Post 87 Doctor James Bond comes to the rescue of a young lady

 Ian was a general practitioner in Herefordshire and enjoyed his life there immensely.  He found that one of the delights of being a doctor in a rural practice was that he was able to blend seamlessly into country life although, like the local vicar, publican, and vet, he was distinguished by virtue of his profession.   Living within his practice area, buying groceries at the village shop, and drinking in the village pub, he rubbed shoulders with his patients every day and built a solid relationship with them.    He didn’t mind too much if they sought his advice out of hours when one of their children developed a rash or cut their leg and, in return, there was always someone to lend a hand with some heavy job in the garden, or if a baby sitter was needed at short notice.


There were also country pursuits to be enjoyed, riding being Ian’s favourite pastime.   He had a

couple of horses stabled at his home and a three-acre paddock in which they could graze.   He also enjoyed country dances, and on this beautiful, late summer’s evening, he and his wife, Carol, were getting dressed to attend one of the highlights of the village calendar, the annual charity dinner-dance which was held at the Community Hall.   This year’s chosen charity was the local Hospice.


Ian looked at himself in the mirror; black dinner jacket, frilly white shirt, black bow tie, and shiny black shoes. Very smart, not bad for a man of 50, he said to himself.                                                 


Carol came over, straightened his tie a fraction, and brushed some non-existent speck from the shoulder of his jacket.

‘You do scrub up quite well when you make an effort,’ she said affectionately as she gave him a kiss on the cheek.


Ian was glancing in the mirror again to check for any trace of lipstick on his cheek when there was a loud banging on the front door.

‘Oh, no, ‘Carol said, ‘surely you’re not going to get called out now.’


Ian went downstairs to find a policeman standing on the front doorstep.

The constable looked at Ian’s attire in some surprise.

‘Sorry to trouble you, Doctor, especially as it looks as if you’re about to go out, but I’m afraid I need your help.   A young girl has fallen off a horse down by the river; she seems to have concussion and may have a broken leg.   Her friend rode up to the road and flagged me down.’


Ian feared the worst, as these were undoubtedly two young teenage girls from the village, daughters of a friend of his, who had taken his two horses out for a summer evening ride.   He just hoped the injured girl had been wearing a riding helmet.   One of the young men from the village had recently come off his horse and, not wearing a helmet, had suffered some slight but permanent brain damage.

 ‘Right,’ Ian said to the policeman, ‘I’ll come at once.’


Resplendent in his evening dress and shiny shoes, Ian was whisked in the police car, siren blaring, to

the end of the track, where one of the girls was anxiously waiting holding the two horses.

To the policeman’s great surprise, Ian swiftly mounted one of the horses and galloped down the track and across the field to the river.


He found the other girl lying in the grass next to the track on a sharp bend.   Apparently the two

friends had been racing and when they got to the bend, her horse had slipped and fallen on its side, throwing its young rider to the ground.


Ian arrived at full gallop, then went into four-hoofed-braking mode, bringing up an impressive cloud of dust.   He leapt off the horse, brushed the dust off his jacket, adjusted his bow tie and strode up to attend to the young lady.


Expecting effusive thanks, he was a more than a little disappointed when she said, ‘Oh, I thought James Bond had come to rescue me, but it’s only you!’                                                               

What a blow to Ian’s ego!


She didn’t have a concussion, merely a couple of fractured metatarsals where her foot had been trapped in the stirrups.


I am grateful to Dr Ian Gibson for allowing me to publish this story