Surgeon at Arms

you’re getting it from some merchant in Maiden Cross. I must insist the practice stops forthwith. You must know it’s quite out of order for anyone except the catering officer to have foodstuffs sent to the hospital?’ Burned men lose protein from the raw surface of their bodies, and Graham had discovered sadly with his own palate that the Smithers Botham diet was miserably mean in such a costly essential. The dishes consisted mostly of porridge, stew, and rice pudding, which, being boiled in the same vats, had interchangeable tastes. Though like an old-fashioned Christmas pudding they occasionally offered keepsakes, a dirty bandage, a broken tooth, once even a well-worn rubber heel. Graham supposed that none of the original inmates was expected to notice what he ate, anyway. During the hot summer he had hit on the idea of ice-cream, telling the manufacturer to cram in as many protein-rich eggs as he could find. But all this seemed too complicated to explain to Captain Pile.
    ‘I eat it all myself,’ he said. ‘Incidentally, I pay for it from my own pocket.’
    ‘But you buy churns of the stuff! ’
    ‘I happen to be particularly fond of ice-cream.’
    Captain Pile looked baffled. Trevose was an eccentric, quite off his head. ‘Furthermore,’ Pile recalled, ‘you sent six shirts to the hospital laundry last week. The maximum permitted number is three.’
    ‘Good God,’ muttered Graham.
    When Bluey arrived at the annex he had no idea what might be in store for him. He had no imagination at all. It was an essential ingredient of his limitless courage. The Ministry of Information, hungry for heroes, had trumpeted him as the Australian ‘ace’, printing his photograph and his number of enemy kills in the newspapers. He was a rewarding subject, tall, good-looking with dark wavy hair, unmarried, a sportsman splendid at cricket, swimming, and tennis. But a hero has no more likelihood of being pleasant than lesser men. Bluey was pushful, overbearing, and vain, as malicious behind the backs of his superiors as into the faces of anyone unlucky enough to be set below him. Since puberty he had seduced as many girls as he could lay hands on, regarding them all as the fortunate recipients of his passing favour. In the air, he would risk his neck for anyone. On the ground he would lift a finger only for himself. No one in the squadron had much time for Bluey.
    ‘Good morning, Flight-Lieutenant Jardine.’ A young nurse with a mature air, holding a board with a clip of notes, approached as he stood at the ward door trying to take it all in. ‘We’ve put you in the far end bed. That’s a bit of an honour, you know. It’s supposed to be quieter.’
    Bluey looked round anxiously. It was certainly a change from the last hospital. The long narrow lower ward of the annex was crammed with beds, though the patients were mostly dressed and lounging about, smoking, laughing, or chatting noisily. They struck him as an odd bunch. The majority were bandaged heavily about the head, some wore slings and plaster casts, others had their hands in bulky dressings like boxing-gloves. The ward radio was at full blast. It always was at Smithers Botham, from early tea to lights out, right through the war. Graham often idly wondered how many people died to the strains of Geraldo.
    ‘Do you want me to turn in?’ Bluey asked.
    ‘Not unless you’re tired. In the annex we like to keep everyone up and about. Dr Bickley thinks it stops you getting bad chests.’
    ‘Who’s Dr Bickley?’ asked Bluey warily. You never knew how many of these medical jokers were waiting to have a go at you. ‘I’m under Dr Trevose.’
    ‘Dr Bickley’s the Gasman. The anaesthetist. You’ll meet him later. You can smoke whenever you like, there aren’t any rules. Have you got enough cigarettes? The boys’ll help you light them.’
    ‘I’m all right.’ He wasn’t going to feel gratitude towards anybody.
    ‘Is there anything special you like to eat? We’ll try to get it, but we can’t guarantee results.’
    ‘I’m not particular.’
    ‘Here’s Peter.’ The nurse smiled. ‘He’ll look after you. He’s the oldest inhabitant.’
    The nurse left Bluey with another man in flight lieutenant’s uniform, his tunic hanging from his shoulders and his sleeves pinned to the pockets. Bluey inspected him with fascination. His face was mostly hidden in crêpe bandages, but a strange yellowish-pink sausage sprouted from the middle of it. This was fixed