Vets Might Fly Read online

  "I'm sure I can explain. There's been some mistake . . ."

  "Yes . . . yes . . ." he murmured, filling the syringe before my

  eyes and sending a few playful spurts into the air.

  "There's just a bit of enamel off it, and Mr Grover said . . ."

  The WAAF suddenly wound the chair back and I found myself in the

  semi-prone position with the white bulk looming over me.

  "You see," I gasped desperately.

  "I need that tooth. It's the one that holds my ' A strong finger was

  on my gum and I felt the needle going in. I resigned myself to my

  fate.

  When he had inserted the local the big man put the syringe down.

  "We'll just give that a minute or two," he said, and left the room.

  As soon as the door closed behind him the WAAF tiptoed over to me.

  "This feller's loopy!" she whispered.

  Half Lying, I stared at her.

  "Loopy . . . ? What d'you mean?"

  "Crackers! Round the bend! No idea how to pull teeth!"

  "But . . . but . . . he's a dentist isn't he . . . ?"

  She pulled a wry face,

  "Thinks he is! But he hasn't a clue!"

  I had no time to explore this cheering information further because the

  door opened and the big man returned. : He seized a horrible pair of

  forceps and I closed my eyes as he started flexing his muscles.

  I must admit I felt nothing. I knew he was twisting and tugging away

  up there but the local had mercifully done its job. I was telling

  myself that it would Soon be over when I heard a sharp crack.

  I opened my eyes. The Butcher was gazing disappointedly at my

  broken-off tooth in his forceps The root was still in my gum.

  Behind him the WAAF gave me a long

  "I told you so' nod. She was a pretty little thing, but I fear the

  libido of the young men she encountered in here would be at a low

  ebb.

  ' Oh!" The Butcher grunted and began to rummage in a metal box. It

  took me right back to the McDarroch days as he fished out one forceps

  after another, opened and shut them a few times then tried them on

  me.

  But it was of no avail, and as the time passed I was the unwilling

  witness of the gradual transition from heartiness to silence, then to

  something like panic.

  The man was clearly whacked. He had no idea how to shift that root.

  He must have been gouging for half an hour when an idea seemed to

  strike him. Pushing all the forceps to one side he almost ran from the

  room and reappeared shortly with a tray on which reposed a long chisel

  and a metal mallet.

  At a sign from him the WAAF wound the chair back till I was completely

  horizontal. Seemingly familiar with the routine, she cradled my head

  in her arms in a practised manner and stood waiting.

  This couldn't be true, I thought, as the man inserted the chisel into

  my mouth and poised the mallet; but all doubts were erased as the metal

  rod thudded against the remnants of my tooth and my head in turn shot

  back into the little WAAF's bosom. And that was how it went on. I

  lost count of time as The Butcher banged away and the girl hung on

  grimly to my jerking skull.

  The thought uppermost in my mind was that I had always wondered how

  young horses felt when I knocked wolf teeth out of them. Now I knew.

  When it finally stopped I opened my eyes, and though by this time I was

  prepared for any thing I still felt slightly surprised to see The

  Butcher threading a needle with a length of suture silk. He was

  sweating and loo king just a little desperate as he bent over me yet

  again.

  "Just a couple of stitches," he muttered hoarsely, and I closed my eyes

  again.

  When I left the chair I felt very strange indeed. The assault on my

  cranium had made me dizzy and the sensation of the long ends of the

  stitches tickling my tongue was distinctly odd. I'm sure that when I

  came out of the room I was staggering, and instinctively I pawed at my

  mouth.

  The first man I saw was Simkin. He was there where I had left him but

  he looked different as he beckoned excitedly to me. I went over and he

  caught at my tunic with one hand.

  "What dyer think, mate?" he gasped.

  "They've changed me round and I've got to go into room four." He

  gulped.

  "You looked bloody awful com in' out there.

  What was it like?"

  I looked at him. Maybe there was going to be a gleam of light this

  morning.

  I sank into the chair next to him and groaned.

  "By God, you weren't kidding! I've never met anybody like that he's

  half killed me. They don't call him The Butcher for nothing!"

  "Why . . . what . . . what did 'e do?"

  "Nothing much. Just knocked my tooth out with a hammer and chisel,

  that's "Garn! You're 'avin' me on!" Simkin made a ghastly attempt to

  smile "Word of honour," I said.

  "Anyway, there's the tray coming out now. Look for yourself.

  He stared at the WAAF carrying the dreadful implements and turned very

  pale.

  "Oh blimey! What . . . what else did 'e do?"

  I held my jaw for a moment.

  "Well he did something I've never seen before.

  He made such a great hole in my gum that he had to stitch me up

  afterwards."

  Simkin shook his head violently.

  "Naow, I'm not 'avin' that! I don't believe yer!"

  "All right," I said.

  "What do you think of this?"

  I leaned forward, put my thumb under my lip and jerked it up to give

  him a close-up view of the long gash and the trailing blood-stained

  ends of the stitches.

  He shrank away from me, lips trembling, eyes wide.

  "Gawd!" he moaned.

  "Oh Gawd . . . !"

  It was unfortunate that the WAAF chose that particular moment to call

  out "AC2 Simkin' piercingly from the doorway, because the poor fellow

  leaped as though a powerful electric current had passed through him.

  Then, head down, he trailed across the room. At the door he turned and

  gave me a last despairing look and I saw him no more.

  This experience deepened my dread of the five fillings which awaited

  me. But I needn't have worried; they were trivial things and were

  efficiently and painlessly dealt with by RAF dentists very different

  from The Butcher.

  And yet, many years after the war had ended, the man from room four

  stretched out a long arm from the past and touched me on the shoulder.

  I began to feel something sharp coming through the roof of my mouth and

  went to Mr Grover, who X-rayed me and showed me a pretty picture of

  that fateful root still there despite the hammer and chisel. He

  extracted it and the saga was ended.

  The Butcher remained a vivid memory because, apart from my ordeal, I

  was constantly reminded of him by the dangerous wobbling of my pipe at

  the edge of that needless gap in my mouth.

  But I did have a small solace. I finished my visit to room four with a

  parting shaft which gave me a little comfort. As I tottered away I

  paused and addressed the big man's back as he prepared for his next

  victim.

  "By the way," I said.

  "I've knocked out a