Judith on Visiting and Her Dad's Views

The comments on the blog about separation from loved ones and normal family life, highlight how devastating it was to have children in hospital long-term and often at some distance from home. Visiting, as other people have pointed out, was hugely important and when I was in MHH it was every day and, I believe, at tea-time/early evening. We lived in Armley, Leeds, I was an only child and, to cap it all, my parents were totally blind (I wonder if Sister Lodge remembers Mr & Mrs Best - 2 blind parents can‘t have cropped up that often). 

Dad visited at weekends but Mum visited 5 days out of 7, accompanied by her sister, my Aunty Clara who lived with us, and sometimes other aunties and uncles too. They had to get 3 buses to Thorp Arch except when the hospital bus ran (was this just Sundays?). There was great camaraderie amongst the parents on the bus and they used the trip as a kind of ’user’s group’ to get support and swap information. Mum visited me for 2 years 10 months and in all weathers including the harsh winter of 1962-63. Looking back, I’m amazed and proud at her dedication but at 5 years old I was pretty aggrieved that she didn’t come every day. 

During weekend visiting, Dad used to get incensed that the TV, which was high up on the end wall, was switched on. He thought that visiting was for conversation, not for families to sit and stare at the box together. He repeatedly asked for it to be turned off, making himself rather unpopular, not least with me once Dr Who started. 

I should point out here that my father held strong opinions and could be an extremely difficult man - intelligent and articulate, but difficult - and we had a fraught relationship later. He was a great complainer and letter writer (he could type) and had a particular loathing for the medical profession. He referred to the doctors as ’ghouls’ and thought they were experimenting on us children for their own dubious ends. My consultant was Mr Clark and every 3 months I had an X-ray and he saw my parents to say, “Perthes not run its course yet - see you in another 3 months.” Dad just didn’t believe they knew what they were doing (doctors then wouldn‘t have discussed what was happening to my bones in the detail he wanted) and such was his rage that he stopped attending the consultations and let Mum go on her own. As “2 years” had been mentioned at the beginning, when 2 years arrived and Mr Clark was still saying, “Not over yet,” Dad asked for a second opinion. I went to Leeds Dispensary to see Mr Fitton who echoed Mr Clark’s view and Dad got the chance to fume, “They’re all the same.” Both doctors though, could no doubt see from my X-rays that my bones weren’t sufficiently recovered to allow weightbearing so knew I had to rest for longer. 

Years later when bed rest and frames had given way to home treatment, Dad was convinced that they’d known all along that hospital stays were unnecessary. Personally, I believe that the 1960’s doctors were giving me what they thought was the best treatment possible according to the knowledge they had at that time. Ideas change - that’s progress. 

A letter Written by my Dad to the Evening Post.

A resident child psychiatrist! He was ahead of his time.

Judith's Drawing

I don't know whether there was some kind of extra block on the end of Small Boys with an aerial on the roof, but the rest of the drawing clearly shows Small Boys with the TV high up on the wall. And Babies Ward adjoining with the high sided metal cots. The stripy things also high up near the ceiling are the ventilation fans. One of my diary entries mentions a bird getting trapped in one of the fans and Mrs Cooper has done a little drawing of her own (as she sometimes did) of the stripy fan and a flying bird.

Judith at "School"

My memories of the two ward sisters, Sister Gough and Sister Lodge (now Mrs Ibbotson!), and the succession of nurses, are that they were largely kind and caring. But the person I really adored at MHH was our teacher, Mrs Cooper. She taught us English and Sums and got us to keep our News Books. I only kept these in term time - there are gaps for the school holidays. 

Mrs Cooper was always bringing us nature and weather reports and updates on what she‘d seen in her garden. She made us a tin & string telephone, painted scenes on the windows at Christmas and when new boy Leroy arrived, whose family came from Jamaica, Mrs Cooper taught us where Jamaica was and how Columbus had bumped into the West Indies while looking for India. 

If I didn’t have my diaries to jog my memory, the only other children I’d remember would be: Coralie (best friend for quite a while, but no idea what her surname was), Steven Woods (he lived near us in Armley), and Joshua (his mum used to pass a comic or sweets to my mum at weekend visiting to give to Joshua every Monday with the hushed words “Our Joss Monday”. This became a catchphrase - “ArJossMundy”.) Of all the patients and staff I remember though, I can’t actually visualize any of them – they’re all impressions rather than faces.

An extract from my Diary

Judith Jones (nee Best) Patient 1961 to 1964

These are part-memories and partly lifted from the diaries (News Books) which I kept at MHH from 1962-64, and from a memoir written by my dad.  

I was a patient in MHH (which we called Thorp Arch) from August 1961-June 1964, aged 4-7, with Perthes in both hips. I’d been limping and complaining of pain in my legs and Perthes was diagnosed by Mr Payne in Leeds. Mum said it was the nearest she’d ever come to fainting with shock when he said that I’d have to go into hospital for 2 years otherwise I’d be unable to walk by the time I was 30 and in a wheelchair by 40. 

I don’t remember arriving at the hospital or being upset for the first week as my dad said I was. He said I cried every time they left, locking my fingers behind Mum’s neck and begging her not to go. Then, after a week, I ’accepted my fate’ and hospital life became normality. 

I found it heartbreaking to read some of the accounts of other patients on this blog, especially Rowland’s, but I have to say that my memories of MHH are almost entirely happy ones. I can still picture the long, long ward - Ward 3, Small Boys Ward (actually a mixed ward) - with the rows of wooden beds which were constantly being moved around. ‘I’m next to Susan’, ‘I’m in the middle of Stephen and Diane’. The beds were pushed outside a lot in fine weather and the ‘shades’ (must have been those pull-out awnings on some of the photos) constantly being put up and down. 

I was on traction for a couple of weeks while my frame was being made – were they bespoke? The frame was metal with padded leather bits for my head, body & legs, straps and a metal bar across my chest to stop me sitting up. It was raised above the mattress so a bedpan could be slid underneath. You just had to ‘go’ and hope the bedpan had been well positioned. Some of the lads used to rock their frames from side to side, building up momentum so that it was possible to crash over the side of the bed and onto the floor. Needless to say, this was a terrible crime - ‘Ian is in a cot because he has been rocking on his frame’. The cots on Babies Ward had high metal sides. 

All our toys, etc, were kept in our bedside lockers, frustratingly just out of reach. I had a small suitcase full of comics, crayons, etc, which was mostly wedged between the frame and the side of the bed so I could get to my stuff easily. I wrote a lot about ‘playing with’ the other children and swapping toys around. 

 Bryan, my husband has called this photo 'Swinging Judy'. Well, I remember being desperate to go on the swings (fat chance) so asking my uncle to push the bed under them before taking the photo.

Yes - I was on traction briefly, then the frame for what felt like ever, then calipers which I never managed to walk on. Hideous things - gave me blisters. And Ward 3 was definitely mixed - probably as many girls as boys, although staff still referred to it as the Boys Ward, not Small Boys, even though there was another Boys Ward. Confusing.

A plea from Margaret Bailey

The following is a copy of an Email sent to the blog and is published in the hope that someone remembers Margaret Bailey

"Hello
 
My Mum Margaret Mitchell nee Bailey was a patient in the hospital from roughly 1962 to 1964 due to ostemylites. 
 
My Mum can remember the caravan in the fields and in 1962 Billy Fury and Marty Wild came to see everyone. Eden Cain also came. 
 
There were only 3 of them that were able to walk and we were wondering if you have had anyone else (staff or patients or teachers) from this era, contact you . . . . .?
 
If so my Mum would love to make contact and see how people are doing, after all this time. 
 
If you have any information we'd be very grateful. 
 
Many thanks
 
Phillip and Margaret Mitchell"

John Holdsworth Rescues Old MHH Photographs

Our thanks go to John for having the foresight to recognise that these photographs would one day be of interest to many and also for saving them from being destroyed and bringing them to our attention. 

His words follow:

I work for the Leeds Teaching Hospitals Trust which, as you know, is the successor to the Leeds Eastern District Hospitals Group which oversaw Marguerite Hepton Hospital. I have an interest in history and photography and in a discussion with a hospital manager a while ago, I was informed that there were a number of sets of old photographs of now demolished Group B and Leeds Eastern District Hospitals in an old store room and that I could have access to them to scan them for my collection. 

Robin Watson adds to his comments on Mr Broomhead's photo

My name is Robin Watson and I was a patient at The Marguerite Hepton Memorial Hospital between 1941 and 1948. I was born on 11th December, 1936, in

Leeds. So I must have been about five when admitted from Leeds General Infirmary.

In about 1943/44 I was sent home for about 9 months and then went back after the T.B. hips flared up again. After a long time of immobilisation (standard treatment) and operations, I finally had a career of nearly thirty years in the nursing profession. A case of prisoner turned warder!!



The next photo is a mystery to me, it wasn’t taken on a visiting day, because we would have had more space between the beds and our lockers would have been there. Furthermore, since we were church-mouse poor, there wasn’t a camera in the family. Perhaps a nurse took it, and gave it to me. It would be nice if someone new came along and shed some light on the matter.

As it is rather difficult to join in an established conversation half-way, I thought I would throw in random memories as they occur. Perhaps the first thing to mention is the names that I remember. Patients: Kenneth Inkpin, Michael Hawkesworth, Michael Grainger, John Taylor, John England, Geoffrey Gresty and Malcolm Dawson. Remembered because we all went on to Potternewton Mansion Special School after MHMH. Although the boys and girls were kept apart, I did know Delia Shaw on the girls ward because we were pen pals. [Note from Jane; Some of these must be in the photo of the ward posted on March 26th. Does anyone recognise themselves?]

Does anyone else remember having a pen pal in the hospital? Other individuals include those already mentioned; Matron Downs, Miss M.A.Budd (Headteacher), Mr. R. Broomhead, Mr. A.B. Pain and Mr. Clarke (Consultants)

The book prize in this photo is entitled "How to see Nature" by Frances Pitt, who broadcast on the Home Service. The first line reads "The best way to see nature, is on one's feet". It wasn’t until years later that I saw the humour of that; at the time I was learning to walk again wearing a leather spica on one side and a steel caliper on the other side!!

Robin's photo of the Big Boys Ward veranda

A view from the admin block end of the verandah, looking toward the main road. At the far back can be seen the houses on the opposiite side of the road, I think they were bungalows.

To the right is the avenue of chestnut trees which was the main drive. At the far left can be seen a corner of the baby ward. It looks as though there are about ten beds on the verandah, and most of the patients appear to be in bi-lateral abduction frames (frog splints), already described previously. I am one of the patient's in that row, not sure which!! and the year is about 1946.

Oh, for perfect recall.

I don't have any ideas about the man on crutches, but he seems involved with the younger lads with what appears to be embroidery. I remember we were taught knitting, sewing, embroidery and, I think, rug making. Looking at the shadows of the beds on the verandah, I wonder whether it i san evening session with a voluntary worker, and the crutches are incidental. I would be about ten years of age at the time, so I can't identify myself - unlike the girls who look individual. Perhaps it is the 'pudding basin' haircuts we all had.

Robin Watson comments on Mr Broomhead's celebration

My name is Robin Watson and I was a patient at the MHMH, Thorpe Arch from 1941 to 1948, with T.B. hips. As I am still re-reading all of the comments and memories from other patients, I will just add a little information about the photograph posted by Fred Dubber. The person sitting on the left with a bald head and spectacles, is, I feel sure, Arthur Bernard Pain, my consultant surgeon for about ten years. I lost touch with him after he discharged me in about 1955, but I did read later, that he had been made the Dean of the Faculty of Medicine at Leeds University.

Mr Broomhead's obituary

I came across this obituary at the Wellcome Trust Library some time ago. Fred and I thought it would make an interesting companion to the photo he posted a few days ago. It's from the British Medical Journal (Vol 288, 14 April 1984, p. 1170). The fact that his specialism was arthritis of the hip is relevant to Florence's experience.

"Mr R. Broomhead, formerly a consultant orthopaedic surgeon in Leeds, died on 3 February aged 81.

Reginald Broomhead was born in Beeston, Nottinghamshire, and was educated at Ackworth School before studying medicine in Leeds, graduating in 1925. He obtained the MRCS, LRCP in 1926 and the FRCS in 1927. At the Leeds General Infirmary he was house surgeon to Lord Moynihan. Attracted to orthopaedic surgery, he visited the clinics of Sir Robert Jones in Liverpool and Smith-Petersen in America to gain experience before becoming consultant orthopaedic surgeon to the Leeds General Infirmary at the age of 29. There followed appointments as visiting consultant to many hospitals over a wide area of the West Riding of Yorkshire. From 1946 he helped to develop the orthopaedic services at the Royal Bath Hospital in Harrogate. Always fond of children, he greatly enjoyed working at the Marguerite Hepton long stay hospital at Thorp Arch. In 1955 he left the Infirmary to go to St James’s Hospital, Leeds, where he worked until his retirement in 1967. In addition to his many hospital commitments he found time for a busy private consulting practice.

Mr Broomhead was largely instrumental in forming the Yorkshire Association for the Disabled, which, with minimal resources, opened St George’s House in 1952 for the young with chronic disabilities. For many years he was chairman and guiding spirit in this venture. Arthritis of the hip was his main surgical interest. After the war he travelled widely to study developing techniques and was one of the first to use the Smith-Petersen cup in Britain. Helped by engineering friends, he developed many new instruments, some of which are still listed in today’s catalogues.

Of his many other interests, the main one was cricket. It gave him great pleasure to be made a life member of the Yorkshire county cricket club, to which he gave his professional services for many years. He loved golf and was a regular player with a low handicap until recent years. He had a lifelong interest in music, playing several instruments; up to 1970 he regularly attended musical soirées in Leeds. He was a freemason and master at two lodges and achieved high mark in the order.

Doctors who were resident with Mr Broomhead still remember his kindness and consideration; to his postgraduate assistants his help was unstinted. His understanding and compassion for patients was a model for medical students. After retirement, he lived at Kipperford, where he developed a fine garden. He is survived by his wife Phyllis, a son, and two daughters. - JMF"

I wonder if the celebration in Fred and Andrea's photo was for his retirement??? If this jogs anyone's memory, do get into touch please.

Mr Broomhead's celebration??

Picture courtesy of Yorkshire Post Newspapers.

The other evening I was discussing Florence's sad experiences with Mr Broomhead with my wife Andrea. She said the name rang a bell and she was sure her late mother worked, as a housekeeper, for him in the late 1940s. Further she remembered a photograph her mother had been given by him and after much hunting around the photo came to light. It was taken by the Yorkshire Post or at least has a YP stamp on its reverse but is sadly not date marked.

The photo shows a celebration of some kind taken, it is thought, in Mr Broomhead's garden at his home in Adle, Leeds. Andrea's mother is seen standing at the very left of the picture. The questions are: does anyone recognise Mr Broomhead in the picture and what was the occasion, one obviously of sufficient importance to attract the Yorkshire Post. If you can answer either question or have anything to add please contact us via the blog email address.

One last comment from Jane about Mr Broomhead's fusions

I was under Mr Broomhead, who performed a spinal fusion on me. I remember my parents telling me later on that the spinal fusion that I had was quite a new operation at the time, though I’m not sure about this – it might be worth checking it out historically. In my case, it worked very well – though the scar is a bit messy – and I wasn’t lame afterwards, like Florence, just a bit limited in what I could do. Maybe spinal fusions were easier to manage - after all, if you can't bend where the fusion is, you can bend a bit further up or down! So whilst I wasn't very supple, I could walk pretty well, play games (some better than others) and especially swim.

It might be useful to know, Florence, whether you arrived at MHH with rheumatic fever? Could you say a bit more about that when you have time?

Carole Reeves on conflciting surgeons' diagnoses

This is part of Carole's reply to Jane's query about putting up Florence's views on this. Jane had wondered whether this was rivalry between an experimental surgeon (Mr B) prepared to take risks, and a more conservative one (Mr P)who wasn't:

"As far as necessary or unnecessary surgery is concerned, I would have to do the research to determine whether these procedures were considered useful by the orthopaedic or rheumatology profession at the time and also in retrospect. She could have been part of a trial to operate or not operate, hence the selection procedure that she perceived to be biased towards private and non-private patients. But this is only guesswork on my part without seeking out the contemporary papers.

Basically, surgeons want to operate and physicians prefer to use 'conservative' management. Nowadays, it's unlikely that children with juvenile arthritis (I'm assuming this is what Florence had although she mentions rheumatic fever, which is a different thing, and the surgery carried on these patients was on the mitral valve in the heart, which is damaged by the bacteria causing rheumatic fever) would have surgery because the disease burns itself out and the management is always conservative - maybe with sparing use of steroids to reduce inflammation in severe cases. Also, they generally come under the care of rheumatologists (physicians) and not surgeons.

Hip fusion (arthrodesis) was a common procedure at the time for children with hip damage from inflammation or TB (both of which damaged the bone and cartilage of the hip ball and socket) and seemed to offer a means of restoring some degree of mobility and to reduce pain in the days prior to hip replacement. A number of our [Craig-y-Nos] TB children did have this procedure done, one of whom - Peter Wagstaff - went on to have quite severe spinal damage and now walks (with difficulty) with two sticks. So, I think possibly it was a case of therapeutic balance - balancing the long-term side effects of the operation with the effects of immobility and pain from joint damage. There could also have been personal rivalry between Broomhead and Pain (what a god awful name for a surgeon), which might be difficult to uncover without serious research."

Comments on Florence's posting

Florence's memories give lots of food for thought! Is it right that you also went to a special school after hospital - as several of us did – Fred also had this experience, and a friend of his from the hospital days. I didn’t, though I don't know why. Maybe because there wasn't a suitable one near enough to where I lived (Pontefract), or maybe because my parents thought it would be best for me to go straight to mainstream school.

In fact I went to a local primary school – at the beginning wheeled there in a wheel-chair by my mother, then later I walked. That was quite difficult as I was different from the other kids. Not only couldn't run as fast, but I was still wearing a spika at the time, which because it prevented me from bending at the hip meant that if I fell I couldn't pick myself up on my own. Some people would help, others just stood over me and laughed. Probably they were embarrassed too, but it was very humiliating. To this day I’ve always been touchy about people coming to help me if I fall down in public, which has tended to happen from time to time, and more frequently since I had my hip replacement. I know they mean well, but I would ideally like to become completely invisible until I've been able to pick myself up and resume my imitation of being normal!

Often, like you, this makes me angry. And I think I was also a pretty unhappy teenager, too. You do a lot of comparing yourself with other people at that age, don't you, and I also think that because we had to learn to do lots of physical things rather deliberately we might have done more comparing than most. I moved awkwardly, and I hated my image in the mirror. Once the new free forms of dance (jive,cha cha, salsa and so on) came in and you didn't have to do the formal steps of fox-trot and waltz I really began to love dancing, but I was always too inhibited to trust myself and the rhythm of the music. As a wonderful Caribbean dance tune has it 'I feel it in mi waist' - but then my head gets in the way!

I found what you said about your family's reactions to your being in hospital really really interesing. I didn’t realise that sisters and brothers weren’t allowed to visit, though in fact several people mention it in their memories. It must have been very tricky on both sides, for them having to make space for a strange child who was supposed to be their sister, and for you having to find a space in the family.

I was my parents’ only child when I became ill, and they decided not to have any more while I was in hospital. They thought if I came home and found another child, I might assume I’d been replaced with a better model. Good psychology, I think now, though at the time I pestered my mother to have a brother or sister – preferably an older one!! By then I was 8, with my Mum coming up to 40 and probably not keen to start childbearing again. I wonder whether she might even have been quite relieved to be able to put off having another child – they’d had a lot of trouble having me.

There's a lot to say about the differences of opinion between surgeons, so I'll leave that till tomorrow.

Jane replies to Florence

Florence, I've contacted Carole about whether we can put such frank views up on the website, and her view is that of course we can. This is what she says:

"It's perfectly alright to put this up on the blog as it is. We have done the same with our [Craig-y-Nos] participants. It is, after all, Florence's experience and how she feels about it. That is historically acceptable and ethical. One of our ex-patients has written about being sexually abused by a ward sister whom she names and this is on the blog. The ward sister is still alive. One of our community workers - an ex-nurse herself, has attempted to make contact with her but without response so far. She hasn't sued us anyway! I wouldn't anonymise anything on a blog because the function of a blog such as yours and ours is to give a voice to the previously anonymous and to open up dialogue between others with similar experiences."

This is really helpful, and is what I personally think should happen. It also makes clear that none of us feel be inhibited about writing as we feel.

Florence Gill feels she suffered from surgeons' disagreeing diagnoses

Happy New Year! Let's hope it brings many new correspondents to the blog. The Wellcome Trust Foundation brochure Highlights is now out, which might bring in new people.

Here's the first posting of the year. Florence actually wrote towards the end of November, so I apologise for delay in posting her very interesting message. It became part of an interesting correspondence with Carole Reeves, so I decided to save it up and post the whole sequence.Here's part one!

"It’s some time since I last wrote to you about the Marguerite Hepton Hospital. I have written quite a lot in the rough and have been rewriting it to make it more legible. It takes me some time as my hand goes into cramps.

Cynthia says you were particularly interested in how you cope as a lame person and how you feel about one’s appearance. In hospital it didn’t enter my head as we only had mirrors for the head and shoulders. In the outside world you soon begin to know what it feels like to be different. Not school because most of us were in the same boat, but in the street and going out to work. Being made fun of, some copying your walk. People making remarks in your hearing as though we are deaf or unfeeling or a freak.

I didn’t take it lying down, if I could give them a slap I did, and I also developed quite a nasty bitter tongue and used it. I think I was rather an unhappy teenager. One boy used to follow me home and make fun of me. I did cry sometimes, but in a rage. I notice now when I am in a wheelchair people don’t look at you, it’s as if they don’t want to see you. I feel mad and angry even now as there was no need for the operation as I later found out.

When I recovered from the rheumatic fever I was put under Mr Broomhead and Mr Pain. Mr Pain told my parents to take me home to rest but Mr Broomhead had me put on the Thomas frame and sent to Thorpe Arch. He then told my parents if I had this hip fusion then I could go home sooner. No mention was made of the fact that this op would cripple one and cause damage to the lower spine, but he knew it would because when he asked his students what would be the outcome if the op went ahead one student said spinal damage. The doctors discussed this round my bed and I heard it. They think children don’t understand but I did.

I’ve already said we went to the LGI for operations at that time, and Mr Broomhead was ill, so nothing happened for a while, and then they sent me down to theatre and Mr Pain was operating and when he came out to see who was next he came to me and looked at my case notes, threw them down on my trolley and told the nurse I didn’t need an operation and to send me home. I would just like to say when he came out his apron was all bloody.

Much later, Mr Broomhead came back and I went down to theatre again. Two nurses came with the mask they put over my nose and began pouring the ether on and telling me to count to a hundred. I thought if I held my breath it wouldn’t work so I did, but I took the off my nose and threw it across the room. I fought, kicked and struggled but went down fighting until I knew no more.

The ending to this part of the story came with the forming of the NHS. I’ve more or less been having check-ups at the LGI since I was fourteen, and I saw a new specialist and he told me these hip operations were no longer needed and should not have been done in the first place. I was enraged and up to a point still am.

One other thing that makes a different to one on arrival home after five years was how one’s sisters and brothers react to you. When I got taken away I had two sisters and a brother, and one born while I was away. They were never allowed to visit so they didn’t really know me and for many years I felt an outsider apart from my brother; he was only eight on my homecoming but he was very welcoming.

There were quite a few private patients and they never seemed to have operations so I have to think we were guinea-pigs. My close friend Hetty Bryan felt the same way to me. We were in touch occasionally until her death some time ago.

I’m not too sure about this article being put on the computer. What do you think? Have you had anyone saying anything similar?

Season's Greetings

Dear all of you,
This is just to let you know that the blog has not died - I've just been stuck with a string of deadlines. One of them was for a little article about the blog to go in the Wellcome Trust's brochure, which is called Highlights. Carole Reeves, who is the Wellcome Trust's Outreach officer, and has been very helpful to me over the blog, invited me to do it. Apparently the brochure is distributed all over the world, so we hope it will bring in a new flurry of contributions to the blog. Carole has just sent me a copy of the brochure, just out. It's beautifully produced, and there we are on one of the centre pages. I'm hoping that, like last year's brochure, it will soon be possible to see it on the Wellcome Trust website, though it isn't there yet. I'll let you know when it is so you can go and see it.

Have a very happy Christmas holiday break, and I wish you all the very best for 2009, despite the gloomy outlook.

The Christmassy photo is courtesy of Fred!

Harry Dodgson is reminded of plaster beds

It is amazing how the posts bring back deeply buried memories.

Jane's post about the plaster cast making brought this all back to me. For a long time I had a posterior plaster but after my operation I had a full plaster from my shoulders to my hips. I remember the plaster sores which were very painful and had a terrible smell. After a while the plaster was removed in order to treat these sores but as soon they healed I had a new cast.

I recall when I was told I could learn to walk, however I first had to get accustomed to being in a vertical position. I was placed in a frame, made of wood I think, which enable me to be upright without falling over. After a while in this frame I must have been taught to walk although I don't recall that part of it.

After I was discharged and attended school, the headmaster, who knew I had had a long spell in hospital, did not know how to treat me and so came to discuss this with my father who told him to treat me the same as any other pupil.

When the patients were having lessons in hospital they had to write with pencils of course. Pen and ink was not possible. The result was of course that I did not know how to use a pen and ink. We had to use those awful pens with steel nibs and so I always had school books covered in ink blots which always got me into hot water. The headmaster had a short fuse and often threw the wooden blackboard eraser at an offending pupil. He was a good shot however as he never hit anyone.

Geoff Smith comments after spotting the blog & contacting us by email

I started training as an Orthopaedic Nurse at Huddersfield Royal Infirmary, as part of that training you were seconded to MHH, cant remember how long 2 or 4 months. I think only 2 or 3 groups were seconded, and then they were sent to a hospital in Sheffield. At this time (1971) it was not beneficial for nurses from a training point of view.

The staff were very friendly, and a lovely community atmosphere. The hospital had some lovely grounds, but not used. Nothing was locked up and you could go an raid the hospital fridge if you were hungry.

Gerry (Gerald Appleyard) was one of the Charge Nurses and that's how I got to know him.The Matron was called Weddall and her brother worked nights there. He used to make the porridge for breakfast. He had it cooking all through the night. He had a Ford Zephyr car and would go into Boston Spa and get us fish and chips.

Ward 3 was for older boys and Ward 4 younger ones.

Very few Orthopaedic Patients, some babies from Meanwood Hospital who had severe mental disability and stayed in cots all day, they were fed, washed. They had repeated epileptic fits and just awaited the inevitable. Most of their parents never visited.

There was a portacabin on the grass as you went into the grounds, this was

for admin staff.

Edward Green, at MMH 09/56 to 03/57. At aged 14, he was the oldest patient!

I came across your blog re. the above hospital. I was a patient from September 1956 to March 1957. I had an orthopaedic problem with my knee. I have lots of happy memories from my stay.

Aged 9 I took a really hard bang on my knee from a roundabout in a children’s playground. In the following 5 years the knee would repeatedly lock and I was back and forwards to Leeds General Infirmary to see an orthopedic specialist.

He eventually admitted me to MH Hospital for 2 weeks observation in September 1956, so that if it locked he would have a "reliable" witness. I thought "Great, 2 weeks off school”, as my Mam and I drove down the lane leading to the hospital in an Ambulance car. I saw all the kids on the veranda doing school work, and my bubble burst! I was 14 years and 2 months old, the next oldest boy was just 12.

MH. Hospital at that time was a probationary training hospital for nurses having to do a 2 year course then going onto larger hospitals, like Leeds General Infirmarly and Pinderfields [in Wakefield]. They started at age 16 then moved on at age 18.

Up to that time I had rarely come into contact with girls and couldn’t understand why I seemed to get more attention than the other kids. There where about 20 boys on ward 2, as it was known then, and I was the only one not confined to bed. I was amazed to find out some of the kids had been in hospital for years, being treated for TB, Polio and Perthe's disease. I became scared in case I caught one of the diseases until I was assured this could not happen.

I spent most of my time picking things up off the floor that had fallen off the other kids’ beds and passing comics, toys and any other item from bed to bed. On the day the orthopaedic specialist visited I was confined to bed. All our case-notes lay at the base of the bed. I picked mine up and tried to read it but couldn’t understand it, until I turned a page, and written across the full page in large letters were the words "TRUTH DOUBTFUL". I felt my face redden and quickly threw the case-notes back on the bed. I suddenly felt so alone and afraid. When the consultant came to me Sister told him I had been very active and very helpful on the ward - in other words there’s nothing wrong with him!

Two days before I would be discharged I was bouncing on my bed when my knee "locked". Ii screamed for Sister, she and 2 nurses came dashing from the office and witnessed my knee locked with a pea sized piece of cartilage protruding from the side of my knee-cap. The outcome was I had an operation, 12 pieces of shattered cartilage were removed (along with "that" page from my case-notes). I spent the next 6 weeks in a plaster cast, groin to ankle, but was still fully mobile, doing all kinds of jobs helping the nurses hand out and collect bed-pans and bottles. One job I enjoyed was rolling up the dozens of bandages on a small mangle like machine after they had been washed - they where used to strap all the kids’ legs into their frames and splints. Thirteen years ago, aged 53, I had a total knee replacement.

Christmas was a great time, with a doctor dressed as Santa handing out presents to us kids. The Registrar was a Mr. Yeomans, the Physio was Miss Anne Berry. I can only remember one nurse who I had a school-boy crush on, Margaret Brett, and Mary the cleaning lady. I have enjoyed writing about my 6 months in M H Hospital and many other memories have come flooding back. I do hope you have enjoyed my small contribution.