Calling for Help

It was a Saturday evening in mid summer on Caversham Road. I was walking back to the car park when I came across a man collapsed on the sidewalk with a man and a woman standing over him. He was sitting up, but could not rise to his feet. He was perhaps in his late twenties and plainly in a confused state. It was difficulty to tell if this was some mental problem or a result of drink/drug abuse, but he was visibly in no condition to help himself for the next hour or so. The man and woman had no previous connection with him; they had found him a minute or two earlier and were plainly as clueless as me as to how to effectively help him.

I called the ambulance service using my cellphone. This was only the second time in my life that I had called 999 (the UK equivalent of 911) and the first time I had ever called for an ambulance. Now the young woman on the other end was giving me a hard time...."Did he ask for an ambulance...does he want an ambulance?" This was tricky when I was standing close to the guy and did not know how much he understood of what he NEEDED, as opposed to what he wanted. Also it was difficult to convey the urgency of what I thought might be needed without possibly seriously offending him. He seemed to have twisted his ankle as he collapsed, but of course none of us knew if it might be broken or how much pain he was feeling (or would be feeling if he was not in such a fuddled condition). He was not in immediate danger (unless he staggered into the busy road eight feet away) and was hardly likely to die of exposure even if he stayed on the sidewalk all night. But I did not want to leave him without getting some assurance of professional help.

Finally she agreed to send an ambulance. I was getting seriously uptight by this time, seeing that I was struggling to explain a delicate situation with the background roar of traffic on one of the busiest roads in town. The fact that the ambulance depot is barely 300 yards away off Caversham Road did not improve my temper.

As we waited two policemen on bicycles approached and I flagged them down. It felt like a Good Samaritan situation, but circumstances have changed since AD30. You can imagine the reaction if I had taken this man to a hotel, given them my credit card details and asked them to look after him. I could have given him a ride to my own house and put him in the spare bedroom. Or given him a ride to his own place...but we were having problems getting any coherent information out of him, much less a name and address. And we plainly had no authority to go through his pockets for ID. I could have taken him to the Salvation Army hostel less than 600 yards away, but I doubt if they would have accepted someone under the influence of unknown chemicals. I should add that none of these "Good Samaritan" actions occurred to me at the time. It was much easier to wash my hands, leave him in the care of the two young constables and head on to the car park.

Incidentally these police looked hardly old enough to shave. It used to be said that you were getting old when the policemen started looking young. I passed that some time ago. You have to get really worried when the new mayor of Reading looks young. But these kids....are they protecting us from Bin Laden????

As I approached my car, the two young constables reappeared on their bicycles. They had not chased after me; it was just another part of their patrol route. They said that the ambulance had come and the man just had a sprained ankle. And I have not seen him since or seen any reports of unidentified bodies discovered. On reflection many weeks later, it struck me that the guy might have suffered a stroke, which might have resulted in slurred speech and paralysis, but it plainly did not occur to me or the ambulance lady at the time.

It is surprising that you see so few people in such straits. The mass drinking and drugs abuse culture has been in full swing for well over 10 years now. Many of the carefree young revellers so noisily visible around town in the early 1990s have doubtless progressed to alcoholism, the acute liver disease specialists and even the graveyard. But I have not noticed as much of the grim results as you might expect.

Perhaps I should get out more, as the old jibe says. But then I don't want to "get out" in town at the times when so much of the drunken revelry is in full swing. We have already had several scary public order incidents around town, the worst being in March 2002 when the police lost control of part of the town centre for a few hours after a riot outside a night club in London Street.

So who do the police call when they need help? In that case, it was more police from neighbouring forces who finally arrived in sufficient numbers to regain control of the town centre. Presumably all the senior police were fervently praying that there wouldn't be an incident in one of the towns from which they had taken officers to support Reading......or that there would not be a bad accident on the M4 motorway which would similarly require officers which they did not have. On that occasion they got away with one bad incident on one Saturday night.

I suppose I should be grateful that my incapable guy in Caversham Road was merely passive and helpless. One of the inmates at a local charity house was 6 foot two, built like a gorilla and had a weakness for vodka, LSD, cocaine, heroin and amphetamines in various combinations. Thus he could be a seriously scary guy once he was out of control. Mercifully I have never met him in Caversham Road or any where else. We would have been calling for more than one ambulance.