Surgeon at Arms

fellow was unbelievably stupid. But the line must be drawn somewhere. Authority must be established. On the morning following Bluey’s arrival he appeared at Smithers Botham to make his first inspection of the annex.
    He could readily believe Pile’s account of indiscipline among Graham’s patients. He needed only to recall the notorious laxity of Graham’s own life before the war. It would have to be checked, even if it meant a row. Haileybury was aware that he and Graham had quarrelled every second time they met and recalled uneasily that he himself generally got the worst of it. Trevose had a quick tongue, and a slick way of putting things. But now Haileybury told himself he was dressed in authority —which was neither little, nor, in view of the summer’s military disasters, likely to be brief.
    He marched across the lawn with Captain Pile, admiring the flower-beds. As the operating theatre now blocked one end of the annex, entrance was between the horse-box lavatories and the kitchen, where twice daily the nurses portioned out food dispatched from the central Smithers Botham kitchens in reputedly heatproof trolleys. As the pair entered, the door of the washroom opened and Graham himself appeared. He was wearing a surgeon’s green gown with a gauze mask dangling below his chin, and seemed busy.
    ‘Haileybury, I was delighted to learn of your impending visit,’ he began affably. ‘I’d been hoping you’d look us up all summer.’
    ‘I’m glad to find you so cheerful, Trevose. No one knows better than myself the difficulties under which you’ve been obliged to work.’
    ‘I agree, we haven’t sufficient equipment, sufficient room, sufficient staff, or a sufficient number of hours in the day, but we manage. I’d like you to see our star turn,’ he invited. ‘Nurse, give these two gentlemen masks and gowns. Step inside. It’s the saline bath unit.’
    In a partitioned corner of the wash-house one of the bathtubs was in use. Sitting up to his waist in water was a man—or so it was to be assumed, the creature being without hair, eyebrows, or nose, the skin of his face and even his eyelids burnt away. There were two nurses working on him in white gowns and rubber gloves. One was moistening the man’s head with a trickle of clear solution running from a glass vessel suspended near the ceiling. The other was manipulating a pair of forceps in the stream, picking away plaques of hard black material embedded in the pus and raw tissue. Captain Pile, whose eyes had become used to inspecting official rather than human material, felt his stomach turn over.
    ‘Very interesting,’ said Haileybury.
    ‘Somewhat Heath Robinson, but it works,’ Graham explained. ‘It’s got plenty of snags. For one thing, the saline solution in the carboy up there cools too quickly. It’s a nuisance for the nurses to keep replacing it.’
    ‘Doubtless,’ said Haileybury.
    They watched the operation in silence. After a few minutes Graham led them out. ‘Why do you do it to them, Haileybury?’ he demanded.
    Haileybury untied the tapes of his surgeon’s gown. ‘Do what?’
    ‘Plaster those burns with tannic acid jelly. Do you know what I feel when I look round my wards? No hatred of the Germans. Their fellows are getting even worse treatment, I know that well enough, I lectured there before the war. No, I simply writhe with indignation over the stupidity of my own countrymen.’
    ‘So you think tannic acid is stupid, do you?’ Haileybury asked drily.
    ‘I think it’s criminal.’
    ‘But you must know perfectly well, Trevose, it happens to be the regulation treatment. And what else would you suggest? That the dressing-stations do nothing in the way of first-aid at all?’
    ‘That’s exactly what I do suggest. I’m charitably assuming you treat burns with the equivalent of grannie’s cold tea because, one, you can’t think of anything better, and two, you want the casualties to feel something’s being done for them. Well, something’s being done, all right. Medieval mutilation.’
    ‘I really don’t think I need comment on that,’ said Haileybury wearily. ‘Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve ruined your advocacy of any cause, worthy or not, with the extravagance of your language.’
    Graham suddenly felt angry. ‘This situation doesn’t need any language at all.’ He pointed to the closed door of the wash-house. ‘Haven’t you eyes to see for yourself? That patient’s a pilot officer, observer