Pertaining to cows

A photograph and a few words...

A virus has struck China, with a total of eighty deaths reported to date. It’s a form of flu that seems to have originated within animals. The spread appears rapid, with cases registered in mainland Europe but not in the UK. It’s, therefore, becoming a centre of focus and concern.

From my journal of the 25 January 2020

Given I am of a certain age, I had my ‘seasonal jabs’ last week. One was a ‘top-up’ Covid and the other for Flu. Now, that's something that will provoke various reactions. This piece may test how measured people are on Substack compared to other social media platforms.

Some may think me foolish in believing in all this Covid ‘conspiracy.’ Some may think that government authorities or corporate giants now control my thoughts or deeds using these vaccines. Some might think it’s simply bad science, and the vaccines might do me more harm than good in the long run. Some may applaud me for being ‘sensible’ and looking after myself.

I’m not writing this to create some raging debate. My view is it’s a personal choice. You weigh the facts as you see them and act as you feel is right for you. Exactly like most things in life, really. And I decided to literally embrace the two jabs with both arms.

Anyway, I’m a pragmatic northeast Englander. I’m not much of one for conspiracy theories. I believe Oswald murdered President Kennedy, Neil and Buzz did walk on the moon, and 9/11 was a terrorist act conducted by those whose fundamentalist beliefs led them to murder. Overall, I find life is more cock-up then cover-up than conspiracy.

It's not only my pragmatism that led me to have the jabs. I am old enough to know people who suffered from diseases now eradicated by vaccines and the discovery of penicillin. For instance, as a teenager in the early 1930s, my mother suffered from Diphtheria and then Scarlet Fever. Those life-threatening diseases of that time meant she lost a year of schooling. In the case of Scarlet Fever, her illness was so severe it meant her move to a 'fever hospital'. The early twentieth-century form of quarantine. Both diseases are almost unknown now in the UK. Yet, when my mother was a girl the two killed thousands of people, especially children, every year.

While I acknowledge we are all subject to governmental authority, allowing us varying degrees of ‘freedom,’ humans also have a propensity to create in our minds some greater invisible authoritarian regime that looks to suppress our actions. To quote from George Orwell’s ‘The Road to Wigan Pier’

“He [the worker] feels himself the slave of mysterious authority and has a firm conviction that ‘they’ will never allow him to do this, that, and the other. Once when I was hop-picking I asked the sweated pickers (they earn something under sixpence an hour) why they did not form a union. I was told immediately that ‘they’ would never allow it. Who were ‘they’? I asked. Nobody seemed to know, but evidently ‘they’ were omnipotent.”

You can see the germ of ’Nineteen Eighty-Four’ beginning to form some fifteen years before its writing. And in a sense, such thinking is a comfort blanket, giving us an excuse not to act on our initiative. 

Anyway, back to injections and over the years, I’ve certainly had a few. And not just in my arms. I recall as a youngster in my backside, too—vaccinations against Mumps, measles, TB, etc. Also, polio, but that was delivered in a kindlier fashion on a sugar lump (is it still administered that way?). I recall with TB, there was a preliminary ‘jab’ on the inside of the wrist. And then, depending upon the reaction to that, a week or two later, the vaccination then given.

I’ve even had a vaccination against the disease from which the technique first became established. Yes, smallpox. Most will know the word vaccination derives from Edward Jenner’s technique of preventing smallpox by injecting people with the similar but much milder cowpox virus, (variolae vaccinae) from vaccine, meaning ‘pertaining to cows’.

That vaccination was required before my first foray out of the UK in 1971, when I was fourteen, with my parents to visit my siblings and their partners. They were all in the Army and based at RAF Wildenrath in what was then the Federal Republic of Germany. To get there, we took an RAF-sponsored flight from London Gatwick. I did have some concerns as to what flying might feel like, but my sister reassured me it was like riding in a bus. The equivalent of describing any unknown food by saying it is ‘a bit like chicken.’

As I felt the kick of acceleration from the roaring engines hurtling the plane down the runway, I thought this didn’t feel like any bus I’d ridden. You soon forget your first flight as all the sounds and manoeuvres of a plane become familiar. The push in the lower back of full power acceleration, that slight feeling of lightness as the plane lifts, the clunk of the undercarriage coming up, the sawing of the deployment and retraction of slats and flaps. Then, as the pilot throttles back, that floaty silence. My sister did not mention turbulence and the stomach-shifting effect of that - no, it’s not like going over a bumpy road on the bus.

Then comes the descent and again those unfamiliar noises emanating from wings and undercarriage. Also, in my case, there was a bit of ear popping as the pressure equalised. A boiled sweet was handed out before the descent began, but no offering as to why it might be a good idea to suck it. As we neared the ground, I watched its rapid approach through the window. Yet I was still caught unawares by the bump of the landing, and heightening my surprise was the then throaty roar of reverse thrust causing me to pitch forward against my lap belt.

That first unsettling experience didn't put me off flying at all, which is a good job given how much I did in my career, and indeed, a large part of my career centred around aerospace. However, unlike many who love the whole experience, I only ever found flying tedious.

But before that first flight came the smallpox inoculation. At the time, there was a smallpox ‘scare’ (it would be another few years before the disease was considered ‘eradicated’) in Europe, and anyone travelling into the Federal Republic of Germany needed proof of inoculation.

So, my parents and I trotted off to the local GP who was to administer the vaccine. Not by injection but by scratching the skin with a bifurcated needle dipped into what was, in effect, a mild dose of the disease. The scratches were then covered and a week later, we all went along to the GP again for examination of a blister that had formed to prove the inoculation had ‘taken.’ We were all blistered, so good to fly, except mine wasn’t as pronounced as it might have been, so the GP added to my proof of inoculation a recommendation to conduct another check when I arrived in RAF Wildenrath.

As I disembarked from the plane, two RAF personnel met me and took me to the military Medical Officer on the base for such a check. The bedside manner of an army doctor varies somewhat from that of a civilian. Almost by numbers, my escort 'marched' me to the consulting room. The doctor then peremptorily ordered - yes, it was an order, not a request, that I remove my shirt for inspection of my blister. The doctor then swiftly removed the covering. After a few seconds of close inspection, he said in clipped tones, "All is in order. You can stay". Again, an order was given to dress, and as with my arrival, my RAF escort took me back to my parents. Goodness knows what would have happened if all had not been in order—no doubt confinement in the brig until the next plane back to the UK.

I can’t say it was only that which deterred me from following my siblings into the Army (it was something I had thought about), but it (and the thought of sleeping under canvas) did make me think about whether it was the life for me.

Anyway, it was a wonderful holiday, giving me a taste for travel that I’ve never lost. The old photograph of me above is from that first foreign foray and that’s my parents strolling down the straße.

So, I draw this to a close and will no doubt get back to my usual meanderings in and around the northeast of England next week. Unless some other unseen omnipotent authority has other ideas, of course. 😉