Figure 1.-- Another photograph shows me with my small suitcase (June 1952). I am off to spend a few days in the RAF hospital, to have my tonsils taken out. I'm kitted out now rather like a school boy back in England, only without a tie. I don't look to concerned, but it must have been a scary experience for a little guy. It was my first time away from home. Mum has provided details as to what what I had in my attache case, including Benjamin Bunny.

Another photograph shows me with my small attache case (June 1952). I am off to spend a few days in the RAF hospital, to have my tonsils taken out. I'm kitted out now rather like a school boy back in England, only without a tie. I don't look to concerned, but it must have been a scary experience for a little guy. It was my first time away from home. Not sure just what I had in my suitcase, but I checked with an infalable source--my mum who packed it. I had in my little case my pyjamas, toothbrush, writing pad and pencil (I was already writing fairly well) and my cuddly toy, which was not a teddy but my rabbit, Benjamin Bunny, for whom our nanny had made a beautiful blue sari. (Benjamin had the body of a human and the face of a rabbit, so the sari fitted him nicely.) As for the writing pad, not that I would wish to brag, I was writing at five years old. Apparently, I won a handwriting competition in my first school, which was on board the troopship taking us from Southampton to Colombo, when I was 5 yrs 4 months. My tonsilectomy kept me in hospital for about 5 days and my mother still has the letter I wrote home. I was in the mens' ward with another little boy and there were no other in-patients there. The hospital was at the edge of the RAF airfield and the Korean war was on. One night a Dakota[British term for C-47s] landed and wounded soldiers were brought into our ward on stretchers. With no electric, the place was dimly lit by paraffin lamps. The midnight scene of bandaged men suddenly arriving was very scary to a six year old. What was worse was the yelling and crying of the soldiers, who were obviously in great pain. It haunts me still.