大象传媒

During the early days of the war our headmaster called for volunteers to act as casualties in a simulated air raid exercise.

The volunteers were to report to his office after school on the following evening when they would all be given a folded slip of paper on which would be written an "injury" -we were not to read these slips but to carry them with us and disperse around the local area to await the arrival of the Fire and Ambulance Services who would read our chits and then take the appropriate action.

My young mind dwelt on the likely options and their outcome - pretty nurses featured strongly, as did bandages, splints, cooling hands on fevered brows, cups of tea - it all seemed very inviting, so I volunteered.

The following evening, setting off with my folded chit of paper I could not resist speculating on my likely "injury" - would it be a bandaged head, an arm in splints - or perhaps it would be both? I just had to have a look. No one around, so I took a surreptitious peep at the chit - it bore only one word - "dead"!

I thought this over, became very indignant, then trotted off back to the headmaster's office to register my protest. I knocked on the door and was summoned in by the Head (a large, and to a small boy, an awesome figure). In a little voice, squeaky with emotion, I said "Please Sir I volunteered to be a casualty and they've made me dead!"

"Boy" he boomed down at me "you can't be more of a casualty than dead. You volunteered so now you must go through with it." And so I made my despondent way back to the street to await the arrival of the gallant Emergency Services.

Eventually a small grey van with red crosses on its sides drew up alongside me - two men got out and the van drove off.

The men looked me up and down, read my chit and the spokesman said "Right lad, we aint got an ambulance - we aint even got a stretcher, so you will have to walk between the two of us -you pretend you're dead and we will pretend we're driving an ambulance."

So it was in this fashion that we made our way to the Casualty Clearing Station (our school) in our imaginary ambulance.

When we arrived at the school they took me to a classroom now bearing the legend "mortuary" on its door - but not before I had seen many of my classmates receiving the very treatment I had hoped for - heads were in bandages, arms were in splints and nurses flitted to and fro with cups of tea - it all looked much as I had imagined, but I was shunted off into the "mortuary" and the door closed behind me.

I stayed in there for what,appropriately I suppose, seemed like an eternity. Eventually the door opened and my Form Master put his head in. He spotted me and said "What's wrong with you lad?"

I replied "Please Sir I am dead!"

He said "Splendid, I'll bring you a cup of tea later."

He didn't come back and I didn't get any tea
(being dead is no joke).

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