Survivors, the new prime-time BBC drama, imagines a world after a flu virus has killed 90 per cent of the world’s population. Owen Amos looks back to see how the North-East was affected by the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918 – which killed twice as many people as the First World War – and learns how the Government is preparing for the next one

A DISEASE that swept the world, killing up to 100 million people in just over a year – or 273,000 a day. A disease that killed seven million in India, 500,000 in the US, and 250,000 in Great Britain. A disease that spread death to every corner of the world, from the Arctic to the Pacific Islands.

A Hollywood disease? A disease made up in a scriptwriter’s mind, seen on silver screen, and no more harmful than hot-dogs? No. This was Spanish Flu, the pandemic of 1918 that killed twice as many people as the First World War. Here’s the really bad news: our Government – the boys who can’t keep your dental records safe – are preparing for another.

In November 1918, The Northern Echo wasn’t short of stories: the end of the world’s biggest war, the future of the 20th Century, the “Irish Question” and a flu pandemic thrown in for luck. They only had eight pages, as well.

Mind, they were bigger then.

On November 1 – when the front page was “Exit Turkey, Austria on point of collapse” – an inside story was headlined “Flue (sic) still rages”. In Darlington, 2,000 had been taken ill, in Newcastle, eight were dying each day.

Schools had been shut for two weeks in Sunderland.

There was even talk of postponing the General Election, due in December.

On November 8, we reported 18 of Durham Cathedral’s 20 choristers had influenza, meaning services had no choir. On November 11 – Armistice Day – we said: “In the middle of last week the epidemic showed signs of abating, but over the weekend it was found to have spurted out in a number of new directions.”

A soldier from Malton, at a “base hospital”, was told his wife was ill with influenza. It took him four days to return and, when he arrived, was told his wife had died the night before. His two children had also caught the illness.

By November 14, the death toll for the week in Darlington was 18, compared to 16 the week before. In Gateshead, it was 43 compared to 20; in Newcastle, 31 to 19; in Sunderland, 23 to 18; in South Shields, 35 to 21. By November 30, five people were dying each day in Darlington. At a council meeting, one member suggested “closing places of entertainment”, but that, so soon after the war, was rejected.

Throughout, of course, were miracle cure adverts.

“Ex-Ox – the strength of an ox!” or, bizarrely: “Electricity – the great healer!” One doctor even wrote: “Some patients have been known to fall into icy water and never feel the slightest ailment afterwards.” Because, presumably, the icy water had killed them.

It’s clear why some were driven to Ex-Ox, icy water, or booze – despite doctors warning of the “dangers of toddy”. Quite simply, the Spanish Flu – so named because it rose to prominence in neutral, uncensored Spain – was very, very nasty. The following is from a letter written by a doctor at an American influenza camp on September 28, 1918.

“Men start with what appears to be an ordinary attack of La Grippe or influenza, and when brought to the hospital they very rapidly develop the most viscous type of pneumonia that has ever been seen. Two hours after admission they have mahogany spots over the cheek bones… until it is hard to distinguish coloured men from white. It is only a matter of a few hours until death comes, and it is simply a struggle for air until they suffocate. It is horrible.”

The cause remains uncertain, but most think it jumped directly from birds to humans, and, in the cramped conditions of war, raced round the world. In September this year, the body of Sir Mark Sykes, a colonel and Yorkshire MP who died of Spanish Flu, was exhumed for research. He was buried in a lead coffin and scientists hope the virus was preserved.

Why does flu still fascinate? Because it frightens.

In our globalised world, what chance would we have of containing it? If a few sub-prime mortgages shed trillions off the world’s economy, what chance would we have if 100 million people – that’s people who actually make things – died in a year? If a quarter of Great Britain fell ill, as happened in 1918, 15 million people would need help.

That’s why we have a National Director of Pandemic Influenza Preparedness (Professor Lindsey Davies) a Scientific Pandemic Influenza Advisory Committee, a National Framework for Responding to an Influenza Pandemic. That’s why, on November 13, every strategic health authority in England was given more than £1m for “Pandemic Influenza Preparedness”, on top of £35m the UK has thrown in the global pot. In short: we’re scared.

IN August, the Government’s National Risk Register put flu pandemic at number one: ahead of coastal flooding, attacks on crowded places and attacks on transport. The report said: “Experts agree there is a high probability of another influenza pandemic occurring, but it is impossible to forecast its exact timing or precise nature of its impact.”

Professor Davies hasn’t just been keeping her fingers crossed, though. We have 14 million doses of Tamiflu, the anti-flu drug and “sleeping contracts” for fast-track manufacture of a further 120 million. And, you’ll be glad to hear, we have a plan.

The World Health Organisation – which says “the world is now closer to another influenza pandemic than at any time since 1968” – has an alert system. Now, we’re on Level Three – “No or very limited human to human transmission”.

If we get to Level Four – “Evidence of increased human to human transmission” – the Government will launch an advertising campaign, telling people to stock up on food, water, and medicine.

After the first British case, the Chief Medical Officer, Sir Liam Donaldson, will address the nation by television. How dramatic. The message will, apparently, be “business as usual” – don’t stay at home unnecessarily. If we panic, we’re done for.

Try telling that to Durham Cathedral’s choristers.