We glided across the water like I was in a Tarzan episode, deep in the seventies.
Without thoughts of crocodiles or poison darts, I stepped heroically into the waiting dinghy. Continuing in the part, I braced as we sped over the lake, mooring at the jetty outside my new office – the Royal Flying Doctor’s Service.
Hands extended to assist my disembarkation and show the way. But their ready smiles and warm handshakes froze upon the news.
I was not the new nurse, or the doctor.
“Don’t worry,” I said, ruefully, “I do know how to fly a plane.”
The Royal Flying Doctor Service is an aeromedical service to provide emergency medical treatment to people in Outback and remote Australia. It was begun in 1928 and I think has only had 2 female pilots.
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Ha, judging by appearance and stereotype will always get you in trouble! 🙂
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As it should.
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Dear Karen,
Nice slice of history. Well written piece.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Thank you, Rochelle.
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Nicely done.
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Thank you, Dale, for taking the time to comment.
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Great little story. Reminds me a bit of the old tv drama “The Flying Doctors”.
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Wow! That’s turning back the clock. I’d forgotten all about it.
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An easy mistake! Nicely done – really nice! Cute story
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Thank you very much, Nan.
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I love it!
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Thanks, I’m glad you do.
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Lovely story! The doctors and nurses do indeed need a pilot to get where they need to go. =)
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Especially in the middle of nowhere. Thanks for the comment.
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They were expecting a doctor. They got a pilot, who can take them to place where there is a doctor.
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Precisely. Or even take the doctor, when they arrive, to whoever needs help. Win, win.
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A good and well-written story, Karen. 🙂 — Suzanne
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Thank you for your comment, Suzanne.
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