Jack Cairns begins his recovery in Boulogne...

“Keep him sedated. The next 24 hours will tell the tale.”

It was Dr Fleming, the little Scots MO, lecturing a nursing sister. I was lying on my side and there were three rubber tubes coming out of my shoulder. They attached to a Heath Robinson arrangement of pipes and bottles, all hanging from a metal frame over me. I waited for the doctor to leave and tried to lift my head.

“Stay still,” said the sister. She had an Ulster accent.

“What is happening?” I asked.

“The doctor is trying to get rid of your infection. You’ve had a rough couple of days, sir.”

I awoke again. It must be morning. I remember the sun coming in through the windows behind my head in the morning. The tubes were gone. The doctor was back.

“Oh hello there,” he said. “How are you doing this morning?”

I took a moment to collect myself. “My head is a bit clearer,” I offered. “My side is very painful.”

“No doubt,” said the doctor dryly. “They closed your wound far too soon and irrigated only what they could see before doing it. You had a very deep infection. Should be dead if I hadn’t happened by, I think.”

He had a cheery bedside manner, this Scot.

“I chased off that American chap and tried the new Carrel-Dakin system. That thing.” He jerked a thumb towards the metal hangar with the bottles, pipes, and tubes.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

“It’s for irrigating wounds with antiseptic. We’ve been using Eusol – Edinburgh University Solution of Lime – to wash wounds. Good stuff, a bit toxic, but good. There’s a new way, though. We put those tubes deep into the wound and used a solution of sodium hypochlorite to fight the infection. First I excised the dead and damaged tissue much deeper into the wound, though. Rather sorry about it, though. I may have ruined your future as a professional weight lifter.”

The doctor chuckled at his own joke. “This afternoon I plan to close the entrance wound in your front. If all goes well, we can close the back in a day or two. I need to make sure we’ve beaten the infection. Oh, and you had a transfusion.”

“Transfusion?”

“We replaced your bad blood with someone else’s good blood.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not anymore,” said Dr Fleming. “The past six years it’s become rather routine. Anyway, must be off.”

I lay back, marvelling at the new world war had brought about.