The Freedom Years

Recent experience of hospitals with my Dad and son, reminded me of Naval medical services. Not people to encourage you to be off work, you often tended to 'get on with it' rather than put yourself through the shame of visiting sick bay. Put it this way, sympathy wasn't a quality listed on the MA's job description. The process started with the MA. and usually went like this... MA - "what's up with you then?" Me - "Ive got flu/stomach pain/arm hanging off" MA - "OK, take these paracetamol" Paracetamol was the cure all, and was what kept the Navy running smoothly. Of course MA's didn't do home visits, so regardless of your condition you had to get there. Hubby once cycled, sweating profusely the few miles from Weymouth to Portland with what was later diagnosed as Gastroenteritis. I rarely used the medical services, but on one occasion had no choice and even had a very short ride in a Pussers Nee-Nar. I was in training at HMS Daeda...

Today one of my Twitter followers, who just happens to live next to what was HMS Daedalus sent me a link to this blog post. I seems that all the years I spent there I was risking my life for my Queen and country - really! So there were twenty tubes of explosives buried under the runway?  Had I known that, I wouldn't have driven along there looking for foxes while on night shift, or practiced driving on ice covered tarmac. There would have been a bit of a mess had they gone up! A little disturbing that 'someone' forgot to mention it or write it down during WW2 so that they could be safely removed when no longer required...... ...watch your step!