Doctor in the House (17 page)

‘One doesn’t fail exams,’ said Grimsdyke firmly. ‘One comes down, one muffs, one is ploughed, plucked, or pipped. These infer a misfortune that is not one’s own fault. To speak of failing is bad taste. It’s the same idea as talking about passing away and going above instead of plain dying.’

We were sitting with Benskin in the King George. It was immediately after opening time in the morning and we were alone in the bar. We sat on stools, resting our elbows on the counter and our heads on our hands. All three of us looked pitifully dejected. The examination results were to be published at noon.

‘It’s the heartless way they do it,’ I said. ‘Picking you out one at a time in front of everybody. I wish they’d show a little decent discretion about the business. I’d much prefer it if they sent you a letter. You can at least slink away and open it in the lavatory or somewhere.’

‘In Tibet, I believe,’ Grimsdyke went on, ‘they simply execute the unsuccessful candidates on the spot.’

‘Well, they probably welcome it.’

‘They failed Harris pretty decently,’ Benskin said reverently, as though speaking of the dead. ‘He’s so sure he’ll have to take it again in six months he’s not even bothering to hear the results. When he floundered badly in his viva the old boy simply looked dreamily out of the window and said “Young man, how mysterious and wonderful is Nature! Now we see the leaf turning gold on the branch and falling to the ground. The flowers and plants have lost their summer beauty and withered, and the earth looks dead beyond hope of resurrection. But in the month of April the spring will come, the trees will burst into green flames, the shoots will leap up through the black soil, and petals will cover the bare flowerbeds. And you and I, my boy, will be here to see it, won’t we?” ’

‘I think that was very bad form,’ said Grimsdyke.

The Padre put three small glasses in front of us.

‘Whisky?’ Grimsdyke said. ‘I thought we ordered beer.’

‘If you will permit me, Mr Grimsdyke, I would like to suggest, on the basis of my experience, something a little more nourishing. I know what a difficult time this is for you young gentlemen. Will you please accept these with the compliments of the house?’

‘Here, I say, Padre…!’

He held up his hand.

‘Not a bit of it, sir. The money I have been obliged to take off you in our long acquaintance more than justifies it. Here’s jolly good luck, gentlemen!’

‘Bottoms up,’ said Benskin.

‘I’m sure I’ve failed, all the same,’ I said, putting my glass down. ‘How could I get through after that terrible viva?’

Benskin snorted.

‘It’s all very well for you to talk. What about my midwifery clinical? That came under the heading of ugly incidents.’

‘You never know, my dear old boy,’ Grimsdyke said hopefully. ‘You may have done brilliantly in the papers.’

‘Let’s not talk about it,’ I said. ‘Let’s discuss rugger instead.’

At noon we arrived in the examination building. The same number of candidates were there, but they were a subdued, muttering crowd, like the supporters of a home team who had just been beaten in a cup tie.

We pushed our way into the large hall on the ground floor. It was packed full with anxious students. On the side of the hall facing us was the foot of a marble staircase. To the left of the staircase was a plain, open door, over which had been recently pinned a large black and white card saying ‘EXIT.’ To the right was a clock, which stood at a few minutes before twelve.

We had heard exactly what would happen. At midday precisely the Secretary of the Committee would descend the stairs and take his place, flanked by two uniformed porters, on the lowermost step. Under his arm would be a thick, leather-covered book containing the results. One of the porters would carry a list of the candidates’ numbers and call them out, one after the other. The candidate would step up closely to the Secretary, who would say simply ‘Pass’ or ‘Failed.’ Successful men would go upstairs to receive the congratulations and handshakes of the examiners and failures would slink miserably out of the exit to seek the opiate of oblivion.

‘One thing, it’s quick,’ Benskin muttered nervously.

‘Like the drop,’ said Grimsdyke.

One minute to twelve. The room had suddenly come to a frightening, unexpected silence and stillness, like an unexploded bomb. A clock tinged twelve in the distance. My palms were as wet as sponges. Someone coughed, and I expected the windows to rattle. With slow scraping feet that could be heard before they appeared the Secretary and porters came solemnly down the stairs.

They took up their positions; the leather book was opened. The elder porter raised his voice.

‘Number two hundred and nine,’ he began. ‘Number thirty-seven. Number one hundred and fifty.’

The tension in the room broke as the students shuffled to the front and lined up before the staircase. The numbers were not called in order, and the candidates strained to hear their own over the low rumble of conversation and scraping of feet that rose from the assembly.

‘Number one hundred and sixty-one,’ continued the porter. ‘Number three hundred and two. Number three hundred and six.’

Grimsdyke punched me hard in the ribs.

‘Go on,’ he hissed. ‘It’s you!’

I jumped, and struggled my way to the front of the restless crowd. My pulse shot high in my ears. My face was burning hot and I felt my stomach had been suddenly plucked from my body.

I lined up in the short queue by the stairs. My mind was empty and numb. I stared at the red neck of the man in front of me, with its rim of blue collar above his coat, and studied it with foolish intensity. Suddenly I found myself on top of the Secretary.

‘Number three oh six?’ the Secretary whispered, without looking up from the book. ‘R. Gordon?’

‘Yes,’ I croaked.

The world stood still. The traffic stopped, the plants ceased growing, men were paralysed, the clouds hung in the air, the winds dropped, the tides disappeared, the sun halted in the sky.

‘Pass,’ the man muttered.

Blindly, like a man just hit by blackjack, I stumbled upstairs.

The bar of the King George was full. I crashed through the door like a hot wind.

‘I’ve passed!’ I screamed.

The bar rose in turmoil. I couldn’t see any of it. It was a pink jumble of faces, a numb sensation of handshakes, a dim perception of backslapping.

‘Congratulations, sir!’ shouted the Padre, thrusting his hand through the mob. ‘Congratulations, Doctor! Here you are, sir. A quart tankard, sir. With my every best wish.’

Someone pushed the deep pewter mug into my hands.

‘Down the hatch!’

‘One gulp, old man!’

I was too breathless to drink. I wanted to laugh, cry, dance, and run all at the same time.

‘I can’t believe it!’ I exclaimed. ‘It isn’t true! The first thing I knew I was shaking hands with the old boys and signing my diploma.’

‘How about the other two gentlemen?’ the Padre called.

‘Oh Lord!’ I felt suddenly guilty. ‘I’d quite forgotten to wait for them!’

At that moment the door flew open. There entered Benskin and Grimsdyke wearing each other’s jackets, attempting to pull in with them a violently neighing carthorse.

‘I think it’s all right,’ the Padre said.

The party went on until closing time. Every student in the school seemed to be inside the tiny bar. I emptied and re-emptied my tankard. Everyone was shouting and singing, leaning on each other, jostling their neighbours, slapping their friends on the back. The angry owner of the horse had been asked inside and was now singing The Lily of Laguna to a co-operative audience. The room filled tighter as the news of more successes was brought in, like victories to a triumphant headquarters.

‘Bottle’s through,’ I heard Evans bawling over the hubbub. ‘So’s Sprogget.’

‘How about you?’ I shouted back.

Evans delightedly stuck his thumb in the air.

I suddenly found myself jammed between Benskin and Grimsdyke.

‘Hooray!’ shouted Benskin, ruffling my hair.

‘It’s bloody funny!’ Grimsdyke shouted. ‘Bloody funny!’

‘What is?’ I bawled at him.

‘We’re three bloody doctors,’ he hollered.

We burst into roars of laughter.

My feelings in the next few days were those of a private unexpectedly promoted to general overnight. In a minute or two I had been transformed from an unearning and potentially dishonest ragamuffin to a respectable and solvent member of a learned profession. Now banks would trust me with their money, hire firms with their cars, and mothers with their daughters. I could sign prescriptions, death certificates, and orders for extra milk, and no one could contradict me. It was wonderful.

As soon as the exam results were out the Chiefs made appointments to the resident staff of St Swithin’s. I became house-physician to Dr Malcolm Maxworth, and had to begin work the next week. I saw from the list that Evans had been awarded the plum position of house-surgeon to the Professor, and Grimsdyke became a junior obstetrical officer. Sprogget had not bothered to apply for a job at St Swithin’s and Benskin was not given one. The Dean had vetoed the appointment.

I packed up and left the Bayswater flat. The landlord had been wanting to get rid of us for some time and took the opportunity of taking possession himself. We had a row about damages, but Sprogget settled it by threatening officially to report the plumbing to the local Medical Officer of Health unless the estimate was reduced considerably.

In the hospital I was give a small, bleak room with an iron bedstead, a desk, a chair, and a telephone. But I unpacked with delight – I was living there free of charge, and at last, at the age of twenty-three, I was earning some money.

There was a letter waiting for me, addressed ostentatiously to Dr Gordon in Benskin’s handwriting. I opened it.

‘Dear old boy,’ it began. ‘I expect you will be surprised to hear that I have got married. As a matter of fact, I have for a long time been bloody keen on Molly (the nurse I proposed to that night), and we decided to do the old ring stuff as soon as I got through. I didn’t say anything to you coarse fellows, because you have such warped ideas on such things. I have a job waiting for me in general practice at home, and we are now having the old honeymoon in Cornwall. Let me warn you of the swank of calling yourself doctor, old lad. I signed myself in the visitors’ book as Dr Benskin, and we had only just got into bed when the porter came banging on the door shouting at me that the cook had scalded herself. The marriage was consummated, but only just. Your old chum, Tony.’

‘I’m damned!’ I said. ‘The old stoat!’

I was still staring at the letter when the ’phone rang. It was Sister Virtue, whom I now had to work with as a colleague. Her tone was only a little less severe than the one she used on students – to her, new housemen were hardly less reprehensible.

‘Dr Gordon,’ she rasped. ‘When are you going to appear in the ward? I have a stack of notes for you to sign and three new patients have been admitted. You can’t expect the nursing staff to run the hospital on their own.’

I looked at my watch. It was six in the evening. I had to tell the Padre about Benskin.

‘Half-past six, Sister,’ I said. ‘I’ve only just arrived. Will that be all right?’

‘Not a minute later,’ she snapped, discontinuing the conversation.

I walked across to the King George with Benskin’s letter.

‘I knew it all along, sir, if I may say so,’ the Padre said calmly. ‘It’s always the same with the ones that run a mile if they see a nurse and talk big about staying single. I’ve seen it a good many times, now, sir. And you watch out, Dr Gordon – I bet you’re next.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that, Padre. There’s no one on the cards at the moment.’

‘Ah yes, sir, but wait till you’ve been about the hospital a bit as a doctor instead of a student. Why, the nurses are all over you. You get proper spoilt, you lads do.’

‘I must confess noting a certain sweet co-operation among the girls I hadn’t found before. Perhaps you’re right. Anyway, I’ll watch my step.’

I took a few sips of my beer.

‘It’s quiet in here, Padre, tonight.’

‘Early in the evening yet, sir.’

‘I know…but it seems oppressively quiet, if you know what I mean. I suppose it’s because there’s been so much fun and games going on the last few days. It’s…well, lonely. This qualification business is all very well, but it soon wears off. For about three days the world is at your feet, then you realize it’s the beginning, not the end. You’ve got to fight a damn sight harder than you did in your exams to do your job decently and make a living.’

‘That’s right, sir. They all say the same. You’ve got to face it, them carefree student days is over for good. Life is hard, sir. It’s bad enough for a publican, but a damn sight worse for a doctor.’

‘Well, let’s not get miserable about it,’ I said. ‘Still, these last few days I’ve begun to wish I’d got a bit more out of my education.’

‘Come off it, sir,’ said the Padre genially. ‘You’ve made a lot of friends, which mark my words you’ll hang on to till your dying day. And that’s valuable, sir. A lot of people can get an education, but not many of ’em can collect as sound a bunch of good friends as you young gentlemen do. Wherever you go, sir, no matter how many years to come, you’ll still remember Mr Benskin and the rest and the good times you’ve had in these four walls.’

‘You know, Padre,’ I said, ‘that’s exactly what I think myself. I was just too frightened to say so.’

The door opened. A porter stood there.

‘Dr Gordon,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking for you all over. Wanted at once in the ward, sir. Emergency just come in.’

I looked at the half-full glass of beer. I picked it up, hesitated, and left it.

‘All right,’ I said, pulling my stethoscope out of my pocket. ‘I’m coming.’

Times have changed, I thought as I walked over to the hospital. I suddenly realized that from now on it was always going to be like this.

(in order of first publication)

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

(in order of first publication)

(in order of first publication)