A Grave Tale!

         This is a true story.  Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty, most of whom are dead. However, I  know at least one is alive, so we will adopt the convention!

          It was all about Dr Graves of international fame as the discoverer of thyrotoxicosis, also known as Graves Disease.  A bust of the Great Man decorated the main atrium of the Hospital in Dublin in which I trained and the statue was atop a broad flight of concrete steps.  Graves was worshiped with all the respect due to a deity.
          Dean Eltree, was an older medical student from Vancouver, BC, who had come to Dublin to study medicine.  He was a nice guy, who everyone liked to poke a little fun at, because he was considerably older than the rest of students, and also because as one of the few students who had a car, he spent a lot of time polishing his little old Ford convertible.

            That night, a motley crew of students were heading back to the hospital after a good night at the local pub.  All three sheets to the wind, the older ones were handling their booze a little better than their younger colleagues.

            "Let's do something with old Eltree's car," Tom Snowdon said, in a loud self-assured English accent.  "I'm so fed up watching him polishing and nursing it, I think it's time we taught him a lesson."

            "Yes, let's let the air out of his tyres," Pete Sangster responded.

            "For God's sake, Sangster, don't be so bloody childish.  Can't you think of anything more original than that," Snowdon responded scornfully."

            The rest of the noisy group suddenly quietened down, wondering where this was going next.

            "Why don't we carry his stupid little car up the steps and deposit it in the main lobby of the hospital.  That would certainly create a little pandemonium in the morning." Snowdon said.

            Hoots of drunken approval emanated from the group.

            "We'll get into terrible trouble if we're caught," Steve said.

            "Don’t be such a funk," Sangster said contemptuously.

            The herd mentality was kindled and there was no stopping them now.                                                               "Do you think we can lift it?" Sangster asked.

            "Let's give it a try," an anonymous voice suggested.

             As many pairs of hands as could fit squeezed around the little car and tried to get a good grip on some lifting point and heaved.

            "It's as light as a feather," another responded.

            Twenty or so, able -bodied students lifted the car and slowly carried it up the twenty - eight concrete steps that opened onto the main lobby of the building.   Others held the large lobby twin doors open, while the car was quietly placed in the centre of the lobby.

            "It looks wonderful there," drawled Ronny Snowden, "but it would look much better if we put that bust of Robert Graves behind the steering wheel."

            "Christ,"said Steve, "all hell will break loose."

            A contemptuous glance from Snowden, while  a couple of his followers struggled to get the bust into the front seat behind the steering wheel.

            "Let's put a scarf around his neck and a cap on his head, just to complete the picture," Snowden added.

            One of the more fashionable members of the group volunteered his scarf and rather racy hat which he carefully arranged to give the long deceased Graves (he died in 1853) a decidedly sporty appearance.   Even Steve had to admit that the effect was dramatic.  They stealthily withdrew to the students residence before releasing their whoops of apprehensive delight at their daring act.

           
            Steve awoke in the morning slightly hung-over and reflected on the previous nights action.  He got up as quickly as he could, anxious to see the damage.  He walked out into the courtyard.  About twenty maintenance workers were laying wooden planks in parallel tracks down the concrete steps.  The car, with Dean Eltree sitting behind the wheel was purring gently, having just been driven through the twin doors and was now being secured by ropes attached to the axle, so that it could be lowered slowly down the parallel planks to street level.  A large crowd stood in small groups at various vantage points around the courtyard.  Some laughing, some talking in hushed tones.  Dean was now anxiously supervising the maneuver to make sure his beloved car wasn't damaged.

            The next morning Steve was in the line-up that the students and interns were ordered to attend.  The perpetrators were exhorted to turn themselves in, like decent human beings, so that the entire class wouldn't suffer the consequences for the desecration of the venerable and internationally respected [except by us!] Robert Graves.  We unanimously decided not to  be decent human beings, knowing that there's safety in numbers. No-one claimed responsibility and there were never any consequences.