But that's all so much hot air under the bridge. Let
us return to the most important aspects of medical
training. The bar had been run by a layperson, it was
open only between six and seven in the evening, and it
ran at a huge loss. Fingers were being dipped into tills, and the occasional large scotches went missing.
Stephen Carter, who was Chairman of the Students Union
at the time, thought it would be a good idea if his twin brother, Stephen Jenkins, formed what is now called the Hippocras Society, and we took the whole thing over, running it with voluntary student labor.
Within a year we were beginning to make almost embarassing profits, and decided that these should be
spent to the benefit of the Students Union. However,
not everyone in the Students Union drank - some were
even Christian Union. We thought that a selected list
of people who spent most money at the bar should be the
ones to benefit most. Democracy was in progress. We
put up a list of some thirty people's signatures, leaving only two blank spaces for those students who would like to visit a Moet a Chandon chateau in Rheims,
a day trip costing each member a mere 5 pounds for the
flight, the rest of the fare being subsized by the Hippocras Society. This notice was appropriately pinned up in the bar, and, as expected, the remaining
two places were not filled by people from the Christian
Union. The plan was working. Count Moet was given the
definite impression that his chateau was being visited by 32 consultates from Harley Street. We assembled at
the bar at 6 o'clock in the morning and had a breakfast
of lager, climbed on to a coach containing crates of
lager, and left for Brighton Airport.
We all arrived at Rheims with extremely high
blood alcohol levels, and were given champagne by the
Count himself. He seemed to be quite pleased that we
weren't a load of stuffy consultants. We had a
magnificent three-hour lunch in the Orangeries, and
tried to keep the bread-throwing to a minimum and throwing-up at least discreet. The Count was enjoying
himself, and he ordered jeroboams of his 1911
Champagne. People on the top table were determined to
get the pilot pissed, and they succeeded. He left,
thinking of his immediate future of piloting, to
rest for a few hours.
We then went on a tour of the cellars. The vast barrels, which probably still have `St. Swithin's for
the Cup' written on them, impressed us very quickly.
The rest of the tour, being dry, was completed as
speedily as possible. Leaving the chateau we went
back to the town of Rheims, a quiet place with
something called a cathedral in it, which we glanced at
from a bar. Outside the bar was a large papier-mache
effigy of a Moet et Chandon champagne bottle, which a
certain person, who name I conveniently forgot, thought
would look nice on the Hippocras Society's bar top.
We arranged things so that he would commit the actual
theft while the rest of us drove round the square at
high speed in the coach, grabbing it at the last
moment. We drove round the square and found Benson
(sorry Benson) who hadn't realized that the bottle was
chained to the wall of the bar, arguing with a
shopkeeper and a gendarme about the tremendous benefit
to Moet et Chandon that a trophy like this would bring
them in terms of English advertising. The policeman
was clearly unimpressed, but Benson, while continuing
his line of argument, turned round, threw up, and
talked on as though nothing had happened. The natives
were completely thrown by his aplomb, and although
we didn't get the bottle we were allowed to carry on
to the airport.
At Rheims airport, they wouldn't let us leave the coach
because the driver had lost his jacket and identity
papers, and for some reason thought that a certain
person in the coach might be responsible.
We waited for Benson to own up, and then were allowed
to board the plane. During the flight I remember a
different certain person, who is now a consultant
pediatrician, hanging from the luggage rack, trouserless, chanting `Eskimo Nell.' The single air
hostess, who was at first a little embarassed at having
to pass under his crutch to reach the front of the
plane, must have complained to the pilot. We were all
so happy that we filled in the time, (those of us who
could stand) by standing at the front of the plane,
jumping on the spot, then running down to the other
end and doing the same thing in the hope that we could
tip the thing up. We nearly succeeded and were told
that the police would be waiting for us at Brighton.
The responsbile members of the group, that is the
Hippocras Society, who were used to drinking, picked
people off the floor and strapped them into their seats
before landing. As we landed, we could see that the
appropriate reception bay was rather filled by people
in dark blue pointed helmets, so, as the plane was
taxi-ing in, we all leapt out before it had stopped and
and ran in through another bay. The police greeted an
empty plane, while we rushed through the gate into Customs. A fight nearly broke out with the officials,
which we would certainly have won in the short-term.
Someone called Benson wasn't wearing trousers, and no-one would own up to having hidden them. He
explained with confidence that shirt-tails was his
national dress, pointing to Alistair McMaster who being
a very Scottish person also had no trousery substances.
The culprit owned up quickly, thinking of the policemen
behind us, and we were allowed through on the the coach,
with its engine already revving and several Stella
lagers already open.
It was an uneventful journey back until we reached
St. Paul's Cathedral, where one of the Carter-Jenkins
twins,
either the one who had his hair parted on the left or
the one that had it parted on the right (which was
Stephen), was pushed out of the coach wearing nothing
except a bowler hat. He found an Evening Standard from
a nearby stall, and confidently walked through the city,
covering his genitals with the newspaper, to the
Medical College. Well, it was dark, he was wearing
a bowler hat, and it was the Evening Standard, so
no one noticed, and he arrived at the College, fully
nude, ten minutes later.
Something in my soul told me that this was Medicine.
