Lisbon
div>
In the afternoon of my first day on the ward I was able to take stock of my fellow patients, in the bed to my right was an Irishman, about 45 years old, he had been there for about a week. To my left was a Dane, who looked like a Viking, face was cut out of granite, high cheek bones and deep set grey eyes; his broken nose bore testament to the many scrapes he had been in in his long life. Opposite me was a young Egyptian ,a couple of years older than me, looked like a young Omar Sharif and was a member of the Nasser family. Together ,we were all merchant seamen. The Irishman was an engineer who had been sailing on German ships and was domiciled in Germany (I was always afraid to ask what he did in the war, he often spoke about how things were in Germany during the war and it was only15 years ago ), the Dane was a bosun and was off a Maersk boat, young Gamal was a third officer off an Egyptian ship and like the rest of them had been there a week or more.
The Dane had a big Hohner accordian and would sometimes entertain us to a medley of tunes, I loved those moments, the Nurses and maids, who could spare the time, would come on to the ward while big Erik played
Paddy was ,like most Irishmen it has been my pleasure to meet, a great storyteller; he told brilliant jokes too, only trouble was ,it hurt like hell to laugh..
Later in the evening of that first day ,Nurse Scarlet came to my bed with a length of rubber hose ,a syringe of huge proportions ,a bedpan and a look of malicious glee on her face. I had?nt the foggiest of what was going on as she silently pulled the curtains about my bed. She seemed about to break out into laughter and I was wondering what the source of her mirth was .
?Come up? she said as she helped lift me on to the bed pan ? The earth is about to move for you? After she had she had administered the enema, more than the earth moved, I had a total out of body experience. She was a very funny and mischievous lady. Tickling things she should?nt and sending a young mans hormones rocketing up the Richter scale.
I was able to have a solid meal for dinner after that, my first taste of proper Portugese food, a bit strange at first because it was cooked in olive oil, something that was rare to a young scouser in those days. It did?nt take long to get used to it and I soon came to enjoy it..
Although this was a British hospital it was also used by middle class Portugese and other nationalities, the Portugese hospitals being at that time abysmal places, where the patients families were responsible for providing their food ,laundry and bathing. A bit like the NHS has become now. Back then the NHS were paying for my treatment and I was a ward of the British consul. That night ,the other three patients had visitors, Pat had an Irish priest visit him, Erik had the Danish consul at his bedside and Gamal had the Egyptian consul at his. I felt a little homesick then.
I learned to love the mornings in that little ward, the sun used to come shafting through the sash windows and the temperature was just right, warmish; we were on the third floor and the street below was called the Rua Saraivia Du Carvalho. A beautiful name to speak. About half past seven every morning the sounds of the street sellers would begin to fill the air , they would come one at a time ,regular as clockwork, their cries almost a song as they called attention to their presence. The streets of our towns must have resounded to similar sounds in bygone ages. The milkman was first and then the baker, the produce seller and all the tradesmen men that made life so much easier for the maids and housewives. The most musical cries were those of the tinker , he would push his little cart on which he either sharpened knives or mended pots, this was before the throwaway age. I can still hear the sound of his grinding wheel as he used to sharpen the blades, a sort of raspy shriek as he pedalled at the flywheel.
On the second night of my confinement there was a commotion on the ward some time after midnight. We were awakened out of our slumbers by the rattle of gurneys and the hushed voices of nurses. Two of the beds had screens around them and we could see the shadows moving on them. Tiredness took
us back to sleep and we awakened next morning to find two new patients on the ward.
They were Royal Navy personnel off the H.M.S. Ajax, she was on a courtesy visit to our oldest ally and Bob and Robin had urgent need of good medical facilities. Bob was a Petty officer and had suffered a badly broken jaw ,the result of disagreement and Robin ,like me ,had had his appendix extracted. Robin was put alongside me and he proved to be a very agreeable fellow,a Kentish lad ,he looked like a scrapper but was very shy with the nurses. Bob had his jaws wired up and could?nt manage a conversation at all ,he was a smiler though. Pat , our Irishman told some ripsnorting jokes and poor old Bob was in agony trying not to laugh.. That afternoon the commander of the Ajax came to visit his men.He was an archetypal Royal Naval officer, square jawed, ramrod straight and ruddy faced ,he exuded power and strength. He had a real hearty laugh and Robin must have told him that I was an English seaman for after sitting with them he came and chatted to me ,well I say chatted ,he bellowed!! ?Ya had any visitors yet Lad!!? he roared. I shook my head in reply.
?Lisbon has the biggest British population outside of the U.K. and yer haven?t had a visitor yet!!!? I looked up at his beefy red face, he was angry.
?Well ,we?ll soon put that right Lad!? he bellowed and, saluting his men ,spun around to the door with a cheery wave as he made his exit.
After dinner that evening a horde of people thronged through the ward doors,
men and women in very expensive clothing and wafting aromas of exotic perfumes and colognes came toward my bed .I felt like a zoo object, they were visitors ,not to comfort me but to LOOK at me. A little Scouse seaman .My accent was still pretty thick in those days ,not that I was ashamed of it , my accent was part of me ,and still is to this day. No ,they were here for entertainment. The men were those indolent foppy types ,pale faced and soft hands with accents that were right out of a 30?s British movie ,and their ladies were the kind that peopled our empire and kept the houseboys in full employment.
I don?t know if it was pre arranged ,but within a very short while I was left with just the men around my bed. One of them leaned forward and asked ,lispingly ? Are yeow a weal sailor?? I answered yes .
?Well , could yeow say some swearwords for us?? I felt a surge of anger.
?Yiss ,now feck off? I shouted. They tittered merrily ? Awfy good what? one giggled. ? I mean it mate, Feck off, I?m not a fecking peepshow?
My blood was roaring and the matron came and swept them away.
One young lady stayed behind , dressed in a two piece outfit that would have cost a fortune ,cool in an elegant Grace Kelly way, this was Patricia, the daughter of the resident Anglican vicar of Lisbon.
She came to me after the boors had gone and apologised on their behalf ,she said that they were so dissolute that they had forgotten what good manners were like. Apparently I had just met the members of the Port wine families ,Britains oldest exiled families.
Patricia was in her early twenties and was working as an announcer on Portugese television , she was to become my regular visitor for the rest of my stay.
I had another visitor that evening ,the British Consul ,he brought my kitbag ,discharge book and the news that I was now a Distressed British Seaman. I had a grand total of four days pay due and would not be in receipt of funds from anywhere. How wrong would that man be?
Bookmarks