Letters to America Letters to AmericaPenfield Road was a bigger road than Greenaway Road and there is now an exit onto it from the Freeway, which of course did not exist in the 40s. We cycled along Penfield most of the way to school. On the right, shortly before the road dipped under the railroad bridge there was a large house where a family lived who had 4 boys, who were all older than us. Ted was friendly with them and we were allowed to play in their garden, which had a lot of very big trees in it. A swing hung on 2 thick ropes from a branch of one of the trees. We often went on this swing. One day all 3 of us were playing there. Nobody else was around. Ted was swinging when suddenly something broke. Ted fell off and a large wooden beam fell down and hit him on the head. He was obviously badly hurt. I sat down with his head in my lap and tried to comfort him and I sent Sandy home to fetch help, which luckily wasn’t long arriving in the form of Mary in the car. Ted was concussed and was in bed [at home] for several days, not even sitting up. Luckily he made a full recovery.
It happened in the spring of 1945. On Saturday evenings we used to listen to the radio programme “Hit Parade” that began at 9pm. The top selling 10 songs of the week were played, culminating in #1. I was a fan of Frank Sinatra at the time. One night Mary, the boys and I were in the living room listening. About half way through the programme the dog, Smokey Joe, began to scratch at the French windows in the study to indicate he wanted to come in. The downstairs being open plan there were no doors, except into the study and that one was open. I had to let the dog in. Not wanting to miss the best part of the programme I ran from the living room, across the hall, through the dining room and into the study which had a wooden floor and a loose mat. I slipped on the mat and crashed onto the floor, putting my hand through a pane of the outside door in the process. When I stood up my left wrist was spurting blood several feet across the room. It didn’t hurt but I was shocked and called out, “Help me somebody, please!” Luckily Mary had taken first aid classes because of the war and had helped out in the hospital, being a “nurses’ aide”. She knew what to do, and I don’t think many people would have done. She quickly called for a tea towel, with which she made a tourniquet. I remember she used a pencil in the knot so it wouldn’t be too tight and could be loosened on occasions. Then she got the car out and the next thing I knew she was rushing me to Rochester hospital. I was on the back seat. I think she left the boys behind. I remember that I could bite my finger and not feel anything. Without doubt she saved my life. When I was admitted they had to find a surgeon to operate. Apparently nobody would take the risk. The only person they could find who would do the job was many miles away and it was some hours before he arrived. Then I was taken to theatre and given gas and air. The surgeon was a Doctor Angevine, Mary told me afterwards. She seemed to be surprised that he would do it because “he’s Irish and you’re English!” I didn’t know why that should make any difference but evidently she thought it would. The Irish weren’t supposed to like the English.
I was in hospital, having blood transfusions for 4 days. Then Mary came with the boys and took me home. My arm was in a sling. Because of that I was not able to play in the annual recital that my piano teacher, Mrs Comstock, had arranged at her house. That upset me because I was looking forward to playing. I looked through my book and found a piece that was all arpeggios(1). I discovered that I could play it using only my right hand. So I did. That would have been in June.
