in england now

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In England NowA Running Commentary by Peripatetie Correspondents" CORSE," said No. 20, as he passed my bed on his way

to the bathroom, " the doctors can’t know everything.You’ve got to be a gastric yourself to know what’sgoing’on inside. As I see it (and I’ve read about it inthem medical books), the gas forms in the ulcers in this’ere duodenal cap, and every now and then it lifts thetop off ’cm and that’s when you get the pain. You can’ear the gas rumbling round, and if you bring it up youfeels better. But that’s the trouble-to get it up. I’vetried everything, but when one of these attacks is onnothing will shift it. Then again, in a week or two, itbegins to move and after that it comes up lovely."

" One thing," he went on, when I had expressed agree-ment, ," they’ve confirmed that I ’aven’t got the T.B.I’ll show my daughter the report when she comes andthen. perhaps she’ll believe it." His skinny old facewrinkled up, showing an assorted collection of blackenedfalse teeth. " I first went round to the clinic on accountof getting so thin. I ’ad a bit of a cough, too, but Ididn’t tell the doctor there about my gastric-he onlyasked me whether I’d coughed up blood and that kindof thing. I ’ad the X ray and when I come up later to’ear the result ’e took another. ’E looks at the picturesa long time and then ’e says I’m sorry, but you’ve gotthe T.B.’ Corse, when I told the missus she was in aproperflap—made me keep to my own cup and plate and I’vekept to ’em ever since. What with children and grand-children there’s about 40 in our family, so you ’ave tobe careful. I went back to work, but next week theCare Committee sent me to Fergushill ’Orspital, theT.B. place. It was full of Service chaps then. Fourmonths I- was in there, and never ’ad no treatment.A nice old doctor come round every morning and asks’ How’re you ? ’ and when we says All right ’ ’e passeson to the next bed ; ’e never looked at none of, us.We.’ad grand grub-cream, and cod-liver oil and malt,and what else-and I got quite fat. Then one day a newdoctor comes round, a young chap what ’ad been at oneof these sanatoriums and knew all about T.B. ’Eexamined every one of us, thorough, stomach and all.When ’e’d finished with me’e says to the sister: What’sthis man in here for ? There’s no T.B. there. He can gohome.’ Another chap what ’ad been in the ward longerthan me ’e found ’ad a growth on the lung. When I got’ome I used to go to the clinic every six months asthey’d told me, but I didn’t tell them what the ’orspitaldoctor ’d said-I didn’t like to some’ow, seeing as ’owthey’d given me an allowance all the time I was in there.The sister would say, You’re doing very well, dad,’and I would think so I ought to be, since I’d nothingthe matter with me chest. It just shows, don’t it, thatthey can make mistakes with them shadders on thelungs ? " He wrinkled again and trundled his chairdown the ward.

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After your leader on Hospital Manners, I feel it isfair to send you the reason-given in a letter to ouralmoner-why the doctors and nurses " don’t tell youanything." They just can’t get at the facts, and norcan the mothers-in-law.DEAR MADAM,—I do hope you will not mind me writing to

you again, but my little grandson was in the Radcliffe, Iwas informed while in oxford and I ask the person what wasthe matter’she said she did not know for certain but theRumor had gone round that he had stoppage through consti-pation but she did not know how true that was, and of courseit upset me and I felt quite ill while at the baby great-grand-mothers, I did not know what to do for a time, then mydaug4ter- in-law- wrote and told me, that the baby was takenill with pains in the stomach and was sick and had hemaragein the back passage, he was sent to Radcliffe and she informedme if they could find the lump they would oprate, which theydid, now they have wrote and said he is out of hospital andsaid it was his pipe where the food went Down was to narrowin one place he was alwright when he drank anything but whenhe had Solids it use to block his feed pipe up, but as youknow my daughter-in-law told me several Different Storysabout herself that you cannot rely on her for the truth, she

as told me one story about baby and Relations another andto be on the safe side, I would like to know the truth, forshe as blamed it on to several different things at Differenttimes in her letters so I hope you dont mind me asking you.

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Dear Mr. Attlee,—Perhaps you are not really respon-sible for the practice of putting the clock back, but Ihave to blame someone. The farmers, I believe, havealways opposed this jiggery-pokery, and as a fatherperhaps I may add my humble plea. ,

Ever since the clocks were fiddled, my two smallboys have been awake at 5.30, and that means no moresleep for Father. They play for a bit and then the elderone gets fed up and takes to tormenting the younger.On the second day, after many threats, Father eventuallyleapt from bed, beat them’somewhat unsatisfactorilyas there was no bare skin to get at, and flung them intotheir respective beds. Breathing fire, he hissed throughclenched teeth that if they continued to cry they wouldbe beaten again. They pursed their lips, but continuedawhile in muted fashion. -

This Victorian approach certainly bore fruit, - andthough Father is still woken at 5.30 they are a- littlemore circumspect in their behaviour. Heaven knowswhat complexes have been formed to mar their futurehappiness. Father’s nerves are getting decidedly frayed,for, not being a Napoleon, he needs more than six hours.sleep.

,

What makes this particularly hard to bear is theknowledge that the situation will repeat itself throughoutthe years. As soon as the boys begin to settle down theclocks will be fiddled with again, and whichever waythey are changed the result, strangely enough, is thesame.

’

Multiply all this misery a million times, Mr. Attlee,and you will have some idea of #the magnitude of thisorgy of human suffering. All I ask is that, when atlast we reach the age of plenty, we should dispensewith this man-made burden. But I don’t kn.ow .,-’ bythen the little devils will have children of their own, andwhy should they not suffer as they make us suffer now ?- Yours &c., P. Familias. ’

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But surely it is better than (Churmann and AcMahon1933, Rieberg and Oss 1934, Allory 1936, Anny 1940.Aln 1941, Oschcowitz 1945) this, don’t you (Yatt,Icks, and Hompon 1936, Olbrook and 111 1936, Rtiak-.and Aug 1936, Teck, Eutsch, Eed, and Truck 1937,Brams and Auer 1938, Teinberg 1938, Locumb 1932,Reyberg 1942, Anavski, Inkler, and Eters 1945, Reeman.Hoads, and Eager 1946, Ovey and Hitlock 1946, Aul.1946, Evans and Aylor 1941, Aufmann, Eck, and Iseman1947, Agnuson, Elvenny, and Ogan 1947) think ? Notexaggerated.

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Do the anatomists know what the war has done towomen’s hands ? I do not refer to roughened skin,stains, cuts, broken nails, but to size. Work developsthe muscles and broadens the hands, but I maintain thatthe bones in mature adults are hardly likely to lengthen.The manufacturers of gloves and the shopkeepers whosell them seem to think otherwise ; the leading drapersin my district assert that unaccustomed rough work inhouse and garden has enlarged hands to such an extentthat no gloves smaller than size 61/2 need now be made.Only ocular demonstration would convince them that ahand that took size 6 before 1939, and that works ashard as any other, still takes 6, and looks ridiculous in 6½,with flapping finger-tips like a stage comedian. Afterseveral enjoyable chats between the saleswomen andmyself it was finally announced that some day threepairs of gloves size 6 will be included in " the quota."The fact must be that the hands and feet of the

younger generation of women and girls, like their bodiesin general, are larger than those of their mothers andgrandmothers. Sir Grafton Elliot Smith used to teachthat increased use of the hand led to increased differentia-tion of the small muscles and stimulated cortical develop-ment ; - though I have heard it suggested that it was theother way round. It would be interesting to hear fromthe psychologists whether increased size is correlatedwith greater intelligence.