The clock on the mantlepiece shows 9:47pm. Usually at this time on a Friday night I’d be tucking into a beer. Instead I’m sat in the front room of a house in Northampton watching some mindless TV programme I’ve never wanted to watch before. I’m fairly bored.
“Sometimes we get whole nights without a call and sometimes we’re flat out,” explains John Mason, the SERV (Service by Emergency Volunteers) volunteer who agreed to let me follow him tonight. “If there’s a big accident on the motorway it can be really busy. Oddly enough most calls are between ten and eleven.”
It’s unlikely you have ever heard of SERV. They exist, essentially, to save the NHS money. According to folklore (and I deeply suspect this isn’t true) it all started in the seventies after a biker was knocked off and rushed to hospital. His mates, who were out riding with him, followed the ambulance to the hospital only to be told by the staff that they were out of his specific type of blood. A biker volunteered to ride to a nearby hospital to get the required red stuff and so the service began.
Just as I’m pondering why I’m such a selfish bastard who’s never considered doing anything this worthy, John’s mobile lets out a shrill beep.
“Urgent blood. John Radcliffe in Oxford to Northampton General, two units of blood,” he says. Although his voice remains totally calm, my heart rate has just hit the roof. This is it. I spring up from my chair and fumble putting my kit on. Adrenaline has turned my fingers into thumbs and I drop my keys a few times. I glance at John, who is pulling on his bike boots in the same deliberate fashion as you would if you were popping out for a Sunday run. He laughs at me.
Following John on his Pan European, he’s smooth and fast in a typical advanced rider way. Keeping up isn’t a problem, but I can’t help feeling slightly tense. It’s an odd feeling as I usually ride for fun, the only time constraints tending to be an irate girlfriend or rapidly closing takeaway. This time we have a very real purpose. The pressure is tangible.
Reaching a section of empty dual carriageway, John keeps his pace strictly within the speed limits. After a few miles we catch up with a car merrily trundling along in the outside lane, totally oblivious to our approach. Ordinarily I would have undertaken without a second’s thought, but safety is paramount and a few flashes of the Pan’s main beam soon drag the dopey driver out of his daydream. Following behind I can’t help thinking I could easily trim vital minutes off the ride. But then would I be riding in such a controlled fashion? Weighing up what’s at stake, I decide probably not. Yes, police may treat my case with a degree of leniency should I get stopped, but explaining myself would far outweigh any minutes saved.
Following a pre-determined route (all SERV riders follow a set route so controllers know where they are should something happen and can give an accurate ETA) we reach the John Radcliffe 47 minutes after leaving Northampton, just two minutes longer than John estimated.
Parking outside A&E we walk up to reception to find a nurse waiting for us with a large red bag. My stomach churns. Before this moment it was a bit of fun and games, a ride with a purpose, but seeing the case clearly marked ‘Human Blood’ and the look on the nurse’s face brings it home hard. Paperwork is exchanged and we walk briskly out of A&E .
Emergency Blood Riders
John methodically straps the blood to the rack on the back of his bike. Every strap has its place and the technique is one he’s practiced over years. Again I find myself willing him to go faster, but it’s simply not worth getting it wrong. Imagine trying to explain to a grieving relative that you made it in time, but unfortunately the blood is spread all over the windscreen of a car on the M40…
It’s about a 40 minute ride to Northampton General and it’s dispatched in the same fast but controlled fashion as the ride to the blood bank. As we near the hospital an ambulance whizzes past, sirens wailing, blue lights ablaze. He jumps the red light, pausing only for a safety check, and disappears into the city. I can feel my fingers starting to let the clutch out to follow: he made it, why can’t we? Then I see a car cross the junction. If I hadn’t resisted the urge I could be on his bonnet now.
A few minutes later and we’re parking up outside the A&E entrance to Northampton General, alongside the very same ambulance that passed us earlier. Its back doors are open and two paramedics are busy at work. Trying to ignore the sight, I follow John to the main reception.
Spotting the package in his hand the receptionist makes a call and a nurse arrives almost instantly. John reaches inside his pocket for the paperwork but the nurse just says: “follow me” and trots off at a serious pace. John’s expression tells me this isn’t normal. Following behind at almost a run she leads us deep inside the hospital. The brilliant white corridor leads us to a door marked ‘theatre’. John passes her the box. As the door swings shut I catch a glimpse inside, only to see gowned-up doctors in a flurry of activity. A shiver sprints down my spine.
The nurse who led us to the door sees my shocked expression: “It’s a young kid; that blood should make the difference,” she says. What started out as a story on a bunch of blokes who transport blood in their spare time has just become very, very real.
I walk outside to the bikes and grab a breath of fresh air, still trying to come to terms with what just happened. My heart is pounding and I feel faintly sick. John meets me outside and I ask him if that is normal. “No, usually I just give the bag to a nurse at reception,” he says. “That wasn’t normal.”
Looking at him I can see it’s hit him hard too – the ride back to his house is certainly slower than normal.
When we get there John’s wife makes me a coffee while he checks in with the controller to let them know he’s made it home safely and is ready for another call. He might be, but I’m not. I head home, reeling from what I’ve just seen.
These are volunteers who give up their time to put a little back into an NHS with more pencil-pushers than face-workers. Without the men and women of SERV giving up their time to help, many more families might be grieving today. I for one would like to publicly thank them for that.
For more information and how to help SERV visit: www.serv.org.uk
Get involved
Danny Bateman – SERV press officer
“SERV is a registered charity and operates all over the UK. We’re always looking for bike and car driving volunteers prepared to give up their time, or just people to help with fund-raising or as controllers. Volunteers have an assessment ride, training for the routes and training on dealing with hazardous spills.
There’s a monthly rota and the work is evenings and weekends/bank holidays. It isn’t about riding flat out with flashing blue lights. If you think it is we don’t want to hear from you. It’s about helping save lives and getting vital packages from one location to the other quickly and safely. If you want to give something back please go to www.serv.org.uk for more information.”
