Sirens and echos

the gate was eventually opened and I carried my wounded brother inside. Amazed that despite his weight and my small stature, I had managed to convey him from the park and along the road to the rear gate without actually dropping him. At least, not that I recall dropping him. (My history, remember?) Suffice to say, once inside the yard, a fair amount of noise and general confusion followed. Apparently he was still breathing, so that was considered a really good sign, for me at least and, also for him of course, but for very different personal reasons. If he wasn’t dead, then there was a chance I would also survive ….. for now.

The ambulance was quickly called, the phone operator having to source the purpose of the actual request from the noisy re-fed versions of several key witnesses to the person trying to make the call. All loudly throwing their specific versions forward now, to escape inclusion in the expected aftermath of the incident. Evidently things became confused as the crew when they arrived said they had been advised that a child had fallen off a stilt from a tree while flying a kite and injured his head. The reason probably was a little irrelevant. No doubt they had known our address well. No doubt the neighbours wouldn’t have been too surprised to see yet another ambulance shortly pull up outside our address, lights flashing and siren sounding, having driven the length of the valley to our house. No doubt anyone down the length of the valley on seeing the ambulance heading north looked and nodded sagely to one another, “Dwyer’s house again? I wonder what for this time?”

We had a ‘way’ with incidents. It wasn’t that we set out to cause problems; they just found us… and collided with us in many unexpected ways. If we had had the electronic games of today back then, instead of being out in the world…. Well, who knows, we may have had electrocutions as a result of playing them. Not that we escaped that form of incident (more on that in a later blog).

So, as soon as my brother was inside and the phone call to the ambulance was being made we found whatever we could to put on his head injury to staunch the flow. Wet cloth first, then a towel, which rapidly became stained with blood. Have I mentioned how deceptive head wounds are? Another towel, “Not that one, that’s a good one.” I remember hearing from one of my older sisters. That’s right. Help my brother but don’t ruin one of the only good towels we have. He was eventually lying on the couch, head swaddled like an overdressed swami as the sound of the approaching siren echoed around the valley.

(continued tomorrow)