28th August 1974 was a life changing day for me. On that day I was in a motor cycle crash and then dragged along the road by my motor bike resulting in a broken malleolus, shattered patella and badly ripped leg. (I could see my bones.) And I was a VSO (Voluntary Service Overseas) in a small town in Nigeria.
I was taken to the local hospital and patched up enough to be sent home to the UK. My legs and feet were enclosed in plaster from my toes right to the top of my thighs so I was pretty helpless.
A week later my repatriation began.
First Shell-BP lent a small plane for the day so I was flown across Nigeria. I was met at Lagos airport by two representatives from the British High Commission who were there to make sure I had my passport. If I hadn't they would have produced a new one for me.
Then a hair raising journey across Lagos in a very ramshackle ambulance. I had to wait several hours for the flight to London so I was taken to rest in an hotel.
Back to the airport and I was carried up the airport steps like a precious piece of china. The flight crew, the cabin crew and anyone else who happened to be around helped. Nine seats had been removed from the aircraft and a bed installed for me. And the High Commision had arranged for a nurse to accompany me.
It was a night flight to London and we landed on a dreary September day. At Gatwick it was policemen and ambulance men who carried me off the plane. My mother was waiting with a representative from VSO and off we went to London, King's Cross. My rail journey would take another post but let's just say I had a reserved compartment and a Red Cross nurse who came north with me and Mother.
At Doncaster station I had to be taken on goods lifts under the railway to another ambulance and the final leg of my journey to our local hospital. The journey had taken one and a half days.
And then the serious work of recovery began.
