For only the third time in my 60 years I’ve just spent some time in hospital (baby illness treated in St James’ Leeds & sports injury in BRI, previously).

The wards are called Nightingales, after the Lady with the Lamp of Scutari from the Crimean War of the mid-19th century. That is laid out so everything can be observed by the Ward Sister, now known as Ward Manager.

We were a motley, cyclically discharged & replenished crew, with stays averaging 5 or 6 days.

So there we all were, united in our convalescence, physio & rehabilitation, all blokes, from or forties upwards with repairs by orthopaedic surgery to knees, hips, wrists, ankles, shoulders, elbows & feet, from all kinds of backgrounds & with varying levels of sociability.

Most folk will have me down as a pretty gregarious sort, happy to share a yarn or joke with anyone. This seemed very much a 24/7 public display, privacy free, experience.

Wake up came about 0645, breakfast around 8/8:15, then there were washes, bed linen changes, physios, OTs (Occupational Therapists) throughout the day, again interspersed with drug rounds, cuppas, X rays, temperature/blood pressure checking.

Lunch (choice of 4) was noon, tea was (choice of a different 4) 5pm. Visiting was 2 -3 & 1830 – 2000. Late drinks, settling down & lights semi out around 2300. We soon got the routine. If not, our longest term resident would remind us what was next or what time whatever was.

The nurses were magic, all different personalities, of course, but with patient care central to their work. All receiving hundreds of bits of information all the time & trying to sift & assemble them into the recovery process.

We were Cumbrians, Scousers, Mancunians from all round the north west. We were working class, public/private sector, self-employed, retired. We all had time to kill & were positioned four or five foot apart with recent surgery our uniting experience.

That was the tough bit I think, the routine, the pain, a lack of privacy, making recovery progress or not, setbacks. Sleep wasn’t easy or perfect, day time catch up could be interrupted. I was apprehensive, to say the least, about my surgery, which turned out to be a breeze. It was my recovery & rehab which was the unexpected & unprepared for hard bit.

My departure was quick. During a mid-day soup I was told. Before most of my comrades had had any dessert, I was away.

Our NHS is a globally respected, revered & coveted gem.

I may return to stories of Eddie Wrist & Davy 4 Hips (names changed).

For now: have you had a spell in our hospitals? Any experiences to share?