This photo is only 6cm by 8cm which is why it's so hard to scan. My mother is in the middle and my father is to her left. Of all the men here, (nine) he was the only one to survive TB. The surgery was pretty basic in those days. They would dislocate the shoulder, take out a few ribs and whatever of the diseased lung they could or the whole lung. Then the patient would wake up with a brick on the shoulder to stop it dislocating again. And would you believe they still all smoked cigarettes. Stopping the smoking let Dad put on weight, enough to give him strength to go through the operations. My mother walked into his ward, carrying his breakfast and he said, "Hello Angel" and Barbara Cartland couldn't have written a better start to a love story.