Isolation

Mrs Catherine Curran

In the moments after awakening from sleep when one is quite disorientated a kind of peace is felt. Only when reality clicks in does the horror manifest itself. I quickly realised I was in hospital to which I had been brought by ambulance two days ago. There was a window behind me and on either side of me were glass partitions. I could see other people incarcerated in similar fashion. No one spoke or smiled. I had never seen a nurse until I came here and there were many moving smartly around doing all sorts of things. I was forbidden to leave my bed, I could not go to the lavatory, a nurse brought me a bedpan. It was all very strange and frightening for a little girl of eight. Unfortunately, I wet the bed and was duly chastised.

It was a sunny Sunday and I could see, through the window lots of grass and trees and other red brick buildings. The time passed very slowly with nothing to do but watch the activities of the nurses. I hoped none would stop at my bed bearing a metal tray covered with a cloth hiding unknown tortures. The wireless in the ward was switched on and the nurses gathered around to listen. I heard a man's voice but did not know what he said. The nurses cried and seemed very upset, I had cried a lot since being here but was chided for doing so; I quickly learned to cry under the bed clothes. I knew why I cried; I wanted my mammy. I did not know why the nurses were crying.

Soon everything in the ward returned to the normal routine. Food was presented and I hated it. Once more I was in trouble and told to eat my food. In my house my mammy fed me delicious food in small quantities. I was the youngest and only girl in the family and probably rather spoiled.

Time passed very slowly and once again there was the bedpan round, beds were constantly tidied and never a kind word was spoken. The people in the other beds were either too ill to speak or could not hear. All I could do was kneel on the bed and gaze longingly towards the gatehouse.

After what seemed a very long time, I noticed people coming up the driveway. They headed in all directions and were carrying bags. At last I had something to interest me. Among the people heading towards me I spotted my mammy. Oh, what joy, I could not believe it and on she came into the ward carrying a bag. We were both delighted but as Scottish Presbyterians there was no hugging or kissing. This did not mean there was a lack of love just no outward demonstration of it.

Great excitement followed as she started to empty the bag. As ever she had carefully thought about the things I liked and brought them for me. Toiletries, (we did not call them that then) soap and a face cloth, clean pyjamas, a jumper which was badly needed for there was plenty of fresh air and all windows were open. I had a very sweet tooth and of course there were sweeties and biscuits as well as a bit of my Auntie Jenny's sultana cake and a copy of the Dandy comic and a book called Heidi. There was still something left in the bag that I wanted to see and craiked on about it. Mammy was reluctant but eventually gave in. She pulled out my wire hairbrush. There was a moment of dismay before the two of us burst into tears; my head had been shaved. This had been the cause of some of my tears, each time I caught sight of myself in the glass partition I cried. The precious day, without warning, a nurse approached my bed, tied a linen towel round my neck, put an enamel tray in front of me and proceeded to shave off my hair. The hair fell into the tray and tears followed. It was an extremely traumatic moment but I was not alone. All my children had their heads shaved. My eminently sensible mother wiped my tears and her own and refused to allow me to feel sorry for myself.

I watched her go down the driveway until she disappeared from sight. It would be another week before I would see her again; visiting was only allowed once a week.

The man who spoke on the wireless was Neville Chamberlain the date was 3rd September 1939. He said 'I have to tell you we are at war with Germany." On the same day some of the patients were evacuated to a hospital in Largs for safety.

My mother with her bag full of goodies visited me every Sunday for thirteen months. This must surely have been a demonstration of love. At the time there was no cure for Pulmonary Tuberculosis, I was one of the lucky ones. I did not see anyone die but one day there would be an empty bed and the person was not seen again. My parents did not think I would see adulthood. I was 77 on my last birthday.