# The H.I.V. Scare.



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

I was working at my job as a Night Security Person at the Salvation Army Hostel in Fore Street, Ipswich. I was employed there for the last ten years of my working life to be eligible to claim a full State Pension on my retirement, after spending a large part of my life travelling the world on my last two ships... Dauntless Star and Début... apart from eleven years in the Home Trade with Blue Bell and Biche.
I was eating my dinner in the reception office, when I received a phone call from one of the residents up in his room. Mr. Hornsby was in Room 5, up on the first floor. It was one of the larger rooms in front of the building, and they were only available to residents who could behave themselves.
He said that Michael Cousins... a heroin addict living at the hostel after being released from prison... had banged on his door demanding two pounds from him. He was, apparently, banging on all the doors on that landing demanding two pounds from each of the residents. He wanted to get enough money together to buy a bag of scag to ease his craving, as he'd used up all of his methadone for the week.
I made my way to the first floor and saw Mr. Cousins loafing about in the lobby by the lifts. I told him to stop bullying the other residents and go back to his own room on the second floor. He walked to the stairwell door in a sulk and scurried out of my sight.
Half an hour later, while sitting in the reception office watching television with my feet up on the desk in front of me, Sean McQuirk came to the window with blood running down his face. "What's up?" I asked him. "Who did this to you?"
"That bastard, Mick Cousins!" He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "There was a knock at Hornsby's door, and I got up to answer it for him, as he was making a cupper at the time. Then, bang. Mick Cousins punched me full in the face. Look......." he showed me. "He cut my cheek with his ring." Blood was trickling out of a cut on his right side of his face. "It's a good job that he didn't get my nose, otherwise I'd have sparked out. Why is that waste-of-space still living in this hostel, anyway?"
Sean was a fit, stocky man when I first started working at the hostel, but he was now frail and reduced to a skeleton. He was having daily radiotherapy and chemotherapy for cancer at Heath Road Hospital, and no one was sure how long he had to live. Something like this could be the end of him, for sure!
"Where is he now?" I asked him.
"He went upstairs." Sean licked the blood from his lips. "What are you going to do about that bastard, Richard?"
"I'd better notify the duty officer before I call the police," I told him.
I sat up and reached in front of me for the phone, and dialled Peter Green's home telephone number. He lived twelve miles away in Felixstowe, so I hoped that I wouldn't have to wait until he arrived... who knew what carnage was being created upstairs.
While I was on the phone, my new co-worker arrived for the start of his shift. Bertie-Boy had finally retired from the job, after fifteen years of service, and Malcolm Berry had replaced him. He had been chosen to work with me from the applicants for the job because of his nautical experience, as he was a former boatman on the docks. He'd handled the moorings ropes of the ships in the harbour, but had been forced to give it up because of a back injury. I slipped him his master key through the hatch in the armed-glass surrounding the reception office, and told Sean to go with him to the staffroom to have a dressing put over the wound.
Listening to the absolute bull-dirt on the telephone, I could not believe what I was hearing! Peter Green wanted me to tell Michael Cousins to go straight to his room and stay there. There had been an assault occasioning actual bodily harm committed at the hostel, and if Sean McQuirk's medical condition was taken into effect, it would be considered occasioning grievous bodily harm. Michael Cousins was to pack all of his belongings and be ready to leave the hostel by ten the next morning. Malcolm was absolutely flabbergasted when I told him about it.
"The gutless bastard!" I swore in dismay. "He was more than likely one of those goody-goody wimps who had his head shoved down the toilet every day when he was at school."
Malcolm laughed along with me, not sure how he was going to handle this situation himself. He'd never been much use at physical violence at school either, and this promised to be his first violent confrontation while working at the hostel. He followed me upstairs in the lift, leaving Sean to nurse his wounds in the safety of the locked staffroom.
We found Michael Cousins in the third-floor television lounge with the set turned up to full volume. He wasn't even watching the programme, but had changed the channel and turned up the volume to antagonise the other residents in the lounge, encouraging them to leave. He was pacing up and down in front of the window, waiting for the final confrontation that he knew would have to come.
Michael Cousins was a big man, well over six feet tall, like myself, but Malcolm was quite short and stocky. He liked his grub, and would often eat a spare dinner at the hostel as well as his own. Mr. Cousins was fifteen years younger than me. I could see him pacing up and down in the deafening television lounge through the glass surround separating it from the lobby, waiting for my arrival. I pushed open the door and walked up to the television set, turning it off.
"I was watching that!" he shouted at me. "Who do you think you are? You come in here and turn off my telly! You think you can come in here and do what yo bloody-well like!" His hands were shaking, and he was showing the first signs of drug withdrawal symptoms.
"From Peter Green," I told him. "You have to go straight to your room... immediately... and stay there. Pack all your belongings, and be ready to leave the hostel by ten in the morning." I eyeballed him. "Do you savvy me?"
"Sod you, and Peter Green!" he shouted back at me. "You can't touch me. You're all a bunch of bloody wimps! Get out of here, so I can watch my telly."
"Last warning," I told him. "Get to your room, before I........"
"Before you what... you gutless pratt?"
I walked towards him, and parried the blow aimed at my head. Following through with a grip on his arm, I had him in a hammer-lock and bar. I piled on the pressure until I could hear his joints creaking under the strain. "Want some more?" I asked him. "You only have to ask me nicely, and I'll break it for you."
"Sod all of you!" he swore back at me. "You wait until I get free. I'll knock your block off!"
"If?" I laughed. "I might just bend your arm up your back until you resemble a pretzel... you savvy?" I started marching him towards the door. "We'll take him down the stairs, and then give him the bum's rush out of the front door," I told Malcolm. "It's too confined in the elevator to use the lift."
"I'll go ahead and open all the doors," Malcolm chipped in.
We were on the last flight of stairs, before the ground floor entrance lobby, and Michael Cousins had kept his abusive remarks to himself. All of a sudden, he reared backwards with his head and caught me a glancing blow on my left cheek. He'd hoped that I'd be knocked senseless, but luckily for me he'd missed my nose.
Turning him round as we fell out of control down the stairs, I pulled him in front of me so that he hit the wall with his shoulder and the back of his head, while I used him as a cushion. I kept the momentum of the turn going so that when we bounced off the wall at the bottom of the stairs, Michael Cousins hit the central banister with his head, causing blood to squirt all over the place.
We both ended up in a bloody heap on the ground-floor landing, and I used all of my concentration to get a firm grip of him... he might take it into his head to go down the next two flights... all the way down to the basement.
Malcolm opened the stairwell door to the reception lobby, and I hauled Michael Cousins through it, mindful of the stairs to the basement yawning open beside me... continuing on downwards into the blackness beyond.
Putting him in a full-throttle head-lock, I jammed him against the reception counter with my arm resting against it, and asked Malcolm to phone for the police... and then Peter Green, the Centre Manager.
There was blood all over me, soaking through my shirt, and my hands were slippery with his blood as it pumped in a small fountain out of the top of his head with every heartbeat. The stairwell and the reception lobby were a sea of blood too, and it squelched under my feet from the lobby carpet. Michael Cousins was clawing at my right wrist, trying to get free... more than ever, he wanted to get back upstairs to take out his revenge on those who'd grossed him up.
When the police finally arrived... some eight officers in all... they physically restrained Mr. Cousins and escorted him into the dining room to stop the bleeding on the top of his head, and to interview him about his assault on Sean McQuirk.
Peter Green had finally arrived when I returned from the basement store-room to replace my blood-soaked shirt, and realised that his instructions to me were completely wrong... the police should have been called at once. Sean was taken to the hospital by Malcolm in his car, and Peter Green started clearing up the bloody mess all over the ground floor, once the sergeant in charge gave him his authority... throwing away the blood-soaked reception lobby carpet in the process. Mr. Cousins was formally arrested and taken to the police station in the police black van, while I wrote up my official report of the incident.
Three nights later, the sergeant in charge of the investigation came to the Centre to see me. He informed me that I should report to my doctor as soon as possible, as Mr. Cousins was a carrier of H.I.V., as well as hepatitis C. He told me that I should get some shots, and have myself checked over. After a prolonged series of injections and blood tests, I was eventually given the all-clear... some eighteen months later. Michael Cousins died in prison of full-blown aids before I was finally cleared of the decease. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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## LucyKnight (Mar 27, 2013)

Cpt Dick Brooks said:


> I was working at my job as a Night Security Person at the Salvation Army Hostel in Fore Street, Ipswich. I was employed there for the last ten years of my working life to be eligible to claim a full State Pension on my retirement, after spending a large part of my life travelling the world on my last two ships... Dauntless Star and Début... apart from eleven years in the Home Trade with Blue Bell and Biche.
> I was eating my dinner in the reception office, when I received a phone call from one of the residents up in his room. Mr. Hornsby was in Room 5, up on the first floor. It was one of the larger rooms in front of the building, and they were only available to residents who could behave themselves.
> He said that Michael Cousins... a heroin addict living at the hostel after being released from prison... had banged on his door demanding two pounds from him. He was, apparently, banging on all the doors on that landing demanding two pounds from each of the residents. He wanted to get enough money together to buy a bag of scag to ease his craving, as he'd used up all of his methadone for the week.
> I made my way to the first floor and saw Mr. Cousins loafing about in the lobby by the lifts. I told him to stop bullying the other residents and go back to his own room on the second floor. He walked to the stairwell door in a sulk and scurried out of my sight.
> ...



One ex MN engineer wasn't so lucky. His one moment of madness in Brazil resulted in unforseen lifelong consequences surfacing a few years later for him and his wife. This has been in the online media in last few days . Label of candid interview below.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4184380/Wife-63-FORGIVES-husband-infected-HIV.html


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## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

*For LucyKnight.*

It's good to hear from you, Lucy, and a very interesting article that you posted. Much of the H.I.V. in the Salvation Army Hostel that I worked for my last ten years of employment... to give me sufficient National Insurance credits to qualify for a full State pension... were caused through needle sharing and other drug related activities.
Throughout my 26 years at sea as captain of my own ships... especially the 15 years deep sea, all over the world, I cautioned my crew how to behave in foreign ports... especially of the more salubrious kind... regarding not eating street food unless seeing it cooked in front of them, not taking ice in drinks or eating salad, as untreated water is often used, and not to go with the bar-girls without the protection of using a condom... but did they listen. To them I was an old git... even though I was only ten years older than they were... and many of them suffered the consequences for their folly.
When we had one, and sometimes two, British doctors on board they got treated with kindness, but when they had only me, they got what they deserved. To say the least, my bedside manner was not as pleasant as theirs. Most of my deck crew... up to fifteen at times... were girls, and in general looked after themselves. The men on board were often another matter.
I first heard about H.I.V. when I was in Tahiti, back in 1980-1981, when I was in The Piano Bar down by the waterfront on a run-ashore with my crew. Some of the other drinkers were discussing a new infection especially for homosexuals. It was only then that we realised we were drinking in a fruit-bar, and that many of the females present were lady-boys. 
They seemed to be dancing with their own reflections in the full length floor to ceiling mirrors, looking for dates behind them. When a six foot three muscular guy came up to me, wearing a full beard and a pink ballerinas tutu, and asked me for a dance, I told my crew to drink up and we swiftly left... we were only a dozen blokes, and there were some sixty or more of them.
When I was advised by the police sergeant, who attended the Salvation Army Hostel that I was working in, to contact my G.P. as soon as possible concerning the Mick Cousins incident, it took 18 months of blood tests and injections to get a clear result. Unfortunately, when you are in such a position, only extreme violence can rule the day, because that's all him and his type understand. Let's hope that both of us don't find ourselves in such a position again. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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## LucyKnight (Mar 27, 2013)

The label below is a diary the MN engineer's wife wrote when he was lying in hospital just after he returned from sea and had just been diagnosed positive, Shortly afterwards it was followed by a positive result for herself. They then had to wait to see if the daughter tested positive. It describes in detail her emotions at the time, the anger, and practical considerations of the whole situation. A very emotive story.

http://hiv-and-us.blogspot.co.uk/2008_01_01_archive.html?m=1.


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## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

*For LucyKnight.*

Good to hear from you again, Lucy. Keep strong... never let the mongrels get you down. You have to stay strong for your daughter... don't leave her all alone. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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