Holby City it most certainly was not. In fact, when trying to imagine life in one of Britain’s newest – and shortest-lived – hospital complexes, another TV hospital springs to mind more readily.

For 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital – better known as MASH – read 34 Field Hospital, assembled on a pitted runway of an abandoned airfield not far from Basra in Southern Iraq.

Here 40 Royal Naval Reserves – a mix of doctors, nurses and medical support assistants – were among the 550-plus people who moved in from Kuwait in the early phases of the fighting in the campaign against Saddam’s regime, and planted a 200-bed hospital, complete with accident and emergency and high dependency units, closer to the front line than any similar unit since the Battle of the Somme in World War I.

The whole complex had to be built from scratch, yet provide a facility at least equal to NHS standard which could treat those caught up in the war, whether military or civilian, friend or foe, adult or child, from gunshot wounds to D and V – diarrhoea and vomiting.

D and V was a common problem, but after the distress and discomfort of the first bout, most of the victims just grinned and bore it while they got on with their work, regularly dashing off to the latrines.

The most obvious problems were the less-than-enticing surroundings – wastelands of sand and bare, broken concrete, with a constant backdrop of artillery shells, both Iraqi and Coalition, as well as Coalition armour rumbling past.

Bringing further complications was the weather. Much of the time it was just how you would expect it – witheringly hot.

But then a sudden storm would turn the dry sand to something like thick mud, and there was a very real risk of severe injury by lightning strikes – at least two people were struck by lightning, according to Reservists on site.

There were flash floods and high winds, and then there were the dust devils or tornadoes – and for one Reservist, Karen Joynson, now known to some as Dorothy, one of these winds spelled the end of her deployment, and could have spelled the end of her life. See navy News Online tomorrow for Karen’s story.

As if that wasn’t enough, there was the local wildlife, including notorious camel spiders, which have a nasty bite and a habit of crawling into discarded boots or trousers where they lay in wait for the unwary.

Indeed, one man was brought in with part of his ear missing – one of the spiders, which use a form of anaesthetic on the skin before tucking in, had chewed its way though a sizeable part of the earlobe before the victim woke up.

Another man, whipping on his trousers for a late-night dash to the toilet, failed to check for spiders – and got bitten in a particularly tender part of his anatomy.

“I can cope with being shot at, but give me those spiders and I want to go home!” said PONN Elaine Grady, from Lee-on-the-Solent.

As deployments go, then, it’s not exactly up there with the Caribbean – but for many, it brought a huge sense of satisfaction as their intensive training was finally put to the test for real.

MSA Alyssa Arscott, currently working at Devonport Naval Base, said: “You probably could not describe just how horrible the conditions were sometimes. But it was a fabulous experience, there was a good support network, and we made some great friends.

“ You can’t be fully prepared for the traumas that were brought through the hospital, but it is full credit to the Royal Navy’s training – we were really well-prepared.”

In the first three weeks, 34 Field Hospital, a regular Army unit normally based at York, treated some 2,700 patients, carried out 285 operations, and there were 82 major trauma cases.

One medic estimated that it would take around three years for a normal NHS hospital in Britain to see that number of traumas.

Alyssa said D and V cases were so commonplace that after initial treatment, most of the staff just dosed themselves as best they could and carried on regardless – one quick test on site revealed at least six different strains of bug, with new ones arriving all the time.

The hospital – basically a collection of tents which formed wards, operating theatres, X-ray labs and accommodation, surrounded by the containers in which it all arrived – was staffed chiefly by regular Army medics, although all three Services were represented.

The fact that the RNR contingent was a small percentage of the whole was the source of some amusement to the soldiers, but the Dark Blue element managed to make their mark.

“ A lad in stores, Dave Ward, used some cardboard boxes to build our own ship,” said Elaine.

“ We called it HMS Desert Rose. We had been getting lots of stick – ‘Where’s the water? Where’s your ship?’, so when Pete Crimmins got his paddling pool and we got our ship, we were happy.”

Morale was remarkably high after the initial setting-up phase, according to the Navy medics, and little incidents made a lot of difference during the days and weeks of routine.

“ The band struck up with the theme to MASH at one point, which gave everyone a laugh,” said Elaine.

She also managed to go for a spin in an Army armoured vehicle, having wandered over to a tank-washing installation to see if she could have her picture taken sitting on one of the machines.

“I had my picture taken sitting in it with a helmet and earphones on – and then the driver put his foot down and we went for a drive along an old runway,” she said. “Those things don’t half shift!”