biography 1
born March 2 1922, in Marylebone, London.
my mother a classics scholar, my father the Professor of Physiology at St Mary's
Hospital Medical School.
Stuffed unwillingly into a silk 'buster suit', offered to the camera's lens holding a
stuffed sparrow.
Sent to preparatory schools; the sort where blazers, caps, ties, socks were all
prescribed. Nigel, younger brother, accompanied me; Pamela, older sister,
went to St Paul's Girls School.
I only remember long family holidays (2) and pretending to wear gold-rimmed
glasses at school. My eyes recovered perfectly without them. Always stated I
wanted to be an inventor when relatives posed the inevitable question.
Then to Epsom College, an establishment for the sons of doctors who in turn
mostly became doctors. Partly paid by a Kitchener Scholarship, awarded to sons
of men who were in WW1; not too hard to get, as such sons were becoming scarce.
With a quick memory (and even quicker forgetory) I found exams easy. Was useless
in team games but liked cross-country running. Enjoyed the company of the 10%
who were not clinically bound, those who quoted Auden, whistled Bach, questioned
authority. The only saved photograph is of being cosseted in some costume drama!
There were no formal art lessons but I tried drawing anyone who would sit still; my
mother, brother, a fellow student.
When WW2 started, London was thought unsafe, and we were sent to St Ives, Cornwall,
staying at the Leach Pottery, David, the son of Bernard Leach, being a relative by marriage.
I watched intently and was allowed to make one pot. Nigel, a born musician, found an
accordion and accompanied my first efforts on the recorder, an instrument I have played
ever since.
Because of my father's work there (he died when I was 12) St Mary's Medical School
offered to educate me free; so it was very easy to persuade myself at the early age of
decision that I wanted to be a doctor. So I went straight there from Epsom.
It was still war time and I became an Air Raid Warden. This entailed walking streets at night
to ensure no-one was showing a chink of light, which could help the frequent bombers.
Every two weeks I slept at the ARP post; luckily I was teamed with a conductor of the Carl
Rosa opera company, who sat up all night reading scores so I could sleep. The nearest hit
was 50 yards from our house and I can still see our Broadwood piano jumping into the air at
the impact. Cycling to the school each day often meant choosing a new route due to broken
glass or collapsed buildings. In little back streets I found bookshops with an outside stall
holding sixpenny volumes; started collecting verse.
Began playing recorders seriously, attending classes, joining a Hampstead group, practicing in
disused hospital theatres, conducting small concerts. Spent many hours creating posters for
medical school events. I realised after a year that medicine was not for me but all relatives
advised me to persist and then with a degree behind me make the decision to quit or not.
After qualifying in 1946, became House Surgeon in Hertford County Hospital under
consultant, known as the Butcher. Enjoyed the actual operating work though doubtful why
this or that piece was being removed. Could perform an appendicectomy in four minutes.
I resist here recounting many confidence-destroying medical stories. In evenings, sketched
and practiced calligraphy. Drew illustrations for The Acute Abdomen in Rhyme by Zachary
Cope, my first paid 'art work' at 15 shillings (about 2 dollars then) per drawing!
Deferred army call-up followed. Being a doctor walked into the RAMC (Royal Army Medical
Corps) a salutable officer. Managed to avoid any parades; posted to depots in south of UK. In
the Occupational Department of the hospital I had seem small floor looms and wondered
how they worked in a purely technical sense. So on leave made a wide inkle loom from two
deck chairs; converted it to four shafts and wove scarves from knitting wool and found out
about double cloth. Often wove on this in back of ambulance when escaping some official
army formality. The only still people to draw were dozing, sleeping officers, (the war WAS
over!).
While in the RAMC I attended night classes at Farnham Art School and attempted to illustrate
a wonderful story my father had written for me. He brought me a new chapter every day to
the hospital where I was recovering from a mastoidectomy aged about 6. In it I meet a giraffe
escaping from the zoo in order to buy a collar.
Towards the end of my required two years looking at blisters, I learnt that doctors were
needed by the Red Cross to work with Arab refugees in Transjordan. Feeling sure
this would be more interesting and a better use of what I had learnt, I changed uniforms,
promoting myself to major in the process! I flew out to Amman in 1949, thence by jeep to
hospitals at Irbid, Salt and a tented camp in the Jordan valley.
It was my furthest trip away from UK; and like many English I was bowled over by the
country and the people, especially the bedouin and their weaving, the first ethnic textiles
I had seen and handled. Probably what is still my favourite textile was given me by a
Sheikh (see Maker's Hand, p 104-105).
I watched a village carpet weaver and noticed that he never stopped working, though often
surrounded by gossiping friends in the hot midday, maybe a hint to me of the hard grind
ahead. I acquired some kilims (also in Maker's Hand) and a dark mysterious carpet bag with
an almost invisible blue/red pattern. I drew a few patients and a nurse at the sewing machine.
I found that I could copy a friend's photos onto X-ray film; but they did not last, so I have no
real record of this time.
A year into this work, my dissatisfaction with a medical life, always bubbling away below
the surface, became even stronger. I found I was beginning to long urgently for the 6 o'clock
gin; a bad sign! So I made the decision to leave though sad to part from Arab friends. I flew
to Rome then hitch-hiked. It was a Holy Year with many making pilgrimages to and from
Rome. My one useful Italian sentence "Sono pellegrino", I am a pilgrim, hopefully offered to
drivers I thumbed down, was sometimes met with a logical "Well, if you're a pilgrim why
aren't you walking?"
Hard to answer but I did reach home.
For next section go to BIO 2