When I was about nine years old, my mother fell dangerously ill. My father (he was a minister) was away. She called out to me in the night, and I called the doctor. The doctor said: “Tell her to come to the phone.” She couldn’t. I knew that this was out of the ordinary. My mother was spartan, and brushed aside pain and suffering. My mother’s life was probably saved by that call. But afterwards, rumours went round about the heroic things I had done, apart from making the call. For instance, I had sterilised the doctor’s instruments – which I had not. OBSERVATION: If only all rumours were like this -- but I don’t think they are a good sign.
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