Murdo learned the family had been found camping in one of the bomb craters. He was ordered to take them back to camp. On the way they vomited profusely and were obviously in a bad way. They told him they had lost two members of their family out in the desert and that there were more sick people wandering about.
The family was later sent to Darwin, a major town in the north. When Murdo asked after them, a sergeant major informed him brusquely the family had been taken to the ‘leprosarium,’ a large leper colony on a little island just off-shore.
Murdo spent more than a year at Maralinga by which time he had had enough. He’d had enough of the heat and the dust and the desert; he’d had enough of fear-maddened animals and burnt-out buildings and sick human beings. Maralinga had become a cursed place for him and he longed for the green grass and rolling hills of Scotland.
He wanted to feel a cold, salty wind on his face… and most of all he wanted rain, clean, sparkling rain. Murdo decided he was going to leave and he told Wally at the earliest opportunity. Wally wished him luck, but said he was going to stay on for another year to save more money
Later that month, with dire warnings from an officer of what would happen to him if he disclosed any of Maralinga‘s secrets, Murdo joined a small troop of soldiers and civilians bound for Adelaide. Wally came to see him off: “Wally had been a good mate, we’d been through a lot together and I was sorry to leave him behind,” Murdo said.
“I could understand him wanting to stay on because the money was good and we’d both saved quite a bit. Wally said he wanted enough to buy a garage business when he got home. But I just wanted to get away. We shook hands and I left. I never saw Wally again and often wonder what happened to him.”
In Adelaide, Murdo managed to get himself a job as a deckhand on a large tramp steamer bound for Liverpool. But before he left he bought himself some fresh clothes and then visited a barber and steam room in the centre of town.
“I felt the need to get shut of all the dust,” he explained. “I had my head shaved and later I just sat in the steam booth for about an hour with the heat turned up full blast. When I came out I looked like a lobster, but I felt clean. It was good to change into my new clothes and I put my old ones in a bin. I retain in my mind a very clear memory of a little pile of red dust on the floor of my lodgings where I’d changed out of my old clothes.
“My ship took its own sweet time on the crossing to Liverpool, which was just fine by me. I was in no hurry and I enjoyed watching the dolphins that played alongside the boat as we steamed out of Adelaide.
“It took me more than six weeks to get home. Lewis never looked more beautiful. There were little fishing boats in the harbour and the air was tangy with fish and salt. I felt clean for the first time in over a year. It was good to be home.”
With the money he had saved, Murdo bought a small croft in the tiny hamlet of Bac and settled down to the life of a simple shepherd. “I didn’t want to do anything else,” he said. “I’d had enough of travel and foreign parts.”
Later he met Margaret, from Stornaway, and they married. The couple settled into the life of crofters and wanted for nothing. Soon Margaret was pregnant and the couple looked forward to having a child to complete their happiness. “I wanted a girl; Margaret wanted a boy, but really we didn’t care which,” Murdo said. “We just wanted a healthy child”
Their son was born one June evening in 1960. Murdo was waiting anxiously outside the delivery room when there was a sudden commotion.
He recalled: “I was waiting in the corridor outside while Margaret was being helped in her confinement by the midwife. She seemed to be in there a long time, but I wasn’t too worried. I was anxious to find out what we were going to have.
“Suddenly I heard this crying and it sounded like Margaret. I got up to go to the door, but the midwife came out and shooed me away. Another nurse arrived, and then a doctor. Margaret was still crying, and I knew something was wrong.
“I went to the door again, but was told to sit down by the nurse. After a while the midwife came out carrying a little bundle wrapped in a blanket. ‘Is that our baby?’ I shouted as she disappeared down the corridor. Margaret was still crying and I was desperately anxious.
“A nurse asked me if I wanted a cup of tea. I said, ‘No, I do not want a cup of tea. I want to know what is happening.’ The nurse said the doctor would be with me soon. I demanded to see Margaret and at last the doctor came out to talk to me.
“I forget his name, but I took a dislike to him. He said in an almost matter-of-fact way that there was something seriously wrong with our wee boy. He said he wasn’t expected to live, that these things sometimes happen, it was God’s will, stupid things like that. I said I wanted to see Margaret and he just shrugged his shoulders and said it would be best if she rested, and then walked away. I went into see Margaret, but they must have given her something because she was fast asleep. I stayed with her all night; I didn’t want her to wake up alone. You can imagine what was going through my head as I waited.”
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.”