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McDarroch days as he fished out one forceps after another, opened and shut them a few times then tried them on me.
    But it was of no avail, and as the time passed I was the unwilling witness of the gradual transition from heartiness to silence, then to something like panic. The man was clearly whacked. He had no idea how to shift that root.
    He must have been gouging for half an hour when an idea seemed to strike him. Pushing all the forceps to one side he almost ran from the room and reappeared shortly with a tray on which reposed a long chisel and a metal mallet.
    At a sign from him the WAAF wound the chair back till I was completely horizontal. Seemingly familiar with the routine, she cradled my head in her arms in a practised manner and stood waiting.
    This couldn’t be true, I thought as the man inserted the chisel into my mouth and poised the mallet; but all doubts were erased as the metal rod thudded against the remnants of my tooth and my head in turn shot back into the little WAAF’s bosom. And that was how it went on. I lost count of time as The Butcher banged away and the girl hung on grimly to my jerking skull.
    The thought uppermost in my mind was that I had always wondered how young horses felt when I knocked wolf teeth out of them. Now I knew.
    When it finally stopped I opened my eyes, and though by this time I was prepared for anything, I still felt slightly surprised to see The Butcher threading a needle with a length of suture silk. He was sweating and looking just a little desperate as he bent over me yet again.
    “Just a couple of stitches,” he muttered hoarsely, and I closed my eyes again.
    When I left the chair I felt very strange indeed. The assault on my cranium had made me dizzy and the sensation of the long ends of the stitches tickling my tongue was distinctly odd. I’m sure that when I came out of the room I was staggering, and instinctively I pawed at my mouth.
    The first man I saw was Simkin. He was where I had left him but he looked different as he beckoned excitedly to me. I went over and he caught at my tunic with one hand.
    “What d’yer think, mate?” he gasped. “They’ve changed me round and I’ve got to go into room four.” He gulped. “You looked bloody awful comin’ out there. What was it like?”
    I looked at him. Maybe there was going to be a gleam of light this morning. I sank into the chair next to him and groaned.
    “By God, you weren’t kidding! I’ve never met anybody like that—he’s half killed me. They don’t call him The Butcher for nothing!”
    “Why … what … what did ’e do?”
    “Nothing much. Just knocked my tooth out with a hammer and chisel, that’s all.”
    “Garn! You’re ’avin’ me on!” Simkin made a ghastly attempt to smile.
    “Word of honour,” I said. “Anyway, there’s the tray coming out now. Look for yourself.”
    He stared at the WAAF carrying the dreadful implements and turned very pale.
    “Oh blimey! What … what else did ’e do?”
    I held my jaw for a moment. “Well he did something I’ve never seen before. He made such a great hole in my gum that he had to stitch me up afterwards.”
    Simkin shook his head violently. “Naow, I’m not ’avin’ that! I don’t believe yer!”
    “All right,” I said. “What do you think of this?”
    I leaned forward, put my thumb under my lip and jerked it up to give him a close-up view of the long gash and the trailing blood-stained ends of the stitches.
    He shrank away from me, lips trembling, eyes wide.
    “Gawd!” he moaned. “Oh Gawd …!”
    It was unfortunate that the WAAF chose that particular moment to call out “AC2 Simkin” piercingly from the doorway, because the poor fellow leaped as though a powerful electric current had passed through him. Then, head down, he trailed across the room. At the door he turned and gave me a last despairing look and I saw him no more.
    This experience deepened my dread of the five fillings which awaited me. But I needn’t have