In my grandfather's funeral this summer, one of the speakers to hail the 96-year old, was my mum's cousin. He told us a story from the war.
My grandfather was a young doctor, and owned the only car around. When a mother found her son choking one morning, my granddad threw him in his car, and drove off to the hospital, where he insisted upon trachotomisation (is that a word?) of the boy. [I know they do this on ER all the time, but in real life it's not such a frequent occurrence.] Saved the boy's life!
We all clapped. Noone had even heard the story before. Then the speaker added, casually, that the boy was he, and he wouldn't have been there without my grandfather's help. Sent shivers down my spine.
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2 comments:
What a great story. If he had done nothing else with his like, it would have been worthwhile.
I don't know how you can be blogging after the night before!
Mathias is fine now, though! And we've been through the same dramatics before, with Jakob, so I guess we don't panic as easily..
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