This document is an autobiography of Fleming Carswell summarizing key events from his childhood and time in primary school in Dunoon, Scotland in the 1930s-1940s. Some of the main points include: - He was born in 1937 in Dunoon to working class parents and was the youngest of three children. - He had several childhood illnesses including scarlet fever which led to a lengthy hospital stay as a toddler. - He attended the local primary school where he did well academically but also got into some fights with other boys. - He enjoyed activities like scouting and fishing in his free time. - The document provides personal anecdotes and memories that give insight into his

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Autobiography of Fleming Carswell:
Completed, Revised 12.07.14
On 28th
September 1937 my mother, Lottie Carswell, marched the mile to a first floor
flat in Dunoon’s West Bay, where she was due to have delivered me two weeks
before. The walk seemed to have induced the labour, which progressed steadily so I
was delivered just before eight am under a midwife’s care. An unruptured amniotic
sack preceded my head termed “born in a cowl” which according to my mother
signified a subsequent successful life full of good luck. The youngest of the three
children in the family had arrived without great fanfare; four years after my sister;
eight years after my first-born brother. We were happily resident in Dunoon where
my paternal grandfather and grandmother were still resident. At their fiftieth wedding
anniversary when I was seven I met, largely for the first time, about ten of my local
aunts, uncles and cousins. They were a motley collection of different but talkative
people virtually all were of working class background like my grandparents. My father
had been a Coxwain for a (Whiskey) millionaire’s 48ft boat (Dodo IV) for 16 years
and worked at labouring or long-line fishing over the winters when he was not paid:
my mother was a full-time housewife. I understand he allowed credit for fish to those
out of work. I enjoyed working for my dad for two summers. He had a dry sharp
sense of humour even for his own mistakes.
My development was average in that intelligent but poor family. My christening took
place in St John’s Protestant church, Dunoon at approximately three months of age.
I know it happened then because I have seen my name on the baptismal roll. My

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mother told me that I screamed on being brought into the church, louder when water
was applied in baptism and continued until I was taken out and home – named as
Fleming Carswell (the IV as the first person I know of with that name was my
paternal great-grandfather, a coalminer in Motherwell. (I was actually named after
my paternal uncle.) This Scottish tradition of naming children after relatives seems
to be dying out. I tried to document my Mclean ancesters who originated in Tiree
but was amused when the earliest male I could find who worked a croft in Tiree for
15 years from a cottage known locally as the house of the man from Jura. He was
actually born and baptised in Tiree.
My first real memory was in Glasgow where my mother’s brother and sister shared a
one bedroom flat in Possilpark that my MacLean grandparents had previously
occupied. My mother came from Glasgow. We had three other maternal sibling
families in Glasgow so we visited quite frequently especially at Christmas or New
Year- the latter being the key festival in Scotland at that time. The visit I remember
was in August 1939. I woke up in the box bed in the kitchen, feeling toxic and
unwell. I was diagnosed as having Scarlet fever and an ambulance called. It was
uncomfortable being lifted onto the stretcher from the bed, carried down the
tenement stairs with every stop and turn producing pain which I had not experienced
before. Similarly, every bounce of the ambulance that carried me to Knightswood
Fever Hospital was painful. I was kept in there for 6 weeks with both my eardrums
ruptured and discharging pus; this was the pre-antibiotic era. Only a few memories
of my inpatient time remain. In one I was standing up in the cot (presumably with
‘bed rest’ prescribed) watching through the glass ward wall the activities of nurses/

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orderlies busy with linen and food they were taking away. When spotted standing I
was gestured and shouted at to lie down in mock rage by the smiling and laughing
people. I also have a delicious memory of a large plate of mashed potatoes,
covered with steaming mince being carried towards me in my cot.
Apparently a young girl was nursed in the same room and I ‘celebrated’ my second
birthday there though I have no recollection of either.
The Second World War had started when I was in hospital but had little effect on me
personally. When I returned to Dunoon I caught up on via the news on the radio and
films at the local cinema. On one night during the war in 1943, a German bomber
flew near Dunoon producing lots of noise, flashing lights, travelling cars/lorries but no
apparent damage caused. For us it was a social event as my Aunt Jenny and cousin
Ronnie who lived nearby came over to join us in our home (Jane Villa) for chat, tea,
snacks and gossip about the plane – which eventually crashed in the Clyde basin.
Infant school was an easy two years for me and I remember it clearly, then into
Primary1. At four years old I walked by myself to Jane Villa from my infant class in
Dunoon Grammar School (DGS).
At the junction of John and Argyle Streets a large open mixed fruit barrow was
parked; oranges, apples and pears were displayed for sale. The pears looked best
so I carefully walked round, checked I was unobserved and stole a large brown one.

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It was delicious: however although unrepentant, I decided I would be wise not to do it
again as I anticipated trouble if I was caught.
For me, the primary classes at DGS were more important. After my first day when I
walked home, no one was in the house. So I sat on the step, took out my first
allocated book and read it there. To my disappointment, I finished it in minutes.
A joke passed around in infant school. ‘A teacher was concerned that a child was
wetting the classroom floor. She announced to save embarrassment to the child that
she wished the culprit to write their name on the back of the blackboard when she
switched off the lights. The lights were switched off, followed by much rustling and
scuffling. When lights were switched on, there was a puddle on the floor. On the
back of the blackboard someone had written “The piddler strikes again.”
Premises at DGS were inadequate so my class with 64 pupils and one teacher was
set up in a separate old church hall in Alfred Street, Dunoon. The major excitement
there was that the boys from the Catholic school higher up Alfred Street frequently
came down into our play area and fought with us. We didn’t know why and I suspect
they didn’t either. ‘It’s just what boys do!’ was the nearest to an explanation I ever
got. Perhaps the real reason was the endemic mutual distrust at that time of
Catholics and Prodies (Protestants) in Scotland. The other excitement was just
before we went on our summer holidays before moving on into ‘Primary 2’. Our
teacher announced they were awarding a prize to the best performing student or
‘Dux’. To my complete surprise she named me as Dux and told me as a reward I

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could go home early: no prize ever appeared. Outside in the cloakroom as I was
packing my things a little 6 year old who I recognised as the only girl attending ballet
lessons, came out and spoke to me. “I love you she said” which produced no verbal
response from me. Neither of us knew what should happen next so I just walked
home early.
The rest of primary school passed relatively quietly for me. I got into fights for no
memorable reason. I remember one boy who wanted to fight me because I had
damned up rainwater, which I released and soaked his feet. I said sorry but that was
not accepted so I was told to meet him in the bike shed at the interval. I foolishly
turned up so he attacked me but I refused to join in and he ended up thumping me a
few times then gave up. For no particular reason a bigger boy decided he wanted to
fight me so I turned up and fought him for 10 or so minutes till an adult came along
and separated us. The cheering and encouraging crowd dispersed with a draw
agreed and mutual minor damage achieved. The same boy approached me the next
day, saying he was happy to go on with it. I said I didn’t see a point in it which he
accepted. No further full fights but I remember hitting a classmate who tried to push
past at the cloakroom. Then he called me ‘a big bully’; he was the smallest boy in
our year and I was the second smallest. I remember our class giant (6’2’’) similarly
pushing me so I attacked all out and knocked him off balance but he stretched out
his long arm and held me off, more or less affably. I suppose he was trying to
encourage me by saying ‘you will do well with the women, they love a tryer’
Not a successful fighting career-my biggest success was stopping.

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Romance played a very minor part for me at school. It was understood that each
boy should have a girlfriend so I tried to comply. My first choice turned out to be
walking out with a school pal so I stopped that. My second choice seemed to have
chosen me so I took her along to two scout annual dances. Scouting was good fun
and I enjoyed the three summer camps I went to in Isla, Aberdeen and London.
Football was much more serious and more fun. I was picked for my school
intermediate team but missed my chance at the senior team as the captain said I
was booked into the geography class trip to a coal mine.
I enjoyed being down the shore ‘helping’ my father’s boat-hiring business, exploring
the shore, rowing and coarse fishing: I even made a little money selling my plaice
and flounders caught on my flounder line to the West Bay Hotels. My dad taught me
how to make the line and advocated setting it baited in shallow sea water in a zig-
zag pattern over and above where the sandy bottom dropped deeper before the full
tide started to ebb, then hauling it in 3 hours after the ebb started. He told me the
flat fish migrated in with the tide to feed.
There was entertainment in ‘PE’ (physical education) before Christmas when we
were taught country dancing in amalgamated boys and girls classes. I was twice
volunteered into plays for the annual school concert but much preferred the debates
and haranguing for the school mock election – coinciding with the 1951 general
election. Two friends and I decided to join the Dunoon branch of the Labour Party:
these two were adopted as prospective parliamentary candidates at university: one

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was subsequently elected national leader of the Party but sadly died early before he
could win power from the Tories. Another enjoyed recreation at school was golf,
which I played frequently till I went up to Glasgow University to study Medicine.
Some of my schoolteachers regularly turned up in the evening for golf but as I
suspected they might question my evening ‘studies’ I kept clear of them.
For my senior school years the ’Scottish Higher ‘exams dominated the curriculum as
we were warned that the results determined what employment we could eventually
obtain. Most of us took six subjects; this is arguably better than the English A levels
with usually three, as it is a wider background and postpones too early
specialisation. As with the A levels the principal teacher’s pre-exam estimate of
your ability influences your eventual mark and acceptability for individual courses. I
decided there was no cause for worry so football, golf, politics, reading and running
retained my major interest. When my father’s lifelong partner, his younger brother
my namesake Fleming Carswell, developed a septic right hand , I deputized for him
and went out as crew to haul the long line from over 40 fathoms at 6am in February
where they had set it. The catch was fascinating despite the snow showers –
approximately eighteen fish from the

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over 400 baited hooks. Dad banged 2 dogfish on the side of the launch and they
dived free. A conger eel about 7ft in length unhinged its jaws and left a 3lb cod
(unmarked) for us to sell when we landed. If we landed a conger eel, dad stood on

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its back which he broke then threw back in the water, I presume to reduce its
predation on the edible others.
I was not sure if I wanted to go to University as I enjoyed Dunoon so much.
In my final (sixth) year I had decided on Medicine – as my early enjoyed hospital
contacts and the probability that the generality of my abilities would ensure a wide
range of detailed choices. My interview for Medicine was adequately dealt with by “It
seems the only job with a real purpose” and my arm in a sling with an undiagnosed
fractured collarbone (from the loss of my pillow fight championship at the Youth
Panel Games) provided a more interesting subject for the interviewing panel.
So I set off to Glasgow University in October 1955. I only realised when I moved
into digs in Glasgow, the importance of my family and friends in Dunoon as the first 3
months were quite lonely. I struck up acquaintances with my two male bench
neighbours – as well as with an attractive girl in my ‘alphabetic’ vicinity as our
workplaces was unimaginatively allocated by our surnames. My first landlady was
the widowed mother-in-law of a Dunoon shore contact who gently tried to get me to
study in my bedroom but I missed the conviviality of home with the radio playing and
refused : so after a term she gave up being a landlady as I presume she found me
too intr. I found new digs through the university system. This was better with 4
other students-all only staying for weekdays- so back to Dunoon at weekends. Then
I stayed in a variety of different Lodgings until I moved into a student ‘Hall of
Residence’ (MacBrayne Hall) which had a preponderance of highlanders -
‘Teuchters’ in the Gallic.

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I had done well in my first professional exams with 2 Distinctions and 2 certificates of
merit so I was pleased to accept the offer of an intercalated BSc course, which cost
another year of study, making 7 years before full initial medical qualification . Of the
DGS students who went onto university only 6 out of 16 usually achieved a degree .
I was anxious to do so but an interim insurance was attractive. No career guidance
was provided from DGS or later in the course. My parents were always warmly
supportive but I was the first in my immediate family to go to university or any form of
full-time higher education so I realized I had to work it out for myself which was a
pleasure but a significant disadvantage. My mother was always and regularly
supportive of my studies ‘ study hard so you will get on’.
Cliques were obvious in my classes. The two major fee-paying private schools for
boys were Hutchison’s and Glasgow Academy so they often hung together and wore
their school ties sometimes into their 60s; only 10% of my year were girls with a
significant number from Notre Dame, a Catholic private school. The differences in
social/cultural backgrounds were obvious to me and probably to my fellow students.
DGS had just started to introduce a school uniform (dark blue blazer) but I had worn
a green blazer (sales bargain) for 2 years so I was already conscious of uniform
effects. Accordingly, I acquired and wore a Glasgow University blazer, which had
significant negative attributes for some male Dunoon acquaintances, but most of my
different girlfriends seemed to like it. My socio-cultural naivety gradually faded in
Glasgow’s onslaught but in retrospect amused me. For instance when I first arrived
at Glasgow Men’s Union I got off the tram and waited for the next one to take up the

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hill. Eventually I noticed there were no tramlines going there so I walked up to the
University.
Holiday jobs were a financial necessity and gave me a better insight into other
workers’ lives. The first was as a butcher’s boy, a holiday replacement for 2 weeks
– where I learned how to make link sausages and ‘potted hoach’ (boiled meat
scraps, which jelled on cooling and were sold in small pots) as a delicate supplement
for otherwise meat-low diets. I still quite like it. It is the only job in which I was
supplied with a special labelled ‘butcher’s boy’ bike with a heavy fixed basket over
the front wheel for home deliveries. Next summer my Dad got me a job as a boat
hirer’s assistant with a neighbouring boat-hirer where I rapidly took over the day-to-
day running of the business. I’m sure my boss’s takings increased with my work ,
which lasted 9am -10pm 7 days a week in good weather; we made about £40 on
good days and I was paid £5-6 a week. My dad never complained about his
reduction in income caused by my enthusiastic work for a rival firm. Working the
shore was fun with lots of people contact and exchange. Amongst the work
guidelines were ‘do not wear a coat unless the rain is heavy and persistent’, ‘when
you are pushing a drunk man out in a rowing boat make sure you give it a good
shove’.
My Dad
In rain he stands beside his boats; no coat,
white-topped coxswain’s hat on head,
boot tops rolled below knee.
When asked to forecast
to the bored tourists,

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not too keen on the rain
which has fallen relentlessly
through the Glasgow Fair,
he examines the sky thoughtfully,
then says “It looks as if it’ll improve.”
They don’t look convinced
- nor should they be.
I’ve never heard that boat hirer,
my father, predict anything else
to possible clients or anyone
who foolishly asks him
about the weather. He never says
‘ it will get worse.’
Mind you he taught me;
‘If you can see Ailsa Craig from
Dunoon or distant summits clearly
that implies, it will rain soon.’
His good trick works.
You should have hope
till you are dead –
“It looks as if it’ll improve.”
Other jobs included working for the Forestry Commission and the Post Office. My
motivation for both was poor. In the Forestry I was changed from bracken cutting as
the senior Forester decided too many small trees were being cut down by me in my
efforts to keep up with the seasoned workers in the gang, so I was transferred to
being a ploughman’s boy walking ahead of the tractor to warn of difficulties ahead.
Thoroughly enjoyed this but occasionally I forgot to warn the ploughman of deep
ditches and unseated him. One aspect of the job was I had to lay out paths and
boundaries in the virgin scrub in the hills above Dunoon. Again I was taken to task
by the head Forester using a very forestry phrase ‘Do they not teach you in
University that a yard downhill is longer than a yard uphill.’

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I enjoyed working in the Dunoon Post Office but accidentally provoked a minor crisis
by taking the Christmas mail box key with me when I was sent to deliver a telegram
upcountry, the mailbox briefly overflowed. Delivering the Christmas mail had
hazards too. Not all the houses had visible names or numbers and many were
holiday homes. The locals had some difficulty if their Christmas mail was
accidentally delivered to a holiday home. Despite these minor problems, I was
regularly re-employed by both firms
Second year Medicine and the start of my combined (BSc MB ChB) course produced
its own problems with one hundred and sixty science books recommended to read in
addition to the standard medical texts. This issue was solved in the usual ways –
careful attentive listening to the medical lectures and books briefly glanced at. There
were two sets of exams and my record was over twenty science and medical exams
in a week. It hardly gave me time to keep up my socialising and cross-country
running. I bumped into the ‘Hares and Hounds’ secretary at a students Union
dance when I had a gorgeous blonde partner in my arms - I had excused myself
from running that day because of ‘exams’. The partial commitment was noted so I
never made the first team. The double Biochemistry exam looked a problem
especially when I noticed that all the science students after 30 minutes had set up
different apparatus and my burette set up for the titration leaked. Accordingly, I
tasted the food we were to analyse, worked out the anticipated reactions and
finished inside the time. A colleague on the combined course was not pleased when
my mark was 78% and his conscientiously carried out result was 48%. His
comment was “The injustice of it was almost perfect”. However the balance was

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generally maintained as when my alphabetic (B) predecessor in the honours exam
told me that he had used my departmental talk on the Pacinian Corpuscle (a
specialized sensory nerve ending whose covering could modify, like the keys on a
clarinet, the impulses sent to the brain) to chat up the examiner, just as I rose to be
examined. Not a good start to the exam interview worsened by my reading out loud
the text marks on the examiners desk. The examiner ceremonially placed a blank
sheet on the marks. I enjoyed most of the Honours Physiology year but in a rather
undisciplined way as I got distracted into subjects not likely to come up. My interest
in physiology continued throughout my subsequent career. I persuaded the
Physiology staff to let me give them short essays throughout the honours year as
there were no lectures and few tutorials. A distinguished scientist when I asked him
how he would like the essay presented said ‘It’s not important ‘ if you have no white
paper brown will do’. My experimental thesis supervisor reported to a colleague
‘Carswell and I have good time making jokes at each other in the lab’. I generally
liked working with the scientists as I had enjoyed in my school years but did not find
anyone I would choose as a role model. I wanted to savour and enjoy my studies
and work for myself.
After the successful conclusion of my BSc and graduation my thoughts turned to
making some cash to compensate for the costs of the additional science work. So in
my fifth year I tutored schoolboys, medics who had failed the second professional
exams and would be thrown out if they failed the resits, demonstrated to students in
the practical physiology laboratories and joined the University Air Squadron. The
last was quite profitable as we were paid for turning up at Scone Aerodrome for

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training but only in a third of winter weekends was the weather suitable for flying so I
could catch up on my medical studies. Unfortunately my wet shoes, drying on the
radiator ended up with a flap of the heat-severed sole, which proved to be
dangerous. On a routine progress test with the Commanding Officer as my
passenger I was put through my paces. All went well until we got to aerobatics,
which I had performed, routinely in my solo flights. For the spins I climbed the
Chipmunk to 9000 ft and correctly entered the manoeuvre. After three complete
spins I attempted the corrective manoeuvre which involved centring the rudder foot
pedals and putting the nose down. Unfortunately the flap in my shoe jammed the
rudder pedal so I did eight spins before I managed to release my foot and use the
rudder pedal to correct the spin. The regulations specified the maximum spin
tolerance was six spins for the Chipmunk. My height had fallen to 3,000 ft – the
lowest permitted recovery height so clearly I was in difficulties when I safely landed
the plane. My usual flying instructor volunteered to vouch for my competence and
usual safety which was likely to permit me to keep flying which I would have enjoyed.
However I really needed more time to concentrate on medicine so I volunteered to
resign my cadet pilot status and left the Air Squadron after 42 hours flying including
14 solo hours. No regrets as I had enjoyed my time and I had no other flying
ambitions. Now in retirement I anticipate taking up gliding.
Just qualified but short of hands on experience, I decided that I would benefit from
more junior experience so I took 4 house officer jobs three of them deliberately in
professorial firms. As a consequence I was first on call for two years then sat the
higher medical qualification. This helped me too as It taught me to be firm with my

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diagnostic opinions so that when I was examined by the Queen’s Physician in my big
clinical case I persuaded him to listen to the heart as my (wrong) diagnosis
contradicted his registrar’s summary. I passed to become an MRCP (Member of
the Royal College of Physicians of London) in the shortest possible time - 3 years: so
I was ready to climb the hierarchy to a Consultant Paediatrician. Paediatrics was a
clear early choice as it always seemed to me that this was the likeliest role for
effective medicine. I had much appreciated my undergraduate time in it plus I have
always enjoyed working with children. Individual firms, hospitals and regions all
have different socio –cultural identities so I was keen to sample and choose my
favourite, Bristol Children’s Hospital was high on my list. I was pleased to be
appointed a Paediatric Consultant there after a series of junior Scottish jobs.
I was surprised at the proportion of God-like physicians I encountered in England –
apparently more than in Scotland but I relished the greater clinical freedom of action
of individual English consultants in their own firms. I had not appreciated that there
was a consultant paediatric gastro-enterologist (my specialisation on appointment)
so over the next few years I changed and adopted respiratory paediatrics as my
special interest, driven in part by my realization that there was a real need, especially
in Cystic Fibrosis management. Other paediatricians in the UK also recognised that
need so we worked in concert and were delighted that over the next twenty years
individual patients survival rose from an average of seven years to somewhere over
thirty. The emotional load for the families with that disease is high particularly as
they quickly learn that a gene inherited from each parent is responsible. The load on
physicians Is also high as the eventual management is heavy but it is worthwhile for

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the additional duration of enjoyable life the children have. I published the next poem
in the Lancet (2005) that illustrates the positive attitudes many children had to their
life-shortening disease:
A Salute to Dying Children
Children should be our inheritors:
so adults view their early death as tragic
but dying may expose hidden depths
including love and concern for others.
A patient,* with little hope of a transplant,
knowing his older brother died
in the same situation of the same disease,
still successfully started a business.
Another, warned against nursing children
still opted for that and died early,
graciously and rightly proud near death
of the nursing qualification she achieved.
Adults may have difficulty with their decisions
but refusing treatment for ‘trivial’ reasons
or the advanced gifting of coveted toys
indicates personal and proper control.
People may see their physical discomfort
but they often seem unencumbered
by the adult dread of perpetual non-existence.
As death approaches, most children face it frontally.
Apt deaths in comfort and happy trust occur
especially at home in the bosom of family.
One, thus secured, died when brushing her hair
some hours after playing scrabble with her boyfriend.
We are privileged to relate to them
as they teach us how to live death.
Despite anguish at children dying,
celebrate and salute their lives.

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This *patient was particularly rewarding as I found the registrar on call who had
admitted him the night before had started him on terminal rather than therapeutic
care. I reversed that and seventeen months later he elbowed me in the ribs when I
went to the circus with my family. He was well and enjoying himself although he died
suddenly at home a few months later. The children, especially in the wards, were
often fun. There was a big demand for my paper aeroplanes which glided well but
increased the ward clutter so I cut my production rate. On one occasion I remember
encouraging the walking wounded to dance in the ward and we eventually had a four
winged fan of them dancing round the centre of the ward: the nicely tolerant ward
sister commented as we stopped ‘ I’m not sure who enjoyed that more- you or the
children’. I met my future wife when we were both registrars in Glasgow Queen
Mothers hospital: she was an anaesthetist, I was a neonatal paediatrician.
I made an early impression with my joke as I opened the outside door of the hospital
for her and asked – ‘Have you parked your broomstick?’ She was elegantly dressed
in black waterproof with a pixie hat both dripping with rain. I am grateful for the
assiduous care and love she lavished on our three children while I was often too
busy with my work to do much with them myself. I became more economical with
my work/family balance later. My eldest son enjoyed me teaching him how to play
squash – once a favourite sport of mine and the other two asked for and I think
enjoyed similar coaching.
After my first eleven years in my Bristol post with the realization that I was unlikely to
get an alternative post I decided to focus more on how the Bristol University and the

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local Health service functioned. The University had a considerable bureaucratic
hierarchy which was often entered by election but I correctly assumed that my
modest reputation across the faculties for straight talking as a POWAR (Place of
Work Accredited Representative of the British Medical Association) would help, as it
did, so I was appointed to the Medical Curriculum Committee, the Senate, the
Teaching Committee, the Progress Committee, the Disciplinary Committee, the
Library, the Finance, the Promotions and the Medical Admission Committees. Some
had interesting deviations from their overt remits. Thus because two professors ‘had
to go’ to the USA , the 76 hours I spent on the Disciplinary Committee reviewing
students unruly protests at a Professor of Modern History’s fascist attitudes was
overruled after their lawyer appealed to the House of Lords on the grounds that
changing the membership of the Disciplinary Committee while in session
contravened Natural Justice: so all penalties were cancelled. It was amusing that
the rest of that committee wanted particularly to punish a drama student who had a
great presence and delivery though there was no evidence that he had been a
ringleader or organiser in the minor scuffle. Eventually all graduated.
I tried to abolish the late fines for staff keeping books longer but the head librarian
appeared at the next meeting and claimed that even Readers (like myself) had to
contribute to the £50,000 raised by these fines and spent on new books. The
committee agreed with him so my university salary continued to be docked.
My mother had always strongly encouraged my studies both in DGS and at
University though she had no practical knowledge of university and the same was
true of the rest of my immediate family . However the frequently voiced support of

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my relatives in my studies helped me decide positively what to do. I had worked
hard for over 5 years for Professor James Hutchison, Regius Paediatric Professor in
Glasgow and accordingly anticipated routinely using him as one of my referees. In
an appointment committee where I was not appointed, one of the committee took me
aside and strongly advised me not to use him again. He had never given me the
courtesy of showing me my reference. My own practice if I could not recommend a
candidate has been to show the candidate what I would write in such a situation and
he could select another referee. I had always disliked Professor Hutchison but
thought I had been polite and careful enough not to let it show.
My mother died in 1998 aged 95 in a retirement home in Thurso where her daughter
also lived. Carol had very carefully researched this home so she could and did
reassure Jack in New Zealand and I in Bristol that the facilities and care were
excellent.
At the end of my research career in the University of Bristol I had won and spent
somewhat over £1,000,000 on ethically approved research. The money was
principally provided by the Wellcome Trust, the Medical Research Council(UK) - for
my initial research fellowship for 2 years in the Physiology department, Leeds
University, the British Council - for Research Fellows appointed by them and their
University departments in Argentina, Netherlands, Costa Rica, Brazil and Greece
(privately funded). All achieved internationally published papers and higher
degrees.

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Eventually The Wellcome Trust invited me submit an application for funding of my
own Research Group. I immediately set to work on this in a cold February night in
1991 but was disturbed by a loud noise in the kitchen. The noise came from my cat
pulling down a large bag of cat food to the floor. He (Percy) had cut his way into the
bag and spread the pellets over the floor. So I started scooping them up back into
the bag repeatedly bending and straightening up in the process. Unfortunately I was
only scantily clad in the cold kitchen so blood pooled in my legs and I felt faint. I
decided not to fall on the stainless steel sink and could not fall backwards because of
an obstructing table. Eventually I fell to the floor in a faint. When I had somewhat
recovered I crawled to a sitting room and stretched out flat on a sofa. My wife woke
up, disturbed by the noise, found me on the sofa about 10 minutes later by which
time I was aware of a neurological defect. After 30 minutes I had diagnosed this as
a major cerebellar lesion produced by my blood pooling in the periphery and
consequent inadequate blood circulation to the brain. Next morning in the Neurology
unit in Frenchay hospital, the consultant radiologist demonstrated to me the
infarction (damage) of the right cerebellum which was found to be permanent a few
months later. Fortunately, I found that particularly exercising my right side
compensated for its infarction-induced weakness and my intellectual abilities
apparently returned over the next six months but I did not produce a successful grant
application despite repeated attempts. It looked like permanent retirement from
grant-funded research which I had greatly enjoyed.

22. .
22
A crisis had developed in the Cardiology Department at the Children’s Hospital. The
consultant cardiac anaesthetist had analysed the mortality of small babies requiring
early cardiac surgery and compared this with the equivalent figures in the other
major UK cardiac centres. Bristol’s mortality rates were apparently higher. The two
Bristol Cardiac surgeons disputed his figures and his analysis. It took seven years
and the intervention of multiple different UK governing bodies before these cardiac
operations were suspended at Bristol Children’s Hospital. The UK Government set
up an Inquiry (the Kennedy Inquiry) to ensure that none of the Bristol practises that
might have contributed to the excess of Bristol deaths were operative elsewhere: no
punitive actions were taken in Bristol.
Another problem had developed in the University which had developed a deficit of
twelve million pounds. It was decided that a cut in the number of staff employed was
required. Insufficient staff were willing to take voluntary early retirement so a policy
of compulsory early retirement was introduced with an apparent bias towards retiring
the more senior (and more expensive) staff. Unfortunately I found myself forcibly
retired from my chosen career, despite my successes. I had enjoyed my clinical
medicine, teaching and research for forty years, including twenty eight as a
Consultant Paediatrician in Bristol Children’s Hospital. Forcibly retired at the age of
sixty two, I looked for further work in which my experience could be valuable.
I was pleased as a substitute to turn to charity work A friend appointed me as a
Director of Emmaus Glasgow and I was subsequently elected as a Director of the
national governing body, Emmaus UK. Emmaus is an international charity striving

23. .
23
to improve the lives of unemployed workers and/or the homeless. I enjoyed both of
these roles and achieved some minor successes in them. I chose to undertake
Open University courses which reinforced my longstanding interest in literature and
especially poetry: I was awarded a Diploma in English Literature. Subsequently I
published over sixty poems but never achieved the international recognition
equivalent to that for my medico-scientific research. Spells as a voluntary reading
assistant in two Bristol primary schools passed successfully and enjoyably. I am
pleased to recently have been accepted as a school governor in another Bristol
primary school. These modest actions are logical extensions of my lifelong belief in
the importance of childhood and the early education of children. My own three
children are graduates in independent professional practice in England.
My daughter, Ruth has been enormously supportive in encouraging this production,
helping with my poor laptop skills and English – my grateful thanks!
So on I go !
I hope and intend to reactivate my researches and know that the Wellcome Trust is
reasonably sympathetic. I am comfortably settled again in Bristol, enjoying my freq
uent contacts with my children and two grandchildren.