AN
EVENING
WITH
MIKE
WILKES
For
the very first Medical Society meeting in the new Postgraduate Centre, we were
treated to an entertaining and instructive presentation by an internationally
renowned wildlife photographer.
Mike
Wilkes lives in North Worcestershire and takes many of his pictures from a
static hide in the corner of a farmer’s field not far from
Redditch
. From this apparently inauspicious
vantage point, and battling against not only the elements but also the
encroachment of resident cows with their electric fences and of a local cat on
the prowl, he has taken many spectacular and prize winning photographs.
The
main theme of his talk on the 12th March centred around the bird-life
of our area from autumn to spring although he also included some beautiful shots
of snow buntings, crested tits and red squirrels taken in the Scottish Highlands
and of a family of dippers pictured close to a roadside in North Devon. During
his discourse, not only were we presented with many remarkable portraits of our
resident bird population but also striking action pictures such as those of
sloes being devoured by pigeons, blackbirds and redwings and of a sparrow hawk
feasting on partridge.
During
his talk Mike was generous enough to let us into many of the tricks of his
trade. These included the positioning of adjustable perches sprinkled with seed
to attract a pair of crows, amongst many other species, to give him yet another
prize-winning submission to a national photographic competition, and the baiting
of fish in a local stream to tempt the ever photogenic kingfisher.
He concluded his presentation by giving us some insights into the sex
life of the pheasant and pictured the dominant cock, with all his magnificent
summer plumage, surrounded by his harem of submissive hens.
All in all this was a tour de force by a specialist in the field (no pun
intended) and a thoroughly enjoyable evening.
Martin Lewis
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Letter
from Peter Batty
My
mother has recently moved to a nursing home (she is now 96) and when clearing
her bungalow discovered an article written by my late father, Alan Batty, in
1974 when he retired after 37 years in general practice. He wrote the
article describing life as a GP when he first started in 1936 and thought you
might like to publish it in the Med Soc newsletter. Very
unusually for the
Lot
region we have had steady snow fall all morning and there is now at least
3-4cms and it's still falling.
Kind
regards
Peter Batty
What
changes have taken place in General Practice in the last 37 years.
When I entered general practice in 1936 I was faced with buying a
partnership, buying and house and building a surgery.
This meant borrowing the money from the bank with my father as guarantor.
Nevertheless we lived quite well on £450 a year, kept a maid, and began
to pay off the loan. There were two of us in the Practice and we worked hard.
There were no half days, surgeries were held morning and night 6 days a
week and one on Sunday mornings; indeed there was one on Christmas mornings too,
fora year or two, until I persuaded my partner eventually to give it up, and
also Sunday mornings and to start to have half days.
My
house and surgery were two miles from the main surgery at my partner’s house
and I held surgeries at both, that made 4 surgeries a day and there were usually
15-20 visits to do as well.
National
insurance only covered working men; wives and children were not covered so were
treated either privately through the national deposit friendly society or
through our Private Club. The
subscription to this was 3d (3 old pence) a week for each person and we employed
a retired insurance agent to collect this weekly and paid him 10% of what he
collected. The Club entitled them to
all necessary treatment and medicines. We
did all our own dispensing (for non- national insurance patients) during
surgeries and before the evening surgery we made up all the medicines resulting
from visits. All these were wrapped
and sealed with sealing wax.
There
was no sterilizer in the Practice when I joined it, and of course there were no
disposable items. Syringes and
needles were kept in spirit and put back there after use and washing under the
hot tap! But we never seemed to get
any trouble from this method. I did
my own blood counts with a Sahli haemoglobinometer and stained my own slides,
centrifuged urines and microscoped the deposits – every student bought his own
microscope and made his own slides when doing pathology and bacteriology.
The
disease pattern was quite different from today.
Classical lobar pneumonia was fairly frequent and as nursing was the main
treatment one sometime made 2 or 3 visits a day to each case.
Scarlet fever was beginning to become a mild disease and you still had
the antiseptic sheet hanging outside the bedroom door.
Diphtheria and TB were common.
There
was plenty of maternity work, but antenatals were only just beginning Many
patients only saw the District Midwife/Nurse, so often the first intimation you
had that a patient was pregnant was when you had an urgent message from the
Midwife to go to see Mrs So and So because the cord had prolapsed, or a hand was
presenting or there was a P.P.H. You thought nothing of doing a forceps delivery
at home, or a manual removal of placenta, and your partner would give the
anaesthetic, or you would give the patient Chloroform and then hand the bottle
to the midwife to continue while you got on with the delivery, giving her
instructions from time to time.
Ether was never used on these occasions as there was usually an open fire
in the grate, where the placenta, after being wrapped in newspaper, was burnt,
together with any soiled dressings.
In
these days of frustration and delay in getting patients seen or admitted
to hospital it is amazing to think how perfect the arrangements were then,
you simply gave them a letter addressed to the Consultant concerned and
said “take that down to the Hospital tomorrow” – or whatever day that
particular Consultant had O.P.’s and that was that, and if he decided they
needed admission, they were in within a week.
Emergencies of course were admitted immediately.
In the case of the chronic sick if the Hospital concerned was full or
reluctant to admit a patient you simply wrote out a form which the relatives
took to a local authority representative called a ‘Relieving Officer’ whose
responsibility they then became, and who had the power to order the Hospital to
admit the patient if he considered it justifiable.
Private
patients would be admitted to one of the two Private Hospitals then in
Leicester, the Fielding Johnson and the
Faire
Hospital
. With Surgical cases my Partner and
I would both go in, and one would give the anaesthetic, for which we had our own
B.O.C. anaesthetic machine, while the other assisted.
We used to do quite a number of T’s and A’s and circumcisions, and
these we usually did on a Sunday morning in the patient’s home - £2.2.0 for a
T’s and A’s.
We had a fortnight’s holiday
each year, and while one was away the other did all the surgeries and visits,
and of course all the night work; weekends off and E.T.S were unknown.
Yes, our life was full, and very satisfying and the Doctor/Patient
relationship was a real factor in bringing the best out of you in every
situation, and reflecting back over the years I think that the ties between
Doctor and Patient have become steadily weakened and eroded (since the second
world war) to the detriment of both.
Dr.
A.M. Ferens Batty
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Kidderminster
Medical Society Website
At
the Annual General Meeting in October it was suggested that a Society website
could provide a useful way of disseminating news and information in addition to
the newsletter. As a result of this I was asked to look into the possibilities.
Those
computer literate amongst you will be aware that, to publish a website, you need
a host web server who will display the product on the World Wide Web. In
addition to that you would need someone who will design and edit the web pages
in a computer language called hypertext mark-up language (html). That editor
would be responsible for receiving news, gossip and articles, then putting that
information onto the website pages and finally submitting it down the phone line
to the host server. Needless to say, all this costs money.
I
therefore suggested that, as an interim measure, I put some medical society
website pages onto my own family website under a separate heading. This way will
have the opportunity to judge the mood and opinion of members and finally make a
decision as to whether a website is a feasible option.
For
those of you who have not yet had the opportunity to visit the Kidderminster
Medical Society website, you can access it at
www.flyingdoc.co.uk
All
the site contains at the moment is the current edition of the newsletter but I
would be grateful for feedback which I will pass on at the next AGM.
Barrie
Davies
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The
Turner Exhibition
DID
YOU MISS IT ?
Among
my many failings is an apparently infallible ability to learn about an event
soon after it has finished. A frustrating bad habit.
Occasionally however fortune jogs my planning so when the President e
mailed me with the details of a visit to the Turner exhibition at the City Art
Gallery
on the 11th. January, I took the hint.
About
40 members gathered and had the additional bonus of an introductory lecture by
Henrietta Lockhart which put the whole display into context.
Turner has always been one of my favourite artists but this was something
special. The biggest display of his
work so far, including some pictures not seen before in public, together with
sketchbooks, and other memorabilia. I hadn’t previously realised that much of
his work was motivated by the need to produce good pictures which could be
turned into engravings for the burgeoning publishing industry. The fine detail
on much of this had to be seen to be believed.
The
centrepiece was of course ‘the Fighting Temeraire’ and Henrietta’s talk
brought out a number of points that I had previously missed. But there were many
other treasures. If
you weren’t there and are reading this after the 8th.
February, then you missed a treat. For
once, I didn’t.
John
Parker
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There
was no other word for it, betrayed. I had joined his club and worn his badge. I
had trusted Tufty when he told me that if I followed his instructions I could
cross the road in safety. Either he had not been to
Vietnam
, and I can’t believe that, or he was lying!
Hanoi
airport is fiercely modern with dark cold marble and chrome.
The staff immaculate but unnerving in their military uniforms. Passport control
slick but we had to go through one at a time the children included. The taxi
followed the only metalled road to the city. As far as we could see were paddy
fields, often been worked by women and their buffalos. The road had few cars.
There were many old trucks, some converted US army vehicles all belching out
thick black fumes. The main traffic was small motorcycles and bicycles. These
were often laden with metre high open weaved baskets. Several were full of
piglets and fowl. One was full of laundry except for a small mongrel buried
underneath. He was so cramped in his muzzle was pushed against the side, his lip
raised in a Bogart type smile. Later seeing Korean restaurants with toffee apple
coloured dog carcasses hanging next to other sweet and sour meats, we understood
why he may not have been complaining.
As
we approached the hotel, the architecture became classically French. The streets
narrowed but cramped with markets stalls. Everything seemed to be for sale.
Several stalls offered designer labels by the roll, tropical fish and, fruit
some of which we had never seen before or knew off. Barbers had their chairs and
leather strops outside. They offered a sideline in aural toilet.
We
rapidly unpacked and fortified our selves with a drink from the bar. We were
ready to explore. Progress was slow. Every thing was different; we had never
seen a cock fight before. The problem came when we wanted to cross the road .It
wasn’t that we didn’t know which side the traffic came from. That was
obvious, wherever it wanted to. There was never a gap. We didn’t even get one
foot off the pavement. We retired to our room defeated. From the seventeenth
floor we watch the anarchical progression of the traffic and then saw the locals
crossing. They glided from pavement to road to pavement. Tufty my foot, they did
not stop or look, they just went. In groups or on their own they progressed in a
ballet like swerve through the random chaos of vehicles. The secret was not to
stop. Drivers would plan for those on foot to swerve, to duck or dive but never
ever stop.
We
had the secret. Our resolve faltered by the bar, but not for long
. As
I hesitated on the kerbside my hand was grabbed and with a forceful and slightly
irritated “Oh come on” my 10
year took me safely across the road to new delights .He had never held Tufty in
the same regard.
John Tudor
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My
wife believes women are more observant than men, I beg to differ.
Our
transfer from
Bangkok
airport to the Sheraton was efficient that evening. The reception staff
welcoming .I contained my
frustration when only a single set of card keys was prepared, though our booking
was clearly for two rooms. I had learnt some restraint on a previous trip.
Coming off a tedious flight to
Florida
I had presented my car hire documents to the Dollar representative, “Two
door” he said. “No” I snapped, “We have had a long flight, I ordered a
four door and that’s what…” “No Mr Tudor, not two door”.
In a calm voice I
mentioned our reservation for 2 rooms and was partially reassured by a reply of
“Don’t worry”. The bellboy led us to the banks of lifts and explained we
must only take the furthest lift on the right. Inside the lift there were only
two buttons, ground and Penthouse. It seemed the Sheraton had over booked and
the only remaining accommodation was their best suite .It was huge sharing the
same floor area as our house. Every room seemed to have an ensuite, including
the kitchen. The external walls were glass, offering a view of
Bangkok
by night. It seemed calm and sophisticated and bore no relation to the capital
by day.
Having
bathed and coped with the disappointment that bath foam in the Jacuzzi didn’t
envelop the whole floor with suds, we needed feeding. We decided against room
service, believing the tip, from the penthouse residents, to the Bellboy would
be most of our holiday budget. We had spied a pizzeria near by. Feeling very
self-conscious coming out of the penthouse lift we did a few circuits of the
hotel so no one would realise that we were dining somewhere so cheap.
There
were six waitresses. Five typically Thai, that is petite, feminine and pretty.
Miranda was five foot eleven. Her voice was so deep that she made Louis
Armstrong sound like a contralto. Peaking above the collar of her blouse was an
adams
apple of such size it cast a shadow. I refused her offer of help to mop up the
half litre of luminescent pink pop that she poured over my groin .My son was
crying trying to suppress his laughs. My wife and daughter chewed on their bread
sticks, oblivious. I rest my case.
John
Tudor
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