Sadly, holidays
come to an end, and I had to return to school. In retrospect, it might have
made sense to continue to study the French language and culture, but the
choices had been made, so I settled into my three core topics Chemistry,
Biology and Physics with some ongoing Maths and English. I was back into being
a librarian and singing in the choir, and school drama and being part of
Searle’s House activities. It was the autumn/winter term, so we were back into
rugby. The routine set in. My tan, and the smell of garlic, began to fade.
To be truthful, the
next two years at school are a bit of a blur, and it is hard to recall detail
and sequence. I know I struggled with Physics all the way through, much to my
father’s chagrin. I know he wanted to help, and I remember one particular
incident where he tried repeatedly to get across the difference between a diode
and a triode. Not only could I not make sense of what he was saying, I could
not retain the information over time. He became frustrated, and obviously
thought I was probably being difficult. He was probably right, and old
resentments had marred my ability to be open to his explanations.
Unfortunately, then and now I could not get it, and really could not care what
the difference was anyway. The disease spread and, unfortunately, there was
rather a lot about Physics I found tedious, boring and of no value.
This was nearly my
undoing as far as University was concerned. At the end of the two years of
being in the sixth form (June 1961, admittedly still only just 17), my results
for Advanced Level were a B for Biology, a C for Chemistry, and a lowly E for
Physics (a very bare pass). Not stellar, you may think, and the world agreed. I
did not gain a place in London, Cambridge or St. Andrew’s. A decision was made
for me to repeat 2nd year Sixth to improve my results.
I have always had a
tendency to spread myself into a diversity of exciting activities, not focussed
on the main game, and this continues to the present day. I would much rather be
writing this book, remembering the past, visualizing episodes, and trying to
synthesize the whole thing into a coherent narrative, than be writing the other
book on the go at the moment. I am writing a book called (for the moment): “The
Prevention of Suicide in Young People” which will bring together the thinking
behind my 1999 Doctorate and all of the research which led up to it, and
subsequently stemmed from it. I think it will be an important book. Given I
have dedicated 30 years of my life to the subject, it had better be. But the
current book is more fun!
So what were the
distractions? Some we have begun to explore. They include ballroom dancing and
my associated attempts to engage my life partner to be. Birchington Junior
Drama Club was to underpin a lifetime of dabbling in theatre, and the
excitement that comes from early rehearsal, later culminating in nights with an
audience of the public out front, one night of which was formally adjudicated.
But there were other distractions.
One distraction in
first year sixth form related to my old problem with an ingrowing toenail.
Probably compounded by poor attention to cutting the nail and keeping it in
check and the grubbiness which comes from the limited hygiene of the time and
my age and stage, there was recurrent infection. This at times limited my
sports performance and, several other activities. And, of course, it was
painful. Eventually, I was taken to a surgeon who believed the best way to
solve the problem was to complete a Zadek’s operation. This was a removal of
the sides of the nail, and the sides of the root of the nail, to stop the
possibility of the nail curving into the soft skin on the side of the big toes,
but also to stop regrowth.
The operation was
done under a general anaesthetic at Margate Hospital (which was sad because I
had wanted to watch), and after an overnight stay, I was transferred to the
Royal Seabathing Hospital in Garlinge. This had been developed in the early
part of the century for sufferers of Tuberculosis, and the sleeping
arrangements included my being in bed on a veranda with a cage over my foot and
leg to keep the bedclothes from pressuring the toe. It was late autumn, and the
hospital was literally on the cliffs facing the sea. So the night air was
somewhat fresh, and provided good reason not to throw the covers off in the
middle of the night. I convalesced for nearly a week, fascinated by the
routines of the place, the process of cleansing and redressing my paltry wound,
and the banter of the nursing staff. It confirmed something about my future, in
a fuzzy kind of way. However, it did take me out of school, and gave me an
excuse to be poorly and of course unable to study. It later curtailed some of
my rugby training, and PE.
The most annoying
restriction was that I could not comfortably get the boot of a hired roller
skate onto my foot for several weeks. Jan and her sister and friends had begun
to attend roller-skating on Saturday mornings at Dreamland Amusement Park. It
was one more opportunity to gain a new skill and show off in front of the
girls, but for several weeks I fretted at home after my convalescence.
In second year
sixth form, I became house captain of Searle’s House and a prefect. This gave
ample excuse for distraction. Prefects had a special area set aside for
relaxation during recess and lunch breaks, if we were not on some school duty
looking out for miscreants. Another prefect was a young man called Fred Stamp,
who had come from the secondary modern system to complete his A levels, having
shown considerable interest and ability in subjects not necessarily well taught
at his original school. Though he lived in Ramsgate, he did not have that many
friends and, perhaps both being loners, we hit it off. He was a couple of years
older than I was, and had a long-term girlfriend called Rosemary. They and Jan
and I were to become firm friends.
Because he was
older, and over 18, he claimed to smoke a pipe outside of school hours, and
this gave him an air of sophistication. In addition, he claimed to drink pints
of beer – something I had not yet attempted, and again this turned my young
head. But the real action was in school. Fred played Bridge. My family had
always played card games at home, and I believe both my parents had played some
social bridge. I had learned to play all sorts of simple games, but found
myself on a rapid curve of learning at lunchtimes in the prefects’ room, with
sessions sometimes lingering into the afternoon. We also played for a time
after school, until we were thrown out by the cleaners, or had some other
commitment elsewhere. I was hooked. We became good partners, using an Acol
system, and I would have happily not bothered with lessons and just focused all
my time on Bridge. I was later to play Bridge at Medical School, played for
King’s College Hospital and then London University. Later in Adelaide, I played
with 3 psychiatrist colleagues once a month for a total of 14 years, and also
had an eminent psychiatrist colleague with whom I played (and won) for many
years, in a highly competitive group deriving from his training group at
University, when one of the members was not available.
In retrospect, I
wonder just how much I could have attained professionally, without this (and
other) distractions. All an academic discussion; you are who you are, and you
do what you do. But in those early years struggling to get sufficiently good
grades to get to University, bridge was one of the distractions that kept me
from studying. On the other hand, it was an activity that gave me (and still
has the capacity to give me) great joy.
And Fred had one
other surprise in store for me during that year. Of course we discussed our
respective possible careers. Another piece of the bonding was that Fred wanted
to become a doctor, too. In particular, he had aspirations to become a
psychiatrist, and had begun to read psychiatric texts. I was fascinated, and
eventually he lent me a book that would quite literally shape the person I was
to become.
More later…
No comments:
Post a Comment