I was doing quite well in the Pay Office and was well on the road to promotion when disaster struck. The Malayan climate is pretty abrasive in terms of heat and humidity, the country being only one or two degrees above the Equator. The delicate skins of swaddies (or squaddies) newly arrived from temperate climes were susceptible to a variety of tropical afflictions, the most common being sweat rash. This scourge appears in the body creases, which are usually moist, causing unbearable itching and discomfort. It was not normally a major problem, as an application of gentian violet, an indelible purple tincture, usually provided a colourful but reliable cure. I went along to see the MO, who prescribed this remedy, as expected, but the orderly who applied it was obviously a bungling novice! Instead of diluting the medication 1:100, as directed, he applied it neat! The result was that within a couple of hours, the corrosive liquid had removed all the skin from the affected areas leaving large expanses of raw, weeping flesh. There was no alternative: I had to be admitted to hospital.

The military hospital in Johore Bahru was simply an annex to the General Hospital, with a handful of beds and a couple of Medical Corps orderlies in attendance. I spent my nineteenth birthday here, lying in bed and trying hard not to work up a sweat. This was easier said than done as our ward overlooked the civilian nurses’ quarters in the opposite block. In keeping with what I’ve said about the climate, they never shut their windows, seldom closed the curtains and couldn’t wait to get out of their starched uniforms once their shifts were over! After three weeks of this strenuous regime, there being a distinct lack of improvement in my condition, I was transferred to the base hospital on Singapore, where specialised treatment was available, but the view wasn’t as interesting.

Alexandra Military Hospital had a somewhat grisly history, having been the scene of a massacre carried out by invading Japanese troops in 1942, in which they executed most of the medical staff and systematically bayoneted patients in their beds. It was part of the complex where I had been billeted on arrival and it was built on the same open and airy lines as the barrack blocks. There were no windows, only louvered jalousies, which could be closed in the event of stormy weather. We, the patients, looked out onto wide verandahs, which surrounded each ward on three sides and beyond to the immaculately maintained grounds. The whole atmosphere was very restful, extremely pleasant and exceptionally easy to endure. However, medically, my transfer turned out to be a wrong move.

I was placed in the dermatology ward but, because of my raw state, I had little protection against further infection. Consequently, I soon became host to every skin ailment in circulation, except leprosy. I became a walking textbook on tropical skin diseases and whenever courses were held for newly arrived medical personnel, I was paraded before them like The Illustrated Man!

The principal treatment continued to be the gentian violet, suitably diluted this time, supplemented by another preparation called Brilliant Green, which looks exactly as it sounds, and a third anointment called castellanies paint, which is deep red. Smears of various other salves and liniments provided the pastel shades and the polychromatic result was more in keeping with Matisse than medicine.

I was not confined to bed, being free to wander about the grounds, although, because of the awkward location of my condition, I could only wear a wrap-around sarong, giving rise to a popular belief that I had ‘gone native’! However, I could partake of the therapeutic activities conducted by genteel ladies of the Women’s Voluntary Service (WVS). One of the crafts offered was leatherwork and I invested a great deal of time and skill in making a tooled writing case. I had become friendly with one of my co- craftsmen who had smashed his knee in a motor cycle accident somewhere up country. As a result, he had a permanently stiff leg and was earmarked to be invalided out of the Army. He was a regular soldier with a wife in England and he particularly wanted to take her a silk evening dress. As he was scheduled to go directly from the hospital to the troopship, he had no opportunity to do any shopping.

Our WVS teacher, who had a car, offered to drive him into the city to pick out a dress and she asked me if I would like to come along. Leaving the hospital in the company of one of the WVS would not present a problem with the sentries at the gate, so I accepted. The only trouble was that I could hardly go in my sarong and I had no other clothes to wear. My uniform, which had become badly stained from the medication, had been spirited away but I did have my beret and belt plus a pair of leather sandals.

Hospital patients had recently been issued with a set of pyjamas and mine were still brand new. A few minutes with a needle and thread and I had sewn on a pair of shoulder flashes, which could be bought in the canteen. With the jacket tucked into the trousers and the belt covering the waistband they formed a presentable outfit. There was only one trifling and insignificant problem: they were bright blue!

The shade in the back of the WVS car mercifully concealed this fact from the corporal on duty as we bowled through the gates and sailed downtown to the very select shopping area around Raffles Place. Our destination was an expensive department store called Little’s, which can be described as the Harrods of the Far East. My friend examined an array of merchandise, obligingly modeled for him by the Chinese salesgirls, and made his final selection. We then retired to the store’s tea lounge, where the very prim and proper colonial wives were wont to gather for their afternoon tea and gossip sessions.

A few curious glances were cast at my colourful ensemble and I am sure that it was one of the topics being discussed. They probably couldn’t decide whether I was a trooper in the Ruritanian cavalry or a deserter from the cast of the Chocolate Soldier!

Although Singapore is well known for eccentric behaviour, I am quite confident that I am the only person ever to have supped in that august establishment wearing pyjamas!

Little’s, Raffles Place, in pre-war days

Alexandra Military Hospital in 1949

Alexandra Hospital survived the British departure and was incorporated into the city’s civilian medical system.