The Summer of Sir Lancelot (17 page)

‘You‘re an old patient, too, aren‘t you, Mr Hardjoy?‘

‘I only called to give the doctor these, with my compliments.‘ He offered a bunch of sweet peas. ‘It‘s fair wonderful the job he‘s done on my foot. And what a bloke! In my trade - I‘m on demolition - we‘re not given to mincing words, and neither is the doctor. Man to man, he is. The first time I met him, d‘you know he called me a coward? A coward! And I respect him for it. He must have been a braver man than me to say it. Every time he‘s treated my foot — ‘

‘I shall put the flowers in water for him,‘ interrupted Mrs Chuffey briskly.

‘No more patients this morning?‘ asked Sir Lancelot cheerfully, as Mrs Chuffey appeared in the surgery. ‘I certainly seem to be weeding them out. Though I fancy it was only the hard core who took advantage of poor little Dinwiddie. No doubt he will enjoy an easier run when he gets back tomorrow. Particularly as I gather his wife was a lady hammer-throwing champion in New Zealand.‘

‘And I‘ll have finished the spring-cleaning by tonight, sir,‘ she told him. ‘Excellent. You know, Mrs Chuffey —‘ Sir Lancelot stared musingly through the window, ‘ — this family doctoring is considerably more difficult than I imagined. In hospital surgery, you simply cut ‘em up and leave someone else to clear the mess. Here, it‘s the other way round. But the new therapist I co-opted seems to be doing a splendid job, I must say.‘

‘I gather he‘s a very nice young man, sir. I met his housekeeper in the greengrocer‘s.‘

‘Housekeeper? He‘s unmarried, eh? All the more time for dealing with that batch I sent him. There‘s the doorbell, Mrs Chuffey, and it may well be someone to say Mrs Peckwater‘s started. Oh, and Mrs Chuffey—‘

‘Sir?‘

‘Ring Harry the gateman at St Swithin‘s, will you? I want something sound for Goodwood this afternoon, if the blasted meeting isn‘t snowed off.‘

‘Miss Felicity, sir,‘ announced Mrs Chuffey a moment later.

‘My dear! What brings you to this outpost of civilization?‘ Sir Lancelot rose in surprise as Felicity Nightrider entered the surgery. ‘Not, I trust, need for more advice about Ron?‘

‘Please, Uncle!‘ She sniffed. ‘Please don‘t talk to me about him again.‘ Sir Lancelot raised his eyebrows. ‘I‘m sorry you‘ve had an estrangement now he‘s moving among television personalities.‘

‘And please don‘t talk to me about television personalities.‘ She shuddered and sniffed at the same time. ‘Particularly female announcers. Uncle — ‘ She came to the point. ‘I want a job.‘

‘A job?‘

She nodded. ‘You know how Daddy made me give up the nice job in the bookshop because of... of Ron? Ever since, I‘ve been working in that actuary‘s office, and I hate it. Do you think you could make me a nurse?‘ she asked eagerly. I was always jolly good at first-aid on the hockey field.‘

‘Alas, my dear, tomorrow afternoon I am quitting London for good. At last I shall be able to enjoy myself fishing in Wales.‘

‘Oh, Uncle! I‘m so unhappy.‘ Her lips trembled, and she burst into tears over the sphygmomanometer.

‘Am I to play Miss Lonelyhearts to every lovesick member of the family?‘ muttered Sir Lancelot, becoming impatient.

‘Ever since that day you told me to bring Ron home, Father‘s been so horrid — ‘

‘Good grief, girl, you‘ll be blaming me for the filthy weather next - yes, Mrs Chuffey? Is it Mrs Peckwater?‘

‘The Vicar, sir.‘

‘I shall be delighted to meet him. Please take this young lady out and give her a nice cup of tea. The Reverend Peter Gwatkin, I believe?‘ he added a moment later, when Mrs Chuffey had deftly replaced his niece with the local incumbent.

‘Er —yes,‘ agreed the Reverend Gwatkin.

‘Have a pew - chair,‘ indicated Sir Lancelot. ‘Is this a professional visit?‘

‘Er - no.‘ The Vicar was a tall young man with prominent ears, which at that moment were red. He nervously twitched his clerical grey trousers. He had imagined the doctor to be slovenly, ignorant, and probably insane. The distinguished-looking forthright figure he now-found behind the consulting desk made it difficult to raise the subject of his visit.

‘Gwatkin? Gwatkin?‘ muttered Sir Lancelot. ‘Didn‘t you once play cricket tor Oxford?‘

‘That‘s right,‘ he admitted, the ears becoming more incandescent.

‘Medium-pace bowler with a good leg cutter, it I recall? How can I be of service?‘ the surgeon invited.

‘Doctor, I am — er, naturally anxious to do all I can for my parishioners. And particularly for these fifty or so you‘ve sent me in the past fortnight. But I am not a medical man, Dr Spratt.‘

‘Neither are they medical patients,‘ Sir Lancelot told him genially. ‘Do you realize the surgeries of this country are choked w ith people who've nothing wrong with them except a failure to cope with the ordinary, relatively simple and usually extremely dull problems of everyday life?

And that the useless drugs they swallow would alone pay for the upkeep of your entire Establishment?‘

‘I agree, Dr Spratt, people seem to take rather a lot of pills here in Leafy Grove.‘ The Rev. Gwatkin shifted in his chair. ‘But it‘s the doctors who sign the prescriptions,‘ he pointed out.

‘They don‘t want pills,‘ declared Sir Lancelot. ‘They want sympathy. Their own families have heard the tale of woe so often they‘re fed to the back teeth. People used to confide in you fellers before medicine became respectable, but now they reckon the doctor with all his scientific mumbo-jumbo is a better bet. I suppose,‘ he broke off reflectively, ‘it‘s because we try to achieve our results in this world and you in the next.‘

‘Naturally, Dr Spratt,‘ continued the Vicar defensively, ‘I am always ready to listen to anyone‘s troubles but — ‘

‘You did a capital job on Mrs Perrins, by the way,‘ Sir Lancelot congratulated him. ‘You‘ve made an honest woman of her. I mean, you‘ve restored her sense of moral values. Sympathy!‘ Lie gazed through the window. ‘By George!‘ He jumped up, seized with an idea. ‘Felicity, my dear!‘ he called through the surgery door. ‘I have a job for you. My niece, Miss Nightrider,‘ he introduced her, as the Vicar‘s ears, which had dimmed a little, switched on again.

‘You have a spare downstairs room in that enormous vicarage, I‘m sure? Good. Then I would like you to start the country‘s first sympathy clinic. I will pay you a small salary, Felicity, and after six months I shall expect enough material for a paper in the
Lancet.
It may well be a milestone in family doctoring,‘ he ended, rubbing his hands.

‘But, Dr Spratt! I — I‘m afraid it may not be thought quite regular in some quarters,‘ muttered the Vicar, his ears now seeming in danger of bursting into flames.

‘Rubbish, man. Her father runs the Morality Foundation. By the way, Felicity,‘ he added, scribbling on a piece of paper, ‘you might get these two items at the chemist‘s. One you rub on and the other you inhale — ah, the doorbell,‘ he broke off. ‘I suspect it is the herald of Mrs Peckwater‘s coming baby. I‘ll answer it,‘ he boomed genially to Mrs Chuffey. ‘Ye gods!‘ he cried on the doorstep.

Sir Lancelot‘s face, which had been wearing an expression far sunnier than the weather, instantly frosted over.

‘What the devil do you want?‘ he barked.

‘I just had to talk to you, sir.‘

In the excitement of running a general practice Sir Lancelot had totally forgotten Tim Tolly.

‘The feeling is not reciprocated.‘

‘But, sir!‘ complained Tim. ‘My whole life is ruined.‘

‘I am sorry, though I find it difficult to believe.‘

‘Euphemia‘s written to say you‘ve forbidden her to see me again.‘

‘An extremely sensible course. Good morning.‘

‘She says you‘ll send her home to Singapore it I do.‘

‘By the very first aeroplane. Good morning.‘

‘But, Sir Lancelot!‘ He stuck a foot in the door. ‘She is half of my very self!‘

‘In that case you must tolerate the amputation. Hello?‘ he said as the hall telephone rang. ‘For Mrs Peckwater? Right. I shall be along instantly. Mrs Chuffey! The maternity bag, if you please.‘

‘Harry the gateman says Ganymede, sir,‘ Mrs Chuffey announced, handing him the heavy leather case.

‘Ring Alf and stick a pony on.‘

‘Very good, sir.‘

‘But I can‘t live without her,‘ expostulated Tim Tolly, following Sir Lancelot down the garden path.

‘You managed to exist for some twenty-odd years in that condition. You have possibly gathered that I‘m extremely busy at the moment? I really must ask you to leave. Good morning.‘

‘Sir Lancelot! I‘ve come all the way from Edinburgh specially to see you.‘

‘Oh, for heaven‘s sake, man!‘ Sir Lancelot exploded. ‘All right, jump in the car. You‘ll come in useful for giving the analgesia.‘

Tim had no chance of discussing his broken heart on the way to Mrs Peckwater‘s, as Sir Lancelot insisted on driving his Rolls at fifty miles an hour against all the traffic lights, bawling ‘Maternity case!‘ through the window at startled pedestrians in explanation.

‘I‘m glad Mrs Peckwater‘s obligingly gone off during my last day,‘ was all he said to his passenger. ‘Haven‘t had the chance of doing a delivery for forty years.‘

‘Forty years!‘ Tim looked concerned. ‘But I suppose the midwife will be on hand?‘ he added consolingly.

‘Midwife? You don‘t suppose I‘m going to be mucked about by some interfering Sarah Gamp who thinks she knows more than I do? Childbirth, Tolly, is a perfectly natural process. All the doctor does is field the little thing in the slips. I am much looking forward to the experience. And here we are, with the nervous father leaning over the gate. You may carry the bag.‘

‘Dr Spratt? I am, of course, Mr Peckwater,‘ This was a thin fair man with one of those precise flat voices you often hear asking questions at public meetings. ‘It happens to be our fourth happy event, Dr Spratt — ‘

‘Thank you, I already have the obstetrical history.‘

‘And I was thinking, Dr Spratt, after I had read a very moving article in the Sunday paper, not to mention seeing an extremely educational television programme, that I should like to be present to observe the miracle on this occasion, Dr Spratt.‘

‘What an utterly ghastly suggestion,‘ muttered the surgeon, stamping into the house.

‘It was said in this article,‘ continued Mr Peckwater, ‘that the father‘s place in childbirth is at the mother‘s side. This is Gran,‘ he broke off.

‘Charmed to meet you, madam.‘

‘Her time is very near, Doctor,‘ warned Gran.

‘Psychologists tell us — ‘ went on Mr Peckwater.

‘Oh, all right, all right, Mr Peckwater! Come and sit in if you like. After all, it‘s your party.‘

Father went upstairs with the two doctors.

‘Well, my dear, quite comfortable!‘ began Sir Lancelot, breezing into the bedroom. ‘H‘m.‘ He stroked his beard. ‘Gran‘s right. Things certainly seem more advanced than I should have imagined when I called with the pethidine earlier this morning.‘

‘After all, she is a multip., sir,‘ murmured Tim Tolly at his side.

‘When I wish for your advice, young man, I shall ask for it. Please put a spare mask on the husband, though why the devil the man can‘t spend the time in the pub like a normal father is beyond me. Then show the patient how to use the trilene inhaler.‘

‘Dr Spratt,‘ Mr Peckwater continued undaunted through his mask, ‘have you read that most informative work,
Childbirth Through Relaxation
?‘

‘The only obstetrical book I‘ve ever read was McGregor‘s
Fundamentals,
and it‘s been out of print for twenty years.‘ Sir Lancelot rolled up his sleeves. ‘Have we plenty of boiling water, Tolly?‘

‘Gran has four kettles on, sir.‘

‘Good. Bring me a newspaper.‘

‘A newspaper? But sir -1 mean, you‘ll hardly have time to sit about—‘

‘I want to put my gear on it, you fool, not read the racing results. Newsprint is sterile, Tolly. Sterile. Don‘t they teach you anything useful at St Agnes‘?‘

Sir Lancelot laid his instruments on the dressing table with the precision he demanded in the operating-theatre at St Swithin‘s. Tim fiddled with the inhaler. Mr Peckwater continued to chat affably about the miracle of childbirth, as though it were some new sort of detergent. Sir Lancelot laid a hand on the patient‘s shoulder.

‘Now, I don‘t want you to worry, my dear,‘ he instructed, in a voice that radiated confidence like the Eddystone lighthouse. ‘You could manage this inhaler by yourself, but the other doctor will help you. I assure you that all will be perfectly straightforward.‘

‘Thank you, Doctor... ‘

‘Right you are, Tolly.‘

The patient became drowsy. Sir Lancelot started operations. There was a thump behind him.

‘I knew that blasted idiot would faint! Tolly — get him out of here at once.‘

Gran, waiting expectantly on the landing, was surprised to see one of the doctors emerge not with a bawling baby but with the husband, apparently dead.

‘He just fainted, Gran, that‘s all,‘ Tim explained breathlessly. ‘Give him a glass of water and put his head between his knees and he‘ll be all right.‘