<p>Quarantine--I first came across that word, which trips off our tongues these days, in the school stories of Enid Blyton. I was not yet in my teens but longed to be admitted to St. Clare’s or Malory Towers. Since thousands of children nurtured that illusory hope, Blyton’s publishers explained in a prefatory note that those incredible institutions existed only in the imagination of their creator.</p>.<p>Quarantine features regularly in Blyton’s books. In the third title of the St Clare’s series, Pat and Isabel O’Sullivan are excitedly awaiting the start of a new term. Unfortunately, they play tennis with someone recovering from mumps and are placed in quarantine. Their doctor is amused that the twins are eager to get back to school.</p>.<p>If I had been a student at one of Blyton’s schools I would have been just as keen to return. I could picture the fun and fellowship, in and outside the classroom. If anyone took ill (after a midnight feast, perhaps!) the patient would be housed in the san (short for sanatorium). I would not have minded spending time in that haven, with a motherly matron in attendance. Indeed, I rather liked the idea of contracting scarlet fever, a colourful-sounding ailment that sends Blyton’s boarders to the sickbay.</p>.<p>One summer, after arriving in Madras (now Chennai) from Delhi, I went down with measles. Confined to the house of my maternal grandparents, I missed the exciting outings planned for the vacation, such as trips to Marina Beach and a visit to the museum at Fort St. George. I was envious of the younger members of the family who were enjoying themselves at theatres and restaurants, of course under supervision.</p>.<p>Quarantine, however, proved pleasant and profitable. The city where I was stuck for a month was home to Moore Market. That historic edifice had wealth within its walls in the form of books for every age group. My parents provided me with a steady supply, and I realised that there were authors besides Blyton who might be worth my attention in the future.</p>.<p>Reading a pictorial biography of the Brontë sisters, I was struck by the fact that those three gifted writers succumbed to consumption (tuberculosis). In fact, their father lost all five of his daughters to that disease. Whatever happened to quarantine? </p>.<p>Evidently, it was not always effective. With barely concealed delight I watched my happily holidaying brother and cousins catch measles, one after another. </p>
<p>Quarantine--I first came across that word, which trips off our tongues these days, in the school stories of Enid Blyton. I was not yet in my teens but longed to be admitted to St. Clare’s or Malory Towers. Since thousands of children nurtured that illusory hope, Blyton’s publishers explained in a prefatory note that those incredible institutions existed only in the imagination of their creator.</p>.<p>Quarantine features regularly in Blyton’s books. In the third title of the St Clare’s series, Pat and Isabel O’Sullivan are excitedly awaiting the start of a new term. Unfortunately, they play tennis with someone recovering from mumps and are placed in quarantine. Their doctor is amused that the twins are eager to get back to school.</p>.<p>If I had been a student at one of Blyton’s schools I would have been just as keen to return. I could picture the fun and fellowship, in and outside the classroom. If anyone took ill (after a midnight feast, perhaps!) the patient would be housed in the san (short for sanatorium). I would not have minded spending time in that haven, with a motherly matron in attendance. Indeed, I rather liked the idea of contracting scarlet fever, a colourful-sounding ailment that sends Blyton’s boarders to the sickbay.</p>.<p>One summer, after arriving in Madras (now Chennai) from Delhi, I went down with measles. Confined to the house of my maternal grandparents, I missed the exciting outings planned for the vacation, such as trips to Marina Beach and a visit to the museum at Fort St. George. I was envious of the younger members of the family who were enjoying themselves at theatres and restaurants, of course under supervision.</p>.<p>Quarantine, however, proved pleasant and profitable. The city where I was stuck for a month was home to Moore Market. That historic edifice had wealth within its walls in the form of books for every age group. My parents provided me with a steady supply, and I realised that there were authors besides Blyton who might be worth my attention in the future.</p>.<p>Reading a pictorial biography of the Brontë sisters, I was struck by the fact that those three gifted writers succumbed to consumption (tuberculosis). In fact, their father lost all five of his daughters to that disease. Whatever happened to quarantine? </p>.<p>Evidently, it was not always effective. With barely concealed delight I watched my happily holidaying brother and cousins catch measles, one after another. </p>