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| My father in RAF uniform |
Wiston
Until he was nearly 12, dad lived at the schoolhouse
in Wiston in south Lanarkshire where his father was the Schoolmaster, sleeping
in the bedroom over the front door. Wiston was a small rural community,
nestling in the valley between Tinto hill (711 metres above sea level) and Dungavel
(510 metres).
His recollections are almost the only record of his
Wiston years. He recalled an enjoyable childhood as a country lad playing with
farmers’ sons, racing up Tinto on the steep side. There’s a story of dad and
some mates showing considerable engineering skills in damming the mill burn.
This incurred the wrath of the miller who came crossly upstream to investigate
why the flow of water was reduced to a trickle. Dad remembered singing as a child the old
counting song Ten green bottles.
In those days, the occupants of Wiston Lodge still
expected the village kids to recognise their social superiors. When a car from
the big house drove past you were supposed to stand, take off your cap, and
salute the occupants.
The headmaster’s family kept hens and rabbits, and on
Saturday 22nd August 1925 a rabbit from Wiston schoolhouse took first prize in
the Children’s Classes at the Abington and District Agricultural Society’s
Annual Show.
One of dad’s domestic responsibilities was lighting
the petrol lamps, which were considered to be progressive technology because
they gave brighter, clearer light than oil lamps. Conscious of the risk his mum
refused to touch them, and the task was delegated to young William. And each morning
he would be sent down to the dairy in the village with a milk can to collect
the day’s supply for the schoolhouse, and no doubt for the school as well.
My grandfather was the sole teacher, apart from some peripatetic
staff, and the schoolroom was a step through a door from the house. Like his
sister Cathie before him, my father was on 30th June 1933 awarded a silver
watch for five years’ perfect attendance – dad felt that this attendance record
was the result of his being propelled through the door from the schoolhouse on
days when he’d have been better staying in bed to recover from the current
childhood illness. The Wiston school log book for 30th June 1933 also records
that in the Bible exam marks for the session, he achieved 89%. His friend
Robert Johnstone came first with 92.5%.
There were stories of family holidays, and picnics
high up on the hill, and listening to the BBC on a cat’s whisker radio, and the
great sadness of the death of dad’s two sisters. Margaret died at the age of 9
months in June 1925 even as the rabbit who won the prize two months later was
munching contentedly in the wooden hutch out the back, and Cathie who died in
December 1933.
Of Cathie, dad said ‘She was a lovely child.’ From August 1932 she boarded with her granny
at Ashgill in order to attend Hamilton Grammar School. Each day, she had to
walk over a mile to the station to get the train to Hamilton, and dad feels
that getting wet during these long walks contributed to the onset of the
illness from which she died. He remembered her telling him from the perspective
of the big sister at Secondary School ‘You’ll have to work hard when you go to
big school.’ He did.
Greengairs
In the summer of 1934, John C. Dempster left Wiston to
become headmaster at Greengairs Primary School in a mining community near
Airdrie. In part this move was to enable my father to attend secondary school,
at Airdrie Academy, without having to stay away from home as Cathie had done.
Before going to Wiston, John and Effie Dempster had
been members of the Christian Brethren, but during their time there, rather
than attending the nearest ‘meeting’ the family joined the Church of Scotland –
the impression I got from dad was that my grandfather felt that it was seemly
for the Schoolmaster in a small community to be deeply engaged with the local
people and to join them in worship, but there may have been an element of
seeking social status.
However following the move to Greengairs, while my
grandfather continued to attend the local Church of Scotland, my gran accompanied
by my father associated with the local Brethren Assembly. I don’t know whether
he was given a choice of which parent to accompany, nor what dad’s level of
commitment to the Christian faith had been up until that point, but there is no
doubt, given the ethos of the Brethren that under their roof he would have been
exposed to the call to personal faith.
And so, in July 1935, in neat handwriting, the signed
a ‘My decision’ card making the following commitment:
Knowing that I am a sinner and believing Jesus
died instead of me I now take the Lord Jesus Christ as my sin-bearer and
Saviour and I give myself – all I am and all I have – to Him as my Lord.
There was also a verse from Scripture printed on the
card: ‘I know Whom I have believed, and
am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him.’ (2
Timothy 1:12)
At some point following this profession of faith, dad
took the step (courageous in terms of its potential impact on his street cred)
of being baptised by full immersion at the Greengairs Assembly.
Throughout his life, dad remained faithful to that early
commitment to Jesus Christ, and believed passionately in the reciprocal
commitment of the Christ whom he believed was upholding him in all
circumstances.
There is little documentary evidence of the years at
Greengairs. A photograph of my grandmother spring-cleaning the schoolhouse
carpet in the open air. Photographs of family holidays – Torquay in 1937, Criccieth
and Bowness on Windermere in 1938 (were they attending the Christian Keswick
Convention?), up north to John O’Groats in 1939. And is that dad beside the coy
girl on the bench at Crawford in Lanarkshire, her hand encircling his forearm? And photos of the British Empire Exhibition,
held at Bellahouston Park in Glasgow from May until December 1938. 12 million
people attended, including a group from Airdrie Academy which included both my
father, and Helen Jackson, the girl he would later marry.
They were in the same year at school, but were not
close at that time, although my mother rather cloyingly recalled my father’s
politeness at school in holding doors for people. He attended the Academy from
1934 until 1939 when he was awarded a ‘Higher Education Scotland Leaving
Certificate’, signed by the Airdrie Academy Headmaster John Anderson.
Dad had studied English (including Literature and
History), Science, French, Latin and Mathematics, achieving Highers in English
at Science in 1939, a Lower in French in 1938 and in Latin in 1939, and no
passes in Mathematics. However he clearly studied Maths intently over the
summer of 1939, because he sat and passed Higher Mathematics as a ‘Preliminary
Examination’ at Glasgow University in the September of that year.
Initially, he had aimed at dentistry as a career, but
at some point came to recognise that medicine was his calling. At any rate, he
registered as a medical student and with the General Medical Council on 16th April
1940.
Wartime
medical student 1940-1946
Before then of course, the Second World War had been
declared on 1st September 1939. Dad was examined at Glasgow Central Medical
Board for his suitability for National Service. He was assigned Grade II rather
than Grade I as a result of some unspecified issue with his feet. I believe
because he was preparing to study medicine, which was a ‘reserved’ occupation
his National Service was deferred until he had qualified.
He was involved in Civil Defence at Greengairs, being
appointed a Civil Defence Messenger on 28th July 1941. After the war he was
awarded the Civil Defence Medal, although I don’t think he saw much
action. The most traumatic wartime
moment for the Greengairs community seems to have been when a German bomber
returning home from attacking Clydeside dropped the final instalment of its
payload behind the schoolhouse.
In his medical
studies, dad worked towards the ‘Triple Qualification’ - Licentiate of
the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh, Licentiate of the Royal College
of Surgeons of Edinburgh, and Licentiate of the Royal Faculty of Physicians and
Surgeons, Glasgow. Dad’s achievement of this qualification was marked by the
presentation of an impressive document in Latin bearing the crests of the three
awarding bodies at a Graduation ceremony on 28th October 1944 at 10am at the
Royal College of Physicians, Queen Street, Edinburgh.
Over the previous three year he had studied at both
St Mungo’s College of Medicine (housed in the Glasgow Royal Infirmary building)
and Anderson’s College of Medicine (in Dumbarton Road) which jointly delivered
the course for the Triple Qualification. Both these bodies were absorbed into
Glasgow University in 1947. For the duration of this course dad travelled each
day from Greengairs – a bus journey to Airdrie top cross was followed by a
feverish run down South Bridge Street to the railway station from where he
caught the train to Glasgow. Sometimes on the way home he to walk from Airdrie
back to the Greengairs Schoolhouse. In the course of his studies, he won medals
in Chemistry and Anatomy, and Certificates of Merit in other subjects.
At the end of his course, dad attended ‘Final Year
Dinner 1939-45’ at the Grosvenor Restaurant on Friday 3rd March 1944. To mark
this occasion, an impressive brochure was produced with photos of faculty and
graduates, and a list of guests. A motto, presumably selected for its relevance
to the individual was printed beside each graduate’s photo. In dad’s case the
motto was a quotation from William Cowper’s poem John Gilpin in which the eponymous hero is carried away by a horse.
A friend of Gilpin’s says ‘My head is twice as big as yours, They therefore
needs must fit’ in the context of offering Gilpin a loan of his own hat and wig
to replace those lost in the mad gallop. No doubt we will never recover the
perceived relevance of these to my father – would it be fanciful to see it as a
reference to his humility?
Between October 1944 and January 1946 dad had several
short placements specialising in different aspects of medicine. From October
1944-January 1945 he worked with Dr Stephen C. Scoular, an Airdrie general
practitioner. That winter he learned much about the reality of the poverty and
struggle which marked the lives of so many of Dr Scoular’s patients in the
years immediately before the launch of the National Health Service. From
February-July 1945 he was a House Surgeon at Glasgow Royal Infirmary, and from
August 1945-January 1946 a House Physician at what was then called Law Junction
Hospital, built in 1939.
The testimonials dad was provided with following
these placements shows the respect in which he was held by senior colleagues.
They thought highly of his medical practice. ‘His
work has been most satisfactory. I found him very conscientious & diligent,’
wrote Dr Scoular on 31st January 1945. On
25th July 1945 G. T. Mowat at Glasgow Royal Infirmary noted ‘He is keen and
capable and has a sound knowledge of his work and has shown himself capable of
taking responsibility. He is a good anaesthetist and has done a good deal of
minor operating.’
W. Ferguson of Law Junction Hospital observed on 10th
January 1946 that ‘Dr Dempster has been a most conscientious and painstaking
House Officer and I have formed a high opinion of his capabilities. He is a
good clinician, accurate in his observations and sound in his deductions.’ On
26th January 1946 J. Bryant, the Resident Physician at Law noted ‘Dr
Dempster…has shown himself to be a keen and thorough young man, painstaking,
with a bent as yet undeveloped towards microscopic work.’ On the same day, Dr
Smartt of Law Hospital noted that dad had ‘shown keen interest in his duties.’
They appreciated the quality of his relationship with
his patients. ‘He was both kind and courteous to my patients,’ Dr Scoular
noted, while J. W. Ferguson commented that he was ‘popular both with his
patients and his colleagues.’
They acknowledged his personality and character. J.
W. Ferguson noted of dad that ‘of a quiet disposition he has a pleasant tactful
manner.’ J. Bryant observed ‘He is quiet in his habits, has done me extremely
well since I have been here, and is a very pleasant fellow to work with.’
Each of these men echoed in their own way Dr
Scoular’s closing comment ‘I can confidently recommend him to anyone who
desires his services.’
But in fact it was the Royal Air Force Volunteer
Reserve who next called on his services. The 31st January 1946 testimonials
were prepared for dad to take with when he went down to London for an National
Service interview with the RAFVR.
RAF Interlude
1946-48
The interview must have been successful, because on
21st February 1946 dad was granted an ‘Emergency Commission’ (Flight
Lieutenant) in the Medical Branch of the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve.
Between then, and his departure from the Service (his ‘Release date’ was 7th
February 1948, and his ‘Last date of Service’ 21st April 1948) he spent
nineteen months in the Far East. He was, according to his identity tag RAF
Number 202103. His Religion was recorded
as ‘Chr Breth’
Dad spoke of being initially in Rangoon and then in Singapore
(where he was issued on 6th September 1947 with a Singapore Harbour Board
Identity Cards as ‘Movement Unit Medical Officer.’) There’s little record of
his time in the Far East – a couple of albums of photos, the carved elephant
bookends he sent home as a Christmas present to his parents from Rangoon at the
end of 1946, and the tiara-crowned woman’s head, intricately carved from dark
wood which lived for many years on a sideboard in my parents’ dining room and
which I referred to as ‘dad’s black lady.’
Most of the photos are of street scenes, ships and
planes, but there are some of my father himself relaxing with colleagues. In
one, he sits in his pyjamas, ‘writing home.’ He spoke of flights in low-flying
planes dropping emergency supplies of rice to people beneath; he spoke of the
bad attack of dysentery which left him enfeebled. And he mentioned the
sunlight, which in old age he thought might have been the cause of the many
skin lesions he suffered. Otherwise he spoke little of his years abroad.
At the end of his time in the RAF, his Certificate of
Discharge reported that there had been ‘Nil’ Adverse Reports relating to his
time in the Service.
Hospital work to 1961
At some point, dad must have decided to specialise in
Radiology. In the years following his discharge from the RAF he undertook
training in this specialism and gained practical experience by means of a
series of locums.
He completed the first part of the DMRD (Diploma in
Medical Radio Diagnosis) in October 1948, and the second part in October 1949
after which he received the Diploma (on payment of 5 guineas) from the Royal
College of Physicians.
His first locum in Radio Diagnosis was in June and
July 1949 at Greenock Royal Infirmary (the term ‘radiology’ could not have been
current at that point.) He was at Hairmyres Hospital in September 1949, worked
intermittently at Law Hospital between June and August 1950, and had a
memorable stint at the Lurgan and Portadown Hospital in Northern Ireland in
November 1950.
In a talk he gave on 1st March 1989 to the Probus
group in Carluke following his retirement, dad described the antiquated X-Ray
unit he had to use at a small cottage hospital in Banbridge during his time at
Lurgan:
It was a very
early one and should have been in a museum. It had an unprotected glass tube
and non-shock-proof cables which sparked ominously during the examination of
patients. One could have been thrown over the room by inadvertently touching a
cable during a screening exam. Both patient and operator must have received a
fair dose of radiation.
Early professional posts
Following the award of his DMRD, my father began to
move up the professional ladder. From Januray 1950-January 1951 he was Registrar
in Radio-Diagnosis at Glasgow Royal Infirmary, and from January 1951-April 1952
he held a similar post based at Stobhill General Hospital in Glasgow. From April
1952-March 1953 he was Senior Registrar in Radio-Diagnosis based at Glasgow
Royal Infirmary. From March 1953-January 1961 he was Assistant Radiologist,
based at Stobhill General Hospital, but seconded to the Southern General
Hospital from October 1954. The years spent in this post gave him, as he said
in his CV
Wide
experience….in Radiology relative to Medicine, Surgery (General and
Orthopaedic) Obstetrics and Geriatrics and regular reporting sessions at
Ruchill
In his talk to Probus he looked back at the changes
he had seen in radiological techniques and experience in the course of his
working life:
In the early
days Barium Meal and Barium Enema examination for the G[astro] I[Intestinal] tract
had all to be done in a darkened room with only a single red electric bulb for
lighting. It was then necessary for the radiologist to wait 15 minutes for eye
adaption using red goggles before he could see the screen image. Now there is
image intensification and closed circuit television and the exams can be done
in daylight. This is much less stressful for the patient who often wishes to
see the image.
And in the same talk he described the following amusing incident from the
1950s:
In the early
days when I was at the Southern General in Glasgow doing a barium enema session
for colonic examination in the almost dark screening room, the radiographer who
was with me that day was rather clumsy in her movements and tended to move
around without warning. I would not have allowed this later but she was humming
one of the hit tunes of the time and strangely enough I remember it to this
day, can you recall it?
How much is that doggie in the window, the one with the waggily tail
How much is that doggie in the window, I’m so glad that doggie’s for sale.
This song, in a version by Lita Roza reached number
one in the UK Singles chart in 1953 which may help date the mishap which my
father recalled. ‘At that moment,’ he continued, the radiographer
suddenly
collided with a metal stand holding a container of one gallon of barium and I
was unfortunately directly in its path as it cascaded down … my baptism with
barium … my suit was ruined and I had to go home and change. The radiographer
shortly afterwards … no connection … went to Australia and several years later
a parcel arrived for me at Law from her. A Duck Bill Platypus had entered her X-Ray
room in an isolated country hospital and true to type she X-Rayed it and
proudly sent me the film showing that it was going to have twins.
‘What a girl,’ dad concluded. ‘I wonder if she has
written a book of her experiences yet?’
During the 1950s, my father published fairly
regularly in the professional literature. Perhaps he had more time available
than later in his career; perhaps a publication record was a prerequisite to
further promotion. I remember my mother helping dad prepare charts and diagrams
related to his work which suggests that he also reported on the outcomes in
formal presentations. His publications from this period were:
British Journal of Radiology October 1952
- Case reports – Intermuscular
Lipomata (Interesting – in this and the next article his name is given as
W. Hodge Dempster)
British Journal of Radiology February 1956 Uterine
Fibroids
British Journal of Radiology January 1957 – Radiological survey of gastro-intestinal lesions
British Journal of Radiology July 1958 Survey of Barium Enema Examinations at the Southern General Hospital
Glasgow during the year 1955
Radiation hazard in Ante-Natal
Radiography Lancet 7038 1958.
Marriage
On 2nd April 1951 my father married Helen Lennie
Jackson. They had previously been in the same year at Airdrie Academy, and met
again after dad returned from the Far East. My mother recalled looking out of
the classroom window at the smart young RAF officer walking up the path to the
schoolhouse. ‘He would do just fine for you, miss,’ she recalled her pupils
commenting enthusiastically.
There’s a receipt dated 10th February 1951 from S. J.
Crabb Jewellers in the Argyll Arcade, Glasgow:
Gents gold cuff links £19-0s-0d
18ct gold Wedding Ring £7-0s-0d
And there’s another receipt dated exactly a week
later from Paterson, Sons and Co, Buchanan Street, Glasgow for an Ebhar Upright
Pianoforte (£88-0s-0d.)
The wedding was held at Burlington House, 183 Bath
Street Glasgow ‘according to the forms of the Christian Brethren,’ and was
conducted by George Westwater who was described as ‘Pastor, Christian Brethren,
Lanark.’ The best man was Hugh Cumberford of Airdrie, and the bridesmaid my
mother’s sister Jean.
My parents’ first house was The Nook, 128 Townhead
Road Coatbridge, which my grandfather had purchased in preparation for his
retirement. When I was very young they moved to 13, Maxwell Avenue, in
Westerton near Anniesland where in 1955 my brother William died when he was
just weeks old. We could not have been
in Westerton for longer than eight years, and yet those years stretch long in
my childhood memory. We moved to 36 Douglas Street, Carluke in May 1962 a year after
being my father’s appointment as Assistant Radiologist at Law Hospital.
Part 2 is here
Part 2 is here
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