Alan Rimmer - Between Heaven and Hell

The next day the couple were told their baby had severe malformations and wasn’t expected to survive the day. The hospital chaplain was on hand to christen the child and they agreed to call him John Alexander.

“We were numb with shock,” Murdo said. “They said it was best if we didn’t see our son, and we just went along with it. In any case Margaret was heavily sedated and I was in despair. I don’t know how we got through the next few days.”

At the end of the week Margaret was sent home. They expected to hear any day that John, who was in an isolation ward, had died, but the child evidently had other ideas. Not only did he survive, he seemed to thrive and after a while the doctors relented and consented to them seeing their son.

Murdo said: “We were shown into this dimly-lit room away from the main hospital where all the other mothers were. I suppose they didn’t want to upset them. The nurse let us be and stood quietly in a corner while we walked over to the crib.

“At first I couldn’t see what was wrong with our wee boy. He was all wrapped up in blankets and he had a little woollen helmet on his head. But when Margaret picked him up we realised what a sad sight he was. His face was all twisted; Margaret started crying and John opened his eyes. In my shock all I could think of was how big his eyes were. He seemed to be looking at us, but I knew that was impossible. We stayed with him for about an hour and in all that time he never made a sound.”

On the way home, Murdo and Margaret decided they were going to keep their son. They had been resigned to giving him up because of what the doctors had been saying. But after seeing him and holding him, they had quite simply fallen in love with him.

They informed the hospital the next day, but to their consternation the doctors said they didn’t think John would ever be able to go home. Murdo angrily demanded to see a consultant, but was told bluntly that not only couldn’t John go home, but there was to be an inquiry into how the child’s condition had come about.

Mrs MacLeod was later questioned at length about what had happened during her pregnancy: what she had eaten, had she had any falls, had she taken any drugs? The questions became more and more intrusive.

“They were almost making out like it was our fault,” Murdo said. “It just didn’t make any sense. Margaret had never taken so much as an aspirin during her pregnancy. I didn’t have a clue what they were getting at.”

Murdo decided to tell the doctors about his experiences at Maralinga: “I’d pushed it to the back of my mind, but as soon as I saw John I thought of those wretched dingo pups I found out in the desert after the bomb blast. I don’t know why, but I was suddenly convinced John’s condition was because of the bomb.”

He voiced his fears to a doctor and was frustrated when the man showed little interest. The doctor took notes, but said he was unable to say one way or the other if they were connected, adding that he ‘rather doubted it’.

Murdo insisted, however, that it be looked in to, and the doctor reluctantly agreed to take it up with his colleagues. Meanwhile John continued to improve and he was moved to the hospital’s geriatric unit (it was felt his presence would be too upsetting on the baby ward) where he soon became a firm favourite with the old folk.

Murdo said: “We wanted to take him home, but the doctors thought it would be best if he stayed on at hospital. They said he would be subjected to ridicule from other children if he was allowed out. We didn’t like it, but the doctors said John still needed a lot of treatment and it was best if they kept an eye on him.

“We bided our time because we wanted what was best for him. But we yearned to take him home. John was such a bright, happy little boy. He used to crawl all over the ward, getting up to mischief and making everyone laugh. As soon as we walked into the ward he would scoot over to us and throw his arms around us, and he used to cry when we left. I begged the doctors to let him come home with us, but they always seemed to find some excuse for him to stay.”

During this time Murdo was surprised to receive a summons to the hospital to see a consultant who had been sent up from London. Murdo was expecting a talk about his son and, hopefully, be given news about when he could take him home. Instead, he found himself being effectively chastised for bringing up the A-bomb tests.

“I was greatly surprised,” he said. “This man questioned me quite severely about why I thought the bomb tests had anything to do with John. I told him about the animals and the fact I had no protective clothing at all and that I couldn’t think of any other reason why John was born the way he was.

“The consultant got very impatient with this and told me in no uncertain terms that ‘all that’ had nothing whatever to do with John or what had happened to him. He told me I must just wipe all that from my mind. He repeated that several times. He tried to make me feel foolish, as though it wasn’t my business to be worrying about ‘all that.’ The man even accused me of scaremongering and it wouldn’t help anything if I carried on talking like that. I was most surprised by his attitude. After all I was only trying to get to the bottom of why my son was born the way he was.”

Murdo was in for an even bigger surprise a few days later when he was again summoned to the hospital.

“I was shown into this room with all these people sitting round a table. I didn‘t know most of them, didn’t know where they had come from. It was like going before some sort of tribunal and I was on trial. One of the few people I did know, a doctor, told me that John’s condition was so serious that it was doubtful he would ever be allowed home. I was told it was in the child’s best interests if the local authority took responsibility for him. I started to protest, but another man chipped in and said that everything would be taken care of. A special place had been prepared for John on the mainland where he would get all the care and attention he needed.”

A document was produced for Murdo to sign. He found himself staring at an official form, a care order, effectively relinquishing the MacLeod’s from all parental rights to their son. Confused and with the anger boiling inside, Murdo demanded to know the reason for the sudden change in attitude. He pointed out that assurances had been given they would be able to take John home at some stage.

The vague replies he received made him even angrier: “They wouldn’t give me a straight answer to anything. I felt we had been messed around for long enough. I was suddenly very afraid we might never see our wee lad again. I remember shouting at them that we loved our son and meant to have him with us, no matter what they thought and I remember throwing the document at them across the table. ‘I’m not signing that,’ I said and walked out.

“When I got home I didn’t tell Margaret because it would have been too upsetting. I did tell her it might be longer than we thought before we could have John with us.”

In fact it was more than a year before the family were united. During that time Murdo was involved in an almost constant battle with the authorities who said they wanted to keep John for what seemed an almost endless series of tests.

Murdo recalled: “I was convinced they were hiding something from me. Looking back now I am more convinced than ever. At one stage they even admitted to me there was nothing more medically that could be done for John, yet they still wanted to carry out tests.

“Why? I asked myself over and over again. They even took him to Edinburgh for some reason and didn’t even tell us. I realise now that what they were doing was wrong, but what could I do? I knew nothing about the law and I mistrusted lawyers even more than I did the doctors. All I could do was keep battling away at them, insisting they let John come home.”