DOCTOR DEATH,
OR “GUESS WHO I SAW AT THE DENTIST’S” ?

The infirmary was used as an experimental doctor’s surgery. Don’t get me wrong there was a lot of problems sorted out in there but some of the methods employed left a lot to be desired. Hygiene was definitely not one of them however. Some of the staff genuinely cared about their patients (yeah right). There was however a lack of funds and medicines. The doctor must have last worked in a clap clinic because his remedy for every thing was to give you a shot of penicillin.
 
I got an infection through the buttons on the inside of my waistband rubbing through to the hipbone. I also got an infection from a boil on my shin. I believe I got this mainly through the bad diet and being physically run down all the time because of the rigorous training regime. Suffice to say in any other climate or set of conditions it would have been cleared up in a couple of days, with good food and a bit of rest.
 
Here I got the scab regularly scrapped off by the medic and the pus and gunge dug out of the wounds by what I can only describe as an old style fountain pen nib. Should one dare to wince, or make any comment about his rough handling. The duty corporal would smack me on the side of the head. Just to keep me in line a bit. (I kid you not…it fucking hurt, especially if he scrapped along the bone…..)
 
Anyway it wasn’t getting any better and I was told I was going o be admitted to the infirmary. I nearly shit myself at this point. Because I had been warned that most of the guys that went in got even more serious diseases or their injuries worsened through infection. Well I was admitted and checked over by the doctor. Who rattled off an order to the medic who duly came back with syringe, which he was going to inject me with? No worry he says in broken English, “penicillin good for you”. Unfortunately I’m allergic to penicillin and pushed him away.
 
Well I woke up three days later and I didn’t know where I was. When I tried to get down from the top bunk. Didn’t realise it was a three tiered one. I nearly broke my fucking neck when the floor turned out to be a lot farther away than I thought. I had been given a bit of a beating due to my attempted refusal of the injection. And bugger me if the corporal chef didn’t start smacking me about the moment he laid eyes on me again.  They thought I had gone over the wall. They had forgot where they had put me after they beat me up. Because I had been unconscious for the last three days they had just assumed I had escaped. I think I was in there for about ten days but I don’t remember a lot about it.
 
If you have ever seen Monty Python or the Benny Hill show you will relate straight away to the doctor who was on duty.  (He had the glasses and they were real!)
 
One day the 1~ere coy mascot (a dog) was knocked down by a car outside the front gates. There was at the time in the infirmary a legionnaire lying on the treatment table, with a suspected broken leg (well there was only a little bit of bone poking through his trousers). He was unceremoniously thrown off the table. Punched a few times, when he actually dared to cry out in pain, due to the rough treatment. As he lay on the floor the vet now took over, who had up ‘til then apparently, had previously been the doctor?
 
Having a toothache or visiting the dentist could be just as dodgy. In the British army if you want to skive or hide out of the way for the day you go sick. It takes nearly for ever to be seen by the medic and then when you’ve been referred to the doctor. You know that he or she will not be in before 9 o’clock so you can snooze on the char in the corridor. I had a really bad hangover one-day and decided to skive. So I went sick with a toothache. There are no skivers in the Legion as I was to find out too my cost.
 
I turned up at the infirmary bluffing that I had a toothache. Expecting to sit and wait for the dentist to arrive. Possibly sobering up somewhat in the process I was aghast to be told that I could go straight in and sit in the chair (rank had its privilege’s). At that time I didn’t realise that the “doctor” also lived in one of the rooms there. Obviously delighted to see me (well when he got much closer he did) he asked me what was the problem. I also didn’t realise that the doctor was also the dentist.
 
With fingers like butcher’s sausages he hooked my mouth and nearly pulled me from the chair as he turned and asked for the light to be turned on. Turing back to me he let go and gave the side of my head a playful slap. Don’t move my little bird he said I’d soon fix your problem. I started to sweat at this point I just knew it was going to be bad.
 
“Which tooth” he asked? Producing a stainless steel hammer which the day before he had been tapping recruits knees with, testing their reflexes.
“It feels much better,” I said trying to get up.
“You can’t mess about with teeth,” he said pushing me back into the chair.
Fucking right I thought, especially not mine.
 
He hit two of my teeth with the hammer. Sharp, quick like, in swift succession. It went back for another swing. Painnnnnnnnnn.
“It’s the big one at the back”, I screamed.
I knew he wouldn’t be able to reach that one.
I’d had problems in ordinary PROPER dentists with that one.
“Right” he said, “I thought it was that one”…..?
 
He couldn’t get at that one like I said. So he pulled the one in front of it.
It hurt like hell and I got the shit slapped out of me in the process.
The worst thing about it all, was the one at the back did hurt now and the one in front had absolutely fuck all wrong with it………
 
He also knew I was skiving………………. The bastard.

 © Jim Love