who came out to the Cameroons with the battalion on the troopship Devonshire. Although very firm, the care and professionalism was absolutely magnificent. I was in the Medical Centre at Buea for three days, before I was dispatched to the civilian hospital at Tiko, near to where we landed at Victoria. It was at this hospital, that I undertook tests and treatment to my stomach complaint, not many troops were ever sent to this hospital, so my stomach problem must have caused some concern. The kindness shown to me by the doctors and black nurses at the hospital at Tiko was again truly magnificent and gave me faith once more in human nature. With all the kind attention and care, the doctor told me it was a form of umbilicus disease. He assumed something possibly might have crawled into my belly button, either bitten or laid its eggs, which in turn caused the severe inflammation and fluid discharge. On giving me a bill of good health after being in his care at Tiko Hospital, he said, hopefully I might not have any trouble with it again. Whatever it was or how I came to get it, I certainly didn’t want to go through all that pain and discomfort again and I mad e a vow to myself, to take extra precautions in my own health while in the Cameroons. Thanking everyone concerned at Tiko Hospital, I returned to Buea Camp and reported to CSM Marsh of (HQ) Company, who I might add, was quite a fair chap. He gave me a job of (HQ) Company runner, until a convoy could take me back to my company Bamenda Camp. I still felt a bit weak, with just coming out of hospital, but I soon strengthened up with all the running about I did for (HQ) Company. My hair had grown longer since taking ill and on a bullshit camp like Buea, it didn’t take long before the regimental police saw me and told me to get my hair cut, with the usual words of. “ Am I hurting you?” and on giving my reply of no, they would then say. “ I should be, because I’m standing on your hair!” |
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