Accidents and first aid

8 to 11 July 2015

The rain had stopped by Wednesday morning for the walk to work and there were swans gathered on the river beneath cloudy skies. As I walked along the boardwalk I looked hopefully for the cygnets I saw last week but they were nowhere to be seen. To tell the truth I felt a little nervous about the week ahead. JR and I were booked onto a three day first aid course. At the end we’d be qualified first aiders, if we passed the exam.

Our instructor, John, was a paramedic ambulance driver and quite a character, full of stories of the odd things he’d come across in the course of his job to use as examples for the different things we might have to deal with. Day one was a basic first aid course and, apart from the CPR practise on dummies far more sophisticated than the ones I used in my Human Biology A level course, not too taxing. JR and I both came to the conclusion that, if anyone in the office needed CPR, they’d better recover within a couple of minutes or we’d be needing it too. Chest compressions are hard work.

At the end of the afternoon session we had a test. It was only twenty questions and multiple choice, but it taxed the grey matter a little. We’d find out if we passed or not in the morning. Crossing Horseshoe Bridge on my way home something odd distracted me from thoughts of the test paper and the answers I’d given. Ahead of me was a view Id never seen before, which was odd given the number of times I’ve crossed that bridge. While I’d been learning about bandages and the symptoms of shock someone had been cutting down trees and scrub beside the steps by the Millennium Flats. Suddenly there was a whole new view of the river. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased by the view or upset at the loss of trees.

Looking back from the other end of the Boardwalk I could see the scar where the trees had been and couldn’t help wondering why they’d cut them down? Hopefully the rest of the trees along the bank aren’t going to go the same way. Towards the end of the embankment an area of soil had been disturbed, it had the look of an ants nest or maybe even ground bees and, sure enough, as I got closer I could see insects flying in and out. Closer still and they looked more wasp than bee. The irony of all that wandering around West End Copse looking for ground bees was not lost on me.

Later Googling tells me these were probably Nysson trimaculatis, or another similar species. Apparently there are more then one hundred species of digger wasps in the UK, so I’m hardly confident of my identification. Like most ground bees these are solitary creatures although, like the ground bees, there are often several nests in the same location and the nests look remarkably alike. The wasps only fly in sunshine and at certain times of day so I was very lucky to see these and even luckier to notice the nest before I’d trodden on it as it was close to the entrance to the embankment where the grass has been worn away by passing feet.

As I straightened up from taking photos I heard sirens. An ambulance and two fire engines sped along the road in the direction I was walking and I wondered where they were off to in such a hurry. It wasn’t long before I found out. Close to the bottom of the Big Hill, near the library, there had been an accident. Police had stopped several cars and were taking statements from the drivers. Whatever had happened was hidden from view by the parked emergency service vehicles but, with so many of them it was obviously serious. I couldn’t help wondering what I’d do if I was first on the scene of something like this?

Thursday morning was misty with a hint of drizzle as I set off for work. The sweet smell of lime flowers greeted me as I walked under dripping trees through the desolate park. The berry like flower buds have begun to burst open revealing masses of stamens and a honey like scent. A swan was rearing up from the water flapping his wings to assert his dominance over the other swans when I reached the river. It looked awe inspiring from where I was standing but the other swans seemed unimpressed.

The morning sun cast reflections of the Boardwalk on the calm water and gave the illusion that the wreck of the hippie ship was embedded in the supporting boards. The lone red boat sat on a bed of clouds with a misty backdrop of layered trees and buildings. There was an air of peace and quiet about the morning. The candy stripes of field bindweed caught my eye amongst the grass as I climbed the slope to Horseshoe Bridge, pink edged petals glittering with dew. Deep purple panicles of buddleia seemingly bowed by the weight of flowers hung over the path contrasting with spikes of bright red curly dock  flowers (at least I think that’s what they are).

When I reached the bridge I realised why it was so quiet, there were no trains. Even the station on the other side of the bridge was deserted, not a single person on the platform. This was the first day of the train strike. Suddenly I was glad I’d be spending the day on the first aid course. With so many people looking for alternatives to the train and crowding onto buses or into cars blocking up the roads it was going to be a busy day on the phones.

Day two of the course began with our scores from day one. To our collective relief we’d all passed and were pronounced qualified in basic first aid.  Once we’d finished celebrating we started on the business of advanced lessons beginning with spotting the signs of some common conditions we might encounter and what to do about them. There was a lot to take in and try to remember. The thought of having to deal with a heart attack, stroke or some other potentially life threatening illness focussed the mind, even if the most serious thing likely to happen in our office is probably a nasty paper cut or a bruise from walking into a desk. I don’t think I’ll be considering a career in the medical profession any time soon.

On the way home I decided to take a closer look at the newly cleared land by the Millennium Flats. It was a sunny afternoon and the view over the spikes of the fence was enchanting. It could have been a little corner of the Mediterranean. From the bottom of the steps the bank looked sad and scarred, a mass of stumps and scoured grass. The wild flowers will probably move in soon enough though. A man was rowing a small boat along the river as I walked towards the slipway.

For a change I decided to walk down the steps and under the Big Bridge rather than cross the road and through the desolate park on Friday morning. It had the makings of a beautiful day. A few thin clouds scudded across the face of the rising sun by the rowing club but the rowers were still in bed. The river cast ripples of light on the underside of the bridge and the trail ahead looked green and inviting. Maybe I should walk this way more often?

The long grass beside the river bank was filled with wild flowers and a gull perched on top of one of the rotten old mooring posts. By the big stones a man was standing on the shingle fishing. The quiet of the boardwalk was disturbed by a pair of squabbling gulls floating on the river below. They sounded like a bickering old couple and the thought made me smile.

Day three of the first aid course concentrated on injuries, sprains, burns, broken bones, wounds of one kind or another. A few rather graphic slides, including some particularly unpleasant amputations and open fractures made me glad I wasn’t one of the engineers on the course. Most of the things we talked about were far more likely to happen in the garage than the office. Some rather comical attempts at bandaging imaginary injuries led up to our lunch break.

After lunch and a quick recap on what we’d learned we settled down for the final test. I’m sure I could hear nine brains whirring away as we all bent over the test papers. As each of us finished we had to hand in our papers and leave the room. Thankfully I was amongst the first. I felt a little sorry for the poor devils still in there scribbling away but, at the same time, a little worried I should have taken longer. There was time for a cup of coffee and a catch up with my emails before we were called back into the room. Nine nervous students walked in and sat down. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one to have fingers crossed. Of course John strung us along for a bit with a couple more tales of his adventures in the ambulance before he finally put us out of our misery. We’d all passed and were now fully qualified first aiders. Hopefully I’ll never need my new skills.

There were tiny little puffs of white cloud scattered across a bright blue sky when I walked home. It must have been the day for fishing too. There was a fisherman on the end of the walkway by the Millennium Flats as I passed by but still no sign of the cygnets. I wonder where they’ve gone?

There was a rather unpleasant surprise on my Saturday morning walk to work. All seemed well until I just before I reached the Big Bridge. The first sign of anything unusual was two large coaches making a u turn at the traffic lights at the foot of the bridge. Just as I was thinking they must be lost and what a silly place it was to do a u turn when the bus behind them did the same thing. A moment or two later I could see why. There was a line of blue police tape stretched across both sides of the road.

As I stood there scratching my head and wondering what to do a man came up behind me.
“Oh great!” he said. “How am I supposed to get to work now?”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I told him.
We both stood looking at the tape and pacing back and forth wondering what to do. The only alternative I could think of was walking all the way back to the little hill and heading over Cobden Bridge but, if I did that, I’d be late for work. As I was the only one in the office for the first two hours this wouldn’t be good news. There was no one about on the bridge, no cars, no police, just empty road. My new friend and I looked at each other.
“Shall we just risk it?” he asked.
“I will if you will,” I said, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

So we lifted the tape and, feeling more than a little uneasy, ducked underneath.
“Let’s hope the bridge isn’t about to collapse or something,” I said as we started walking.
“Or we don’t get arrested for crossing the police tape,” he said.
“Actually, if we’d walked along the embankment we wouldn’t have actually had to cross the tape,” I said, noticing the gate from embankment to bridge was at least a hundred yards after the tape. “If the police do stop us we can say we did that and never even saw the tape.”
“That sounds like a plan then,” he said and we carried on walking wondering what we were about to walk in to.

Once we crested the crown of the bridge we could see a line of blue and white police tape on the other end and a couple of policemen standing guard. This was not good news, especially as they were standing in front of the gate to the rowing club, the only means of escape without crossing more police tape.
“Remember, we walked up the embankment and through the gate,” I reminded my companion “we never even saw the police tape.”
When we got to them, the police didn’t pay us the slightest attention, even when I said “excuse me,” so we could get through the gate. Their gaze was fixed on the cause of all the fuss, a car, or what was left of it, crushed almost beyond recognition against the railings near the desolate park. I’ve never seen a car so badly smashed, the engine was completely exposed and crushed, the roof was off. If the occupants had survived it would have been a miracle.

I hurried under the bridge towards the boardwalk, looking back occasionally to marvel at the completely empty road. It was eerily quiet without any traffic. As soon as I got to the office it was action stations, updating the controll office of the situation on the bridge, posting diversion notices on the website, facebook and Twitter and answering the inevitable  calls about missing buses. As ends to a week go it wasn’t the best.