The Summer of Sir Lancelot

have been going steady six months,‘ she told him pertly. ‘We know our own minds.‘
    ‘On the contrary, young lady, I would advise you to remember your endocrine cycle still has its L plates on. Good morning. Next case.‘
    There followed five people wanting certificates for a week off work. ‘This will never do.‘ Sir Lancelot threw open the waiting room door. ‘The old St Swithin‘s technique, I feel, is needed. Kindly stop talking, everybody,‘ he announced briskly. ‘All those hopeful for certificates, free milk, bottles of medicine, new teeth and glasses, stand up. Come on now!‘ he commanded as one or two patients rose uncertainly. ‘Right — over by the window. All coughs, a group by the fireplace. Stomach disorders in the corner, and rheumatics under the Rembrandt. Your name, madam?‘ he asked the one still seated.
    ‘Mrs Peckwater, Doctor.‘
    ‘You are near term, I believe? Please step this way.‘
    ‘I got here before she did,‘ muttered a man in the corner.
    Sir Lancelot glowered. ‘Possibly. But at least I can be sure this lady is suffering from a genuine clinical condition. Mrs Bowler, sweep up this glass. I don‘t want to spend the entire day suturing feet.‘
    ‘I‘m going,‘ his helpmeet announced, folding the flowery apron. ‘Going? Rubbish! How do you imagine I can examine a female patient without you?‘
    ‘It‘s a wonder the poor things let you lay hands on them at all,‘ she retorted, stubbing out her Weight. ‘Bluebeard!‘ she added, slamming the front door and knocking out the rest of the glass.
    ‘What impudence!‘ Sir Lancelot grabbed the telephone. ‘Hello? Mrs Chuffey? You are to come to my Leafy Grove address at once. I don‘t care if he is holding a luncheon party for the entire Cabinet, you must arrive here on the first train. Thank you. Kindly take a seat in the waiting room,‘ he added to a red-faced man hobbling through the front door with a stick.
    ‘You the new doctor?‘
    Sir Lancelot eyed him. ‘That is so.‘
    The man‘s glance was as friendly as fall-out. ‘I‘m Mr Hardjoy. I sent for you a good two hours ago.‘
    ‘The doctor is not sent for,‘ returned Sir Lancelot briskly. ‘He is asked to call.‘
    ‘Don‘t give me that. I‘ve paid my contributions.‘
    ‘Mr Hardjoy — ‘ Sir Lancelot tugged his beard. ‘As I doubt whether you are entirely familiar with the book of Ecclesiasticus, I will mention that you are enjoined by Holy Writ to honour a physician. But as you are a coward — ‘
    ‘What? You call me a coward-‘Mr Hardjoy raised his stick.
    ‘You are a coward,‘ continued Sir Lancelot evenly, ‘because you know my profession gives its services without thought of reward, convenience, or even personal health, and you behave towards it in a manner that would not be tolerated by a shopkeeper or publican or anyone else entitled to throw you out on your rather filthy neck.‘
    ‘You... you... ‘ Mr Hardjoy lifted a fist. ‘I‘ll raise this with the Medical Council!‘ he shouted.
    ‘Please do. Most of the members are personal friends of mine. Please don‘t push, damn you!‘ he added shortly to a little man in a black suit trying to edge through the front door. ‘Take your place in the queue, like everyone else.‘
    ‘Dr Dinwiddie?‘
    ‘Sir — Dr Spratt. I‘m his locum.‘
    The man gave a thin smile. ‘I am Dr Fudds, from the Ministry of Health. I have called - dear me, you really should get this glass swept up -we do send so many circulars about tidy surgeries — I have called to raise with Dr Dinwiddie the matter of over-prescribing for his patients. We are most concerned about such things at the ministry, you know. Most concerned. A very serious business indeed. If I may now take half an hour or so of your time — ‘
    ‘Ye gods!‘ cried Sir Lancelot. He stamped into the surgery. He slammed the door. He snatched up a sheet of writing paper.
    ‘The Secretary,‘ he wrote rapidly. ‘The “Ginger Group” Dear Sir, I wish to join your Society at once. I enclose my cheque. Yours, L Spratt.‘
    He threw down his pen. He stared blankly through the window. ‘Surely something can save the doctor for doctoring?‘ he demanded.
    An object outside caught his eye. ‘I wonder,‘ he murmured. He stroked his beard. ‘I wonder... ‘
     

12
     
    ‘Mrs Perrins?‘ asked Mrs Chuffey severely in the waiting room. ‘Aren‘t you an old patient? This is Sir Lance - Dr Spratt‘s morning for new ones. But I shall