MANY PEOPLE living around the world remember Bourne Hospital, either because they were treated there or visited patients. Many will recognise the familiar building complex as "the old fever hospital" and of course, it was known as that in past times, being built as an isolation unit and sanatorium for infectious diseases such as scarlet fever, diphtheria, smallpox, cholera and tuberculosis, all of which were prevalent in the district during the early 20th century although in the final years, it was also used for general medical cases.

By Mrs Winnie Nowak, (née White), of Anchorage, Alaska, USA

I have fond memories of spending my tenth birthday there in the scarlet fever ward. Three of us village children, a girl and two boys, all from Donington, came down with the disease and were hastily sent to Bourne. Apparently I was very ill and delirious when the ambulance arrived but I do remember the driver, Mr Rose, carrying me downstairs. My parents did not own a car, very few people did in 1930, but one of the other patients was from the Caswell farming family and they had a beautiful vehicle and all three mothers would come in it once a week to see us, but of course, they could not come inside and had to stand at the window and talk to us. They would bring us fresh fruit and letters to read. On my birthday, October 24th, I got many cards and a cake that we ate with great relish. 

We were the only scarlet fever patients in the ward for at least a month and then another patient came in from Billingborough. There were not many nurses on the ward but matron was always looking in on to make sure that everything was well. The hospital was spotless and a pleasant and cheerful place to be in the circumstances. The ward was in complete isolation and so we were not allowed out of the building although we could see the TB patients out walking in the grounds and they would sometimes stop at the window and talk to us. We used to play board games to pass the time but we were not allowed to read for several weeks because we were told that it would hurt our eyes and so the ward was often darkened. I always remember feeling so ill and homesick.

Every morning we were served porridge and it was the best I ever tasted and although I have tried to make it the same since, I have never quite got it right. But I still eat a lot of oatmeal and every time I think of Bourne Hospital. There was always fish every Friday and the food generally was rather good. When the time came for my discharge, we were told that we could not take anything home with us, not even my birthday cards, and they all had to be burned which rather upset me. I suppose this was done in case they spread the infection. But I do not think the doctors ever did decide how I contracted the disease and none of my close friends ever caught it.

I was the first of the Donington patients to go home after a full six weeks of isolation. My eldest brother borrowed a car from his friend in Spalding. It was a Rover and he was accompanied by his fiancée and my mother. I will never forget the journey from Bourne to Donington and have told it many times. The weather was foul, a good old pea souper fog for most of the way and my future sister-in law, Olive Leverton, walked beside the front fender to guide my brother down the road. That journey has stayed fast in my mind ever since. Mr Rose seemed to be in charge of everything at the hospital. He and his wife lived in the house as you entered the grounds. They were both very good to us. There were TB patients in another block but we were the only scarlet fever cases at that time. 

Years later while in training to be a nurse at Stamford Hospital, one of the girls came down with diphtheria and was to be sent to Bourne Isolation Hospital. I was assigned to her until the ambulance arrived and who should the driver be but Mr Rose. He remembered me and after a short chat, invited me to stop in to have a cup of tea when my friend and I biked home past the hospital on our two nights off. We did this for some time. The memory of Mr Rose really sticks in my mind because he did so much for us and had a wonderful personality. I have fond recollections of the hospital. It had a fine reputation and I can vouch for the good treatment we received. It is sad to see such a landmark destroyed.

By Philip Hankins, aged 79, of St Gilbert's Road, Bourne, England

I too remember Jack Rose as a lovely chap and we became friends during the Second World War of 1939-45 when he was working at the hospital as maintenance man, although he seemed to do a lot more jobs besides, including driving the ambulance. Jack lived at the gatehouse to the hospital with his wife and daughter Kathleen. In those days, the ambulance was kept in the yard behind the offices of the Bourne Urban District Council in North Street [Wake House] and whatever the weather or the time of day, whenever there was an emergency, Jack had to stop what he was doing, change into suitable clothing, get on his cycle and fetch the ambulance as quickly as possible and then drive to pick up the casualty and take them to hospital. When that was done, he would take the ambulance back and return to his usual duties and he always did it without a word of complaint. I was only 17 but helped out the ARP [home defences against aid raids and other enemy attacks] whenever I could. One of my jobs was to drive a lorry distributing beds and bedding to evacuees in the district, children who had been sent here to live to escape the bombing in their home towns and most of those billeted in Bourne came from Hull. 

The first time I was sent on this assignment I was given instructions to go to the hospital in South Road where Jack would be waiting with fresh beds and blankets that had been cleaned in the steam oven. My job was to deliver them to the homes where the evacuees were staying and collect the dirty bedding and this meant going to Billingborough and the Deepings as well as Bourne. Jack was always full of jokes whenever we met and he used to tease me about catching nits from the bedding although I don't remember ever seeing any. It was difficult to back the lorry through the hospital gates to allow the bedding to be unloaded as there was only about one and a half inches to spare on either side but fortunately, I always got through safely without every knocking anything down. Years later, I was admitted to the hospital myself as a patient and I remember telling this story to the nurses and they all insisted on going outside to take a look at where the gates used to be, because they had gone by then, and even the patients in wheelchairs tagged along to take a look. They ought to name a street in Bourne after Jack and I have suggested Rose Avenue with rose bushes of different colours on either side. With such dedication to his duty, Jack deserves to be remembered.

By Trevor Pool of Halifax, Yorkshire, England

My sister Gwen was infected with scarlet fever when she was 11 years old and was forced to go into the hospital. This must have been about 1932. Their own ambulance came to the house and took her away because that was the law at that time. Later on, a man came to the house and fumigated her bedroom to kill the infection but it was closing the stable door after the horse had gone. In later life, my mother told my brother Cyril that both he and I had contracted the disease and no way was she going to let us be taken to that horrible hospital. It seems that my parents were rather upset at the way they thought Gwen was being treated and she did not care for it either, but then she was a girl away from home in unfortunate circumstances and seemed very unhappy about it and so that was probably the reason. Nevertheless, she was determined that none of her other children would be going there and we didn't. In those days, if any local infections caused above a certain percentage of pupils to be off sick and away from school, then it would have to close and we watched with great interest hoping for an extra holiday as the percentage of sick pupils increased.

By John Stainton of Cape Town, South Africa

I went with my parents on holiday to Bourne to stay with my mother's brother and got to his house in North Road on the Saturday evening. By the following day, I was very ill indeed with a sore and swollen throat and neck, a bad cold and general feeling of malaise. I was nine years old and this was 1934. My uncle called his general practitioner, Dr Monteith, who was most concerned and insisted on fetching the public Medical Officer of Health who I think was a Dr Galletly who lived nearby and after much consultation, they decided that I had got diphtheria and must go to the Isolation Hospital. They reckoned that I had caught the infection on the train journey from London because the carriage had been very crowded. Dr Galletly wrote out a note and went into the street and gave it to a boy with a penny and told him to run with it to the hospital and he would get another penny when he returned with the ambulance. After about half an hour, the ambulance arrived with the boy sitting in the passenger seat and he duly collected his other penny while I was taken to hospital. Diphtheria in those days was usually fatal for children and I spent the next two weeks in hospital and although I do not remember much about the first few days, I have vivid memories when I began to recover and overhearing the matron say that I was lucky to be alive. The nurses were absolutely wonderful and pampered me as though I were an honoured guest and I always say to myself that this treatment is the reason why I have never had a day's illness since.

From Mrs Mary Pearson of Nottingham, England

I remember well my ride in the ambulance from our home in Recreation Road, Bourne, when, at the age of six, I was admitted with scarlet fever in 1934. At that time, there were so many children in the ward that we had to sleep two in a bed. My companion was Dorothy Lemon. In the next bed to us were two boys from one of the villages and cots were placed down the middle of the ward to accommodate everyone. The little girl in the cot at the foot of our bed had diphtheria and cried all night and I used to get out of bed to comfort her. I can still remember her name after all these years. My time in the hospital was not a pleasant experience. I disliked rice pudding very much but the nurse stood over me until I ate it. In the mornings, we all had to line up outside to have our hair brushed, all with the same brush, and I had very curly hair and I dreaded it each morning. The usual stay for scarlet fever was six weeks but the nurse said that if all the loose skin had come off they would allow some of us to be discharged after four weeks. So every night, I would sit up and peel all the skin off my feet and I was one of the lucky ones to get early release. One week after I arrived home, my mum and brother Michael contracted scarlet fever, so off they went to the hospital and my mum and the Matron had a few words for sending me home too soon. I remember also that the bedrooms had to be fumigated.

By Ted Middleton of Brandon, Manitoba, Canada

My father spent his final days there from January until early March in 1996, passing away at the ripe old age of 92. He fell and broke his leg and was taken to Peterborough then moved back to Bourne. He was quite happy with the way the staff looked after him and I found them pleasant and helpful and the building itself was nice and light and well kept. I went to see him one day and he said they were talking about sending him back to Peterborough but he didn't want to go because he didn't know anyone there and you hardly got any visitors. How many people will now have to suffer this loneliness in the future? When I was a kid, they used to treat people with TB there and on nice days, nurses used to push patients in their beds out onto the veranda to get some nice fresh air. I wonder what the residents will do now, especially with the population expanding as it is.

These memories were contributed during 2003

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