'I think that was very bad form,' said Grimsdyke.
The Padre put three small glasses in front of us.
'Whisky?' Grimsdyke said. 'I thought we ordered beer.'
'If you will permit me, Mr. Grimsdyke, I would like to suggest, on the basis of my experience, something a little more nourishing. I know what a difficult time this is for you young gentlemen. Will you please accept these with the compliments of the house?'
'Here, I say, Padre…!'
He held up his hand.
'Not a bit of it, sir. The money I have been obliged to take off you in our long acquaintance more than justifies it. Here's jolly good luck, gentlemen!'
'Bottoms up,' said Benskin.
'I'm sure I've failed, all the same,' I said, putting my glass down. 'How could I get through after that terrible viva?'
Benskin snorted.
'It's all very well for you to talk. What about my midwifery clinical? That came under the heading of ugly incidents.'
'You never know, my dear old boy,' Grimsdyke said hopefully. 'You may have done brilliantly in the papers.'
'Let's not talk about it,' I said. 'Let's discuss rugger instead.'
At noon we arrived in the examination building. The same number of candidates were there, but they were a subdued, muttering crowd, like the supporters of a home team who had just been beaten in a cup tie.
We pushed our way into the large hall on the ground floor. It was packed full with anxious students. On the side of the hall facing us was the foot of a marble staircase. To the left of the staircase was a plain, open door, over which had been recently pinned a large black and white card saying 'EXIT.' To the right was a clock, which stood at a few minutes before twelve.
We had heard exactly what would happen. At midday precisely the Secretary of the Committee would descend the stairs and take his place, flanked by two uniformed porters, on the lowermost step. Under his arm would be a thick, leather-covered book containing the results. One of the porters would carry a list of the candidates' numbers and call them out, one after the other. The candidate would step up closely to the Secretary, who would say simply 'Pass' or 'Failed.' Successful men would go upstairs to receive the congratulations and handshakes of the examiners and failures would slink miserably out of the exit to seek the opiate of oblivion.
'One thing, it's quick,' Benskin muttered nervously.
'Like the drop,' said Grimsdyke.
One minute to twelve. The room had suddenly come to a frightening, unexpected silence and stillness, like an unexploded bomb. A clock tinged twelve in the distance. My palms were as wet as sponges. Someone coughed, and I expected the windows to rattle. With slow scraping feet that could be heard before they appeared the Secretary and porters came solemnly down the stairs.
They took up their positions; the leather book was opened. The elder porter raised his voice.
'Number two hundred and nine,' he began. 'Number thirty-seven. Number one hundred and fifty.'
The tension in the room broke as the students shuffled to the front and lined up before the staircase. The numbers were not called in order, and the candidates strained to hear their own over the low rumble of conversation and scraping of feet that rose from the assembly.
'Number one hundred and sixty-one,' continued the porter. 'Number three hundred and two. Number three hundred and six.'
Grimsdyke punched me hard in the ribs.
'Go on,' he hissed. 'It's you!'
I jumped and struggled my way to the front of the restless crowd. My pulse shot high in my ears. My face was burning hot and I felt my stomach had been suddenly plucked from my body.
I lined up in the short queue by the stairs. My mind was empty and numb. I stared at the red neck of the man in front of me, with its rim of blue collar above his coat, and studied it with foolish intensity. Suddenly I found myself on top of the Secretary.
'Number three oh six?' the Secretary whispered, without looking up from the book. 'R. Gordon?'
'Yes,' I croaked.
The world stood still. The traffic stopped, the plants ceased growing, men were paralysed, the clouds hung in the air, the winds dropped, the tides disappeared, the sun halted in the sky.
'Pass,' the man muttered.
Blindly, like a man just hit by blackjack, I stumbled upstairs.
The bar of the King George was full. I crashed through the door like a hot wind.
'I've passed!' I screamed.
The bar rose in turmoil. I couldn't see any of it. It was a pink jumble of faces, a numb sensation of handshakes, a dim perception of backslapping.
'Congratulations, sir!' shouted the Padre, thrusting his hand through the mob. 'Congratulations, Doctor! Here you are, sir. A quart tankard, sir. With my every best wish.'
Someone pushed the deep pewter mug into my hands.
'Down the hatch!'
'One gulp, old man!'
I was too breathless to drink. I wanted to laugh, cry, dance, and run all at the same time.
'I can't believe it!' I exclaimed. 'It isn't true! The first thing I knew I was shaking hands with the old boys and signing my diploma.'
'How about the other two gentlemen?' the Padre called.
'Oh Lord!' I felt suddenly guilty. 'I'd quite forgotten to wait for them!'
At that moment the door flew open. There entered Benskin and Grimsdyke wearing each other's jackets, attempting to pull in with them a violently neighing carthorse.
'I think it's all right,' the Padre said.
The party went on until closing time. Every student in the school seemed to be inside the tiny bar. I emptied and re-emptied my tankard. Everyone was shouting and singing, leaning on each other, jostling their neighbours, slapping their friends on the back. The angry owner of the horse had been asked inside and was now singing The Lily of Laguna to a co-operative audience. The room filled tighter as the news of more successes was brought in, like victories to a triumphant headquarters.
'Bottle's through,' I heard Evans bawling over the hubbub. 'So's Sprogget.'
'How about you?' I shouted back.
Evans delightedly stuck his thumb in the air.
I suddenly found myself jammed between Benskin and Grimsdyke.
'Hooray!' shouted Benskin, ruffling my hair.
'It's bloody funny!' Grimsdyke shouted. 'Bloody funny!'
'What is?' I bawled at him.
'We're three bloody doctors,' he hollered. We burst into roars of laughter.
My feelings in the next few days were those of a private unexpectedly promoted to general overnight. In a minute or two I had been transformed from an unearning and potentially dishonest ragamuffin to a respectable and solvent member of a learned profession. Now banks would trust me with their money, hire firms with their cars, and mothers with their daughters. I could sign prescriptions, death certificates, and orders for extra milk, and no one could contradict me. It was wonderful.
As soon as the exam results were out the Chiefs made appointments to the resident staff of St. Swithin's. I became house-physician to Dr. Malcolm Maxworth, and had to begin work the next week. I saw from the list that Evans had been awarded the plum position of house-surgeon to the Professor, and Grimsdyke became a junior obstetrical officer. Sprogget had not bothered to apply for a job at St. Swithin's and Benskin was not given one. The Dean had vetoed the appointment.
I packed up and left the Bayswater flat. The landlord had been wanting to get rid of us for some time and took the opportunity of taking possession himself. We had a row about damages, but Sprogget settled it by threatening officially to report the plumbing to the local Medical Officer of Health unless the estimate was reduced considerably.