This all happened back in 1995, a time that feels a world away now. I was still a student at Sandhurst Military Academy, and one day, smack in the middle of lessons, I was suddenly pulled out of class and told to report straight to the headmasters office.
When I arrived, I found a woman sitting in the headmasters grand office. She looked completely devastated, tears streaming down her cheeks as she dabbed at them with a lace handkerchief.
Our commandant at the time was General Henry Lancaster, a proper stalwart whod served bravely in the Falklands. He was a stern, disciplined man, but known for being fair. We all held a measure of fear and a deal more respect for him. But Id never seen him like this before. He came up to me and, with a heavy heart, said,
Son, Im not speaking to you as an officer now, but as a friend. I could use your help.
Im ready, sir, I replied, not hesitating for a second. What do you need me to do?
My nephew is dying, the General continued quietly. He finished Sandhurst last year, so you probably know the lad. He went on to study at St Georges Medical School, and now hes in a bad way. My last hope is your grandfather. Help me. Maybe hell agree to see the boy and find out whats the matter?
I didnt waste time asking any more questions. They rang Granddad straight away, and within fifteen minutes, the Generals official Rover was speeding us off to my grandfathers house. Luckily for the General, my grandfather was just beginning his holidayhis very first day off in agesand we caught him just half an hour before hed planned to head out to the countryside cottage.
The patient came with us. Although I knew the lad personally, I honestly didnt recognise him at first. His eyes were vacant and wild, his face expressionless, as if he were lost in another dimension. It gave me the chills, to be honest.
We made good time and, once upstairs at Granddads flat, were greeted at the door. He listened carefully as the tearful mother recounted her story. Seven months ago, her son began his studies at med school. Out of nowhere, hed suffered a fit during a lecture. They rushed him to hospital, ran every test you could imaginenothing. No sooner was he discharged than it happened again. Then againand again. No one could understand what was going on. Their last hope was my grandfather, who happened to be one of the most respected neurologists and psychiatrists in the country.
Then came the really interesting bit. Granddad took the lad into another room, and after only fifteen minutes, he returned alone.
Thats it. You can head home now, he told the boys mother and the General, his voice calm and even.
Butmy son? Doesnt he need treatment? the woman cried, worried.
Go home, Granddad replied. He and I will head to the cottage. Ive a load of logs need chopping, and its a shame to waste such a strapping fellow.
With that, Granddad ushered us all out and drove the new patient with him to the country cottage.
A month later, I was summoned to General Lancasters office again. The same woman was there, this time beaming from ear to ear. Next to her stood her son, barely recognisable as the lad from before. He looked transformedfresh, lively, all trace of his previous troubles gone. He stepped forward, shook my hand firmly, and thanked me. The General did the same. The young man who no one could help was completely cured in less than a month. To them, it was a miracle. If only they knew just how many such miracles my grandfather had managed over his life.
Curious, I later asked Granddad what had actually been wrong with the boy. As it turns out, hed cracked under the strain of the intense and demanding curriculum at medical school. His mind had simply overloaded with information and switched itself off, refusing to take anything in. Granddad recognised the signs straight away and set about restoring himno medicine, just good old-fashioned hard work. He brought the lad to his country place, gave him a mountain of physical labour splitting firewood, and kept him far from books or any mental strain. The boy would get up at eight, wash in chilly water, eat a hearty breakfast, and head out to chop wood all day, breaking only for lunch and supper. Granddad worked him so hard hed collapse into bed each night and sleep like the dead. In time, his mind recovered, returning sharper than ever.
Throughout the whole treatment, Granddad didnt give a single pill. Just proper honest labour.
And thats the storyone Ill never forget.
