On this day 60 years ago, Aberdonians were beginning to feel the grip of fear.
May 20, two students were diagnosed with the hugely infectious and potentially fatal disease typhoid.
Tales of deadly outbreaks in history books or poverty-stricken countries. We knew nothing about it, but the very word terrified us. How could it possibly be on our doorstep, in the mid-20th century, in the beautiful Silver City by the sea?
Daily, the EE was reporting – at first just in small paragraphs – the number of cases, which steadily and scarily rose. By May 23, 24 were hospitalised. May 24: 40. By the next day, that had jumped to a scary 59 admitted to the so-called “Fever Hospital” – the City.
Every day brought increasingly frightening numbers of confirmed and suspected cases, which soared as the “epidemic” hit the national headlines. By May 30, confirmed cases hit 141, with another 42 suspected.
This in spite of ferocious instructions by Medical Officer of Health Dr Ian MacQueen for us to tighten up our hygiene – eg washing hands after the toilet. (Can you believe that, until then, we didn’t – even though I was sharing toilets in a tenement? Gads!)
That was when Dr MacQueen decided we were onto a second wave. Instead of pupils being banned from sharing food, all schools were closed. In his typically lugubrious tones, that Saturday night on TV, he declared us “a beleaguered city”, banning folk from leaving or arriving, closing down every cinema and restaurant. Crystal-clearly, I remember how mum and I were terrified as we watched.
The good – and absolutely daft – news was that the weather at the beginning of June was superb. Hot sunshine every day. So, fit did we feel quines banned fae school dee? Doon to the beach in droves. Stripped aff, slathered oorsellies in olive oil, and shared oor sandwiches and ale. Dr Mac would have had a hairy canary.
The pariahs o’ Aiberdeen
By this time, the source of the disease had been pinpointed to William Low’s shoppie at Holburn Junction. Thought to be an infected tin of Fray Bentos corned beef, while the same machine diseased other cold meats.
In those days, mum worked as an upholstery sewer in Archibalds. No kiddin’ – my favourite tea was chips, beetroot and corned beef. So, most evenings, she’d get three slices of the meat from Low’s, into the chipper in Short Loanings, and home to Watson Street to deliver my nectar of the gods.
Once the cases slowed down, life gradually went back to normal. The Queen visited to show the rest of the nation we were safe
How we avoided catching typhoid, I will never know. At its peak, more than 500 fell victim to the disease – a huge number in oor wee city – although no deaths.
Once the cases slowed down, life gradually went back to normal. The Queen visited to show the rest of the nation we were safe. Entertainer Andy Stewart did a show at HMT – best joke: “Only in Aberdeen could you get 500 slices from a tin o’ corned beef.”
By July, we were allowed to travel again; my pal and oor mums on a coach to Northern Ireland’s Ballycastle. Sadly, the atmosphere in the beachside hotel turned soor after the other residents discovered oor hametoon.
When mum breezed into a gift shop, happily declaring her part of Scotland, she was breezed right oot again. Spik aboot the pariahs o’ Aiberdeen. But the first place in the UK not to charge to spend a penny!
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press and Journal, and started her journalism career in 1970
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