Richard Gordon - DOCTOR AT SEA

'All right, Doc. Have a good time.'

He went off, singing with his friends. But there had now collected outside the door a bunch of deckhands, led by the Bos'n with his cap respectfully in his hands.

'What the hell do you want?' I asked crossly.

'Sorry to disturb you, Doctor, only seeing as we're all pals of Erb's, we was thinking you'd let us come in, see, to 'ave a dekko. 'E says its all right wiv 'im, as long as we behaves decent.'

'Go away,' I said. 'Go away at once. All of you. Who do you think I am? A music-hall turn? I shall report you all to the Mate.'

I slammed the door and returned to the intricacies of appendectomy.

I found Easter in the hospital. He had dismantled the cabin furnishings and was on his knees scrubbing the deck, stripped to the waist.

'How's it going?' I asked.

'It's bloody 'ot.'

'What's the temperature?'

He got up and inspected the thermometer in the corner.

'Hundred and six,' he said.

'Can't you put the forced draught on?'

'Blows soot in.'

'Oh, all right. We'll have to put up with it I suppose. How have you got on with the operating table?'

He had a wooden trestle table along one bulkhead which he set up proudly. It left just enough room on either side for the pair of us.

'I got it off Chippy,' he said. 'He uses it for mixing the paints on.'

'It's better than nothing. If you scrub it hard enough it'll be reasonably sterile.'

As I spoke, two large, rusty drops fell from a pipe crossing the deckhead on the spot where the operation wound would be.

'Damnation! Can't you do anything to stop that?'

Easter shook his head.

'Been like it for years. It's a job for the shore engineers, that is.'

'Well, you'll have to fix up some sort of screen. Have we got any dressings and gloves, and so forth?'

'There was some in the locker. Seem to have been there since the war.'

'Get them sterilized in the galley. How about instruments? What have you found?'

Easter pulled two handfuls of metal objects from his trouser pockets.

'I've been on the scrounge,' he explained. 'I thought these would come in handy, like.'

I looked at his booty, which he spread on the table. There was a pair of pliers, two saloon forks, a packet of darning needles labelled 'A Sailor's Friend,' some paper-clips, a stiletto, a potato knife, a pair of tweezers, a surgical scalpel, and a uterine curette.

'You'd better sterilize the lot,' I said gloomily. 'Except the pliers. Shouldn't there be a set of surgical instruments on board?'

'They seem to have disappeared, Doctor.'

'You mean you flogged them?' He scratched his nose guiltily. 'There's nothing for it but to use what we've got,' I told him crossly. 'I damn well hope you get an appendix, too!'

I went out on deck. I needed some fresh air. The day was already becoming too much for me.

Outside the hospital I found Chippy. He was sitting on the deck with a hatch cover-a thick piece of wood about six feet by two used in rows to cover the hatches. He was polishing it carefully with emery paper.

'Hello, Chips,' I said. 'Getting everything shipshape for Santos?'

He looked up at me gloomily.

'He'll slide off this lovely,' he said.

'Who will?'

'Why-'im down there.' He pointed aft with his thumb. 'The poor bloke what's for the knife. Slide off it like a wet fish, he will,' he added with relish.

I was perplexed.

'What's he want to slide off a hatch cover for?' I asked.

'Why, when they buries 'im, of course.' He gave it another rub. 'Lot of work I've put in on this 'ere 'atch cover.'

'Now, look here, Chippy. What gives you the idea my patient's going to die?'

'Oh, they always does. I've seen five appendicitises at sea. 'Ad their time, every one of 'em. Over the wall they went on a 'atch cover.'

I stamped off in disgust. I felt I had been professionally insulted. I climbed the bridge ladder angrily to report the Carpenter's pessimism to one of the Mates. There I found the Second moodily sorting out flags.

'What ho, Doc,' he said. 'When's the carve-up?'

'In about an hour.'

'Think that ensign'll do?'

'Do? What for?'

'Why, in case-in case of accidents. To cover the body.'

'There isn't going to be any body, damn you!'

'Well, Father told us to take precautions. Means a lot of work for all hands, Doc. It'll be a shame if they're all disappointed now.'

I admit that they do give one an excellent funeral at sea. The properties are traditionally adapted from the ship's gear and the routine is prescribed as firmly as that for entering and leaving port. As soon as the body is available it is turned over to the bos'n, who sews it up in canvas with half a dozen firebars from the galley. For this he receives a bottle of whisky. Meanwhile, the carpenter has been polishing and attaching rope handles to a hatch cover, and the quartermasters have been pressing their best uniforms. The ceremony is held at sunset or sunrise on the same day, because ships spend most of their time in tropical waters and the performance might be marred by the corpse if it became aggressively high. The vessel stops, a rail is taken away from the side, and the ship's officers, including the abashed Doctor, line up with the Captain. Caps are removed, and at the appropriate moment the body is marched to the rails on the hatch cover by the quartermasters-who receive a bottle of whisky between them for their services-and smartly tipped overboard. The Mate, who has charge of all deck stores including flags, at the same time edges himself down to the rail and grabs the ensign-which costs the Company money-before it slips into the sea with its bundle. The ship then starts again and everybody goes off for an obituary peg.

'I should hate to spoil your fun,' I said coldly, 'but this patient is going to walk off the ship in Liverpool.'

I returned into the hospital, where Easter was boiling the instruments over a Primus stove.

'Everyone thinks there's going to be a funeral,' I said. 'I never heard such nonsense.'

'Ho, yes,' Easter remarked calmly. 'That's why I couldn't fit a screen under that there pipe as you said. Bos'n says he's got to keep all his spare canvas for the shroud.'

'But it's monstrous!'

Easter chuckled over the steaming instruments.

'Cor, I've seen some funny funerals at sea! Remember one we had in the Indian Ocean. Chinaman it was. Got knifed. Blimey, we pushed him overboard all right, but he wouldn't sink. Bobbed about like a buoy. The Old Man wasn't 'arf flummoxed. In the end we had to leave him to it. Couldn't pull him out again, could we? Probably still bobbing about somewhere, if the sharks ain't got him.'

'I'm going to see the patient,' I said sternly. 'Get everything ready in an hour's time.'

The patient was sitting in his cabin eating fish and chips and drinking a bottle of beer.

'What the devil's this!' I shouted. 'I thought I told you to have nothing by mouth?'

'Oh, sorry, Doc,' he said awkwardly. 'But seeing I was feeling so much better like, I thought I could do with a bit of grub.'

'Better, man! How dare you say you're better! That's for me to decide. You only think you're better. You've got an acute appendix inside you.'

He pulled a fish bone out of his mouth repentantly.

'There's just one thing, Doc,' he said respectfully. 'Do people often get this appendix taken out twice.'

'Twice? What do you mean?'

'Well, I had it taken out the first time in Birkenhead when I was six…'

I sprang at him and pulled up his shirt. A faint, white two-inch scar. I started to laugh.

'Not operating, Doctor? Why?' Captain Hogg demanded.

'I've charmed it away, sir,' I explained. 'A trick I learnt in infancy from a gypsy.'