Dear Wig. list, and listers all, though this letter is not strickly Genealogy business, it should merit some place in the history of our transition from the 1930's to where we are today. The year was 1939, I and two of my brothers were incarcerated in the Infectious Diseases Hospital in Newton Stewart, suffering from Scarlet Fever, in my case, it was worse, because I had Jaundice at the same time. The combination of both made me a very sick little lad and I was detained there for several weeks after my brothers had gone home. The Castor oil and the orange juice, seemed to be the only diet I had, and they had to be administered while I was sitting on the toilet, my system must have had a total aversion to castor oil, for no sooner swallowed, it was out the other end. Visitors were not allowed, owing to the risk of spreading the disesases, so if my mother came to see me, she could only look through the window. It was a distressing time for all, then come the declaration of war, I can still hear the speech, as it was read out on the ward radio. Soon after that I was allowed to go home, my mother come to get me and because I was so thin after loosing most of my body weight, due to the sickness, she had knitted stockings with extra thick wool to hide my thin little legs On the way home she told me of this plague of fleas that emerged in the village, no one seemed to know where they originated, but almost every house was inundated with them. The only deterrant available at that time was DDT, now a banned substance, but we lived with it for several years until the local council decided that the only way to get rid of the vermin, was to burn all bedding and mattresses and any old clothing that might harbour the vermin. All houses had to be evacuated, then fumigated, it was awful. Living with the pests was a nightmare, as soon as one got into bed and was just warmed enough to get to sleep, the onslaught would begin, and soon one would be wriggling like an eel in a wet sack. Robert Burns, our National bard, had them summed up pretty well, in his description of them, on seeing one on a ladies bonnet, at the church. I quote, " Ha! whare are ye gaun, ye crawlin ferlie? Your impudence protects you sairly; I canna say but ye strunt rarely owre gauze and lace, Tho' faith! I fear ye dine but sparely on sic a place. Ye ugly, creepin, blasted wonner, Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner, How daur ye set your fit apon her, sae fine a lady! Gae somewhere else and seek yer dinner, on some poor body. Unquote. Slappin' and scratching well into the night, trying to ward off the crawlin' craters, eventually giving way, to the sleep of the youth. However, the morning soon uncovered the little round red spots that indicated the number of bites sustained during the night, they were hideous we went to school with our shirt collars standing up, trying to hide the telltale marks, stockings pulled up over our knees to hide the bites on our legs, and the same with our arms. If ever there was a plague to be shunned, this was it, the fleas were totally indisciminate, they attacked all and sundry, and we certainly rejoiced the day when all the old bedding was dragged out and burned, it was a bonfire not to be missed, we laughed and sqealed with delight as heard the crackle and pop of our tormentors as they succumed to the flames. Len