Writing for Fun
June 2016
Breakout - Joan Bond
I worked at the doctor’s surgery and we were always busy. You get to know different people and when you are walking out in the street they will stop you to ask if their result has come through or their letter back from the hospital. Their names only spring to mind, not by who they are but by their problems and they always do ask you at any old time wherever you are. I did get the hump one time when an old gel asked me the question when I was waiting with an appointment for myself at the hospital.
I always remember the Breakout through last July, all and sundry coming in with a nasty rash on several parts of the body, one young chap almost stripping off in the waiting room to show how urgent it was. It could have been awkward until old Betsy Jacobs started to sing the stripper.
It became very prevalent and such was the urgency to actually diagnose that they stopped kids from going into the sea, or on the beach; being hot and summer holidays it in itself nearly caused a riot. After all people had paid good money for the holiday and it just wasn’t right not being able to enjoy it.
My dad had such a rash when he was in Africa in the war, said old Sid, ‘What happened?’ I asked ‘Oh he died,’ he said, ‘Smallpox,’ a word quickly picked up by hangers on and starting another riot. Arnold said he had a rash that never went away but we all knew where he spent his spare time.
Man popped in from the Ministry of Ag and Fish but he wouldn’t get close to anyone and could only decide it had come from space.
It faded away eventually with no answer found and much trepidation felt about its possible return.
‘Course it was nothing as exciting as the old ladies breaking out their old friend from jail by helicopter but that was another story . . .