Rod the Medic and my part in his career choice.

He was certainly small, and yet at the same time, very loud.

He is still small and yet, if at all possible, even louder, a little wider too.

Rod the Medic, we see him over here a half dozen times of the year and Friday night was one of his visits, when he wasn’t outside in the pub yard smoking (Medics don’t have to practise what they preach), he was inside being noisy and telling everyone that this was his blog, his life story, the number of times he was mentioned.

When we first met we were 11 years of age, first day at Grammar School, he one of three still in short trousers, faux-pas there Rodders, faux-pas, if he wasn’t the shortest kid in the first year then my belief that he was is probably based on the fact that if there was a shorter kid then he was too small to see, I wouldn’t say that he was bullied, I don’t think he would say he was bullied, but we did pick on him a bit.

Like the time we split his head open for instance.

A wet dinnertime, we were allowed to stay indoors and on this occasion to stay indoors with no supervision – chaos reigned.

Someone decided it would be a lark to blindfold someone, spin them around and make them dizzy, harmless enough, step forward Rodney, stop complaining, those four woollen scarves that we tied around his face weren’t too tight at all, we couldn’t get them off afterwards its true and he bitched like a very whinny thing that his hair was caught in the knots and got a slap for his troubles, and then we spun him around.

Because he was smaller than us it was very easy to spin him around and so we kept on spinning him around, faster and faster, and then we let go and he kept on spinning, he was a spinning dervish, his spinning had taken on a momentum of its own, if we’d drawn a chalk pattern on his head it would have looked like a kaleidoscope.

We stood back in wonder and watched as he spun down to the front of the classroom and then disaster, he tripped over Pretty Woman David England’s satchel (I mean come on, who brings satchels to school), and took a flyer, still blindfold his head cracked off the sharp edge of the master’s desk with a “thunk” that could be heard down the corridor.

He lay motionless on the floor as we all peered down at the pool of blood that spread slowly around his head.

“Get my scarf off his head” someone said and I realised that one of the football scarves was mine, “Bloody hell, get mine off as well” I cried, “its going to get blood on it”,

We removed the scarves, blood ran freely down his face from a very jagged scalp wound,

“ooh that looks sore” someone said

Someone else touched the wound, “Ouch” cried Rodney

“I was right” the first someone said, “it is sore”

“Someone best take him to the first aid room” someone else said

We all turned away and busied ourselves doing other, irrelevant things, “I’m not bloody taking him” we all muttered to each other for it was a well known fact that when you turned up at the first aid room to find one of the gym teachers manning the station then they would ALWAYS blame the one who had brought the injured party, and it would be Sinbad Simpson at the first aid room this lunchtime and he was not known for his arbitration or Judgement of Solomon features, in short whoever turned up carrying the bloody and injured Rodney under one arm would be in for it.

It was however decreed by Rob Vasey, Class Bully, that the five people who spun him around in the first place should take him to the first aid room and so it was, for you did not argue with Class Bully, and we led the even more bloody Rodney down the corridor, nay carried him down the corridor for now he was complaining of feeling faint, he being so small probably only had two pints of blood in his whole body, one and a half of which was now all the way down the corridor to the first aid room.

Fortunately the first aid room door was closed and so we sat him on the floor leaning against the door, banged on it and scarpered, leaving him to topple backwards into the roomand bang his head again on the floor when Sinbad opened the door.

“COME BACK YOU BOYS” shouted Sinbad in his most commanding of voices but it was too late, we were far down the corridor by now and Sinbad was gazing at his feet where a semi-concious first former now lay in an ever increasing pool of deep red blood.

I think we were ultimately responsible for encouraging the young Rodney to take up medicine as a career you know, I think it was at the very moment that he realised that no other bugger was going to help you when you were mortally injured so you may as well be trained up to do it yourself.

Yes, I take the credit for him becoming an ace medic, I’ll put it on my CV, “Helped Rodney to become world class medic”…

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