Adventures in Brighton and Paris

In the innocent, halcyon days....

The six years at UCD brought me in contact with many people, not only those who were in college with me but also those who had preceded me in the college.  Most of my friends were medical people - very many were related to the rowing club and during my post university period whilst I was in London and then back in Dublin I remained friendly with quite a number of these colleagues.  They were scattered around the world during and after the war.  Some joined the war itself and our most popular and most admired captain of the rowing club was killed by the Japanese early on whilst in a prisoner of war camp.  During the war, because so many British doctors joined the armed forces, many Irish doctors, including some of my friends from UCD, replaced them in Britain as locum general practitioners.  A few of these were in London as was I, and several others were scattered around England.  I need hardly say that we were very busy but from time to time we went to meetings and thanks to these occasional meetings we had our moments. 

The Cumberland Hotel

Times were hard in London with great difficulty getting cigarettes and beer but that did not deter us from enjoying ourselves occasionally.  On one August Sunday, four of us met at the Cumberland Hotel to drive to Brighton.  We left the hotel at midday and after a few unscheduled beer stops on the way; we arrived in Brighton at about midnight.  We were to find that all the hotels were booked up and it was impossible to find accommodation of any sort, let alone an open pub.  We were obliged to leave Brighton and travel out the coast road towards Hove searching for accommodation but without any success. 

The fun we could have had,

After some miles we spotted a large grass area, which appeared to be suitable for parking the car and spending the night.  I slept in the front of the car whilst one of the others slept in the back.  The other two slept outside in the open as it was a balmy, warm night.  Hardly were we asleep when there was a terrific outburst outside of the car.  Four or five gentlemen dressed in the finest livery were shouting and abusing our companions.  The gentlemen were appalled by the sight of us and our car.  We found ourselves parked on a beautifully manicured cricket pitch, surrounded by perfectly mown tennis courts and overlooked by a magnificent hotel.  It was a very embarrassing experience but we managed to talk them out of our dilemma because of the failure to find suitable lodging for the night and we parted on surprisingly happy terms which I am glad to say I always found was achieved by the high respect we always showed to our English hosts!

The first experience we had with continentals after the war was in the early 1950’s. The same four people were involved.  We traveled over to France for a week’s holiday. We planned to spend a few days in Paris and then drive to the South for  rest of the time.

Paris, Je t'aime.

There were strict rules upon the British at that time that for fiscal reasons, no more than twenty-five pounds sterling could be exported to the continent. The four of us arrived in Paris with our twenty-five pounds and we booked into a hotel at a pound a night. We were excited by being in that great city for the first time and visited a famous local brassiere on the Left Bank where we met with a very happy and enjoyable group of locals who had not met any Irish people before. The French lads appeared to me to be just as intrigued by meeting us as we were about meeting them.  A singsong started. The music and song was quite interesting - many Irish songs were sung and some French.  The French were fascinated by the unaccustomed singing and despite the different languages, we appeared to have little problem understanding each other. We were refreshed by the fact that there was no such thing as ‘closing time’. At about 8.30 in the morning, we were eventually ejected by the cleaners.  We had left our luggage in the hotel where we were to sleep that night and we went to the baggage room to collect it.  I’m not sure if we paid for our rooms but we got away safely with the English language as a source of confusion and consternation and with the  Mother and Father of all headaches.

When we had sobered up enough to appreciate our situation we found that we had spent exactly 50% of the allowed £25 pounds.  We were left with £14 per head to get us through the rest of the trip.  The hotels we knew would cost £1 for bed and breakfast, the other costs would include travel, petrol, food and various other expenses.  It was clear that the expenses facing us exceeded the amount that was available to us at about £30 in all.  By putting aside a limited amount for travel and for the payment of the hotel, we realised that we were seriously short of money. We had to maintain the strictest control of our expenses.  That included food at the cheapest possible price and the liquid material of the cheapest sort too but it was sufficient to satisfy our needs!  We found some of the publicans generous to a degree in that they allowed us to absorb some of the ancient bottles on the top shelf which they had failed to dispose of in the past. Our paucity of cash did not appear to interfere with the enjoyment of our trip which included mixing with some of the local people including females and visiting the local “sheebeens”.

Simply not cricket.

We were keen to participate in such entertainments as dancing where numerous opportunities were available for the single male including us Irish oddities but I am sorry to say, looking back, my only memory of a dance I attended was leading my partner home and up the steps of her house where I made to give her a kiss. I still remember the horrified look on her face as she fell back in a panic and she put up her hands and said “Tuberculose! Tuberculose!”  That put a rapid end to my romantic affair!

Our travel home from the Mediterranean to Calais was carried out without food and, even more tragic, without alcohol.

The Andes and the Amazon

The Andes and the Amazon; across the Continent of South America.  By James Orton. New York Harper and Brothers publishers 1870. Read on Kindle.

Written on January 26th 2013 

This is a long book describing a scientific expedition to the Equator, the Equatorial Andes and the river Amazon and its tributaries. It extends from the Western shore of South America to the mouth of the Amazon in the East. The expedition took place about 1867. After spending some time in Quito, the capital, and other towns and areas in Ecuador, we are provided with the experience of the writer and his companions travelling across the Andes to the tributaries of the Amazon and to the river as far as the Atlantic Ocean.  

It provides a great amount of detail about their travels over these 3000 miles. We are reminded of the hardship of the long trek, first crossing the immense heights and the extent of the Andes, and later the overpowering influence of water, dense forest, wilderness, the thin scattering of primitive tribes and of little animal life in the vast area of the Amazon and its tributaries.  Living as we are in the 21^st century with the modern convenience of travel, clothing, equipment and comfort, it is hard to imagine how these early pioneers, deprived of such luxuries, survived the hazards of exploration.

Siesta - an illustration from the book

The book is really not suited for reading on Kindle because of the need to have a detailed map to follow and to appreciate the immensity and the topography of the journey. It is also somewhat tedious reading where one’s interest is less maintained because of the long descriptions of the enclosing density of the forest.  According to the author the maps of the Amazon basin had previously been drawn with great care following the original observations and surveys of earlier explorers such as Humboldt and Wisse. 

Quito illustration.

The first few chapters relate the nature of the society and circumstances of the citizens of Quito and other towns and settlements of Equator,  the general poverty, the intense mixture of colour and race, and the dominance of the Catholic Church as a primary source, not only  of morality and of spirituality but also of political power.

The history of South America from the time of the Spanish conquest in the 16^th century to the present day is a major challenge to the historian. One striking feature of the Spanish conquest was how quickly the major Spanish areas, Venezuela, Columbia, Ecuador, Peru, Chile and Argentina, were overcome and the little resistance the local tribes had to their arrival. Perhaps the Incas of the north eastern part of the sub-continent alone had the ability to resist the invasion because of their sophisticated and better organised traditions but they had little opportunity of resisting the armour, horses and cruel dominance of the Spanish invader. It was a time in the world’s history which reminds us of the rawness of life, the cruelty which was part of the disturbance of the native inhabitants and the ambitions of the Spanish conquistadors, an ambition which from the time of  Christopher Columbus at the end of the 15^th century was largely based on the obsession among them of seeking for gold, an ambition which proved to be as illusory for the Spanish as it was to be destructive to the local population.

If I were young again, I would remain committed to my medical profession but, if I had the interest in history which I was to find in my later years, I would learn Spanish and become devoted to the history of South America in my spare time and so become aware of the characteristics that make up the failures of the conquistadors, failures based on greed and inhumanity, cloaked as they may be by courage, patriotism, fidelity to one’s sovereign and one’s God.  

Information about some aspects of the expedition is contained in a lengthy summary at the end of the book.

The Bow Tie (or more vulgarly described as the Dickey Bow).

A few from my collection.

The Bow Tie was rarely worn when I was young in Dublin, only on special occasions such as dances in the Gresham and the Shelbourne Hotels. Modesty forbade me to wear one on other less formal occasions. It was seldom seen in the streets or houses of Dublin at the time but I admired its tidy shape and its many variety of colours.

I pick a favourite

When I went to London to the National Heart Hospital in 1946 as part of my post graduate training, I met another Dublin man older then myself. He was Walter Somerville who came originally from the North Circular road in Dublin and I first met him when he had returned from the war and had been appointed a junior consultant in the National Heart Hospital. He always wore a bow tie and he had a clean and open shirt appearance and his apparel had the effect of attracting a second look. As a physician, or one in training, it was customary to dress well and formally when dealing with patients – nowadays of course, one wears “scrubs” for hygiene reasons.

Raising the collar...

When examining patients it was necessary to examine other organs as well as the heart and chest. At the time I was opposed to the use of the waistcoat and I found it was embarrassing to be wearing a loosely fitted tie particularly when dealing with young females, as it interfered and touched off the patients abdomen. It occurred to me how efficient the bow tie was under these circumstances. So almost from the day I met Walter, I began to wear a bow tie, and I rejected the long and dangling loose tie. It is perhaps surprising that since that time I never wore an ordinary tie except at a funeral, and fortunately these were rare occasions.

Milltown Golf club centenary bow tie.

Learning to use a bow tie is not easy, and is certainly a good reason why they are not in more popular use. There are different types of bow ties, those that are made up from scratch, tied in the front, and tightened from the back – the “real” bow tie – this tie has to be dealt with carefully and skilfully and in most circumstances is slightly imperfect in shape but all the better for it. 

for the "cheats"

Then there are those that have already being made up and are clipped at the back.  This tie is easily recognised by its almost false tidy sharpness – the “cheats” bow tie - and finally there are those that are already made up and clipped to the shirt front  -  the “blasphemers” bow tie – they have few friends!

Against the clock...

On a slight aside, on one occasion at a bow tie competition, the winner took exactly 12 seconds to complete a “real” bow tie – an odd coincidence because it was also the exact same 12 seconds required after a regatta, for a young Trinity student to finish a pint of Guinness without spilling a drop from lifting the full glass until he put it empty back onto the table!

The Royal Society of Medicine

The Bow Tie was also valuable as a marker within the professions as well as elsewhere. Some organisations/clubs had bow ties with the club crest on them and there was a certain satisfaction in being recognised as a member of the organisation concerned. The Royal Society of Medicine had a fairly small and neat bow with the letters of the logo of the organisation clearly visible. Thus it was easy to meet a colleague and to feel a close interest in the membership. 

For many years in London, that bow tie was well known and regarded but sometime in the late 1960’s or early 1970’s I got wind from a friend that The Royal Society of Medicine intended to do away with the tie. With this information I visited the headquarters of the organisation in Harley Street and I enquired about the availability of the bow tie. They confirmed that they intended to discontinue its use. They were in dark green or dark red. I asked about the continual availability of the tie and on searching the drawer they stated that only five green and one red were still available. To the girl’s surprise, I bought the lot so that they were clear of further bow ties.

The bow tie when properly tied will exist for many years if correctly looked after. I still have many bow ties available to me.  My son Hugh had some stitched into a counterpane, providing a rather wide and perhaps bizarre picture in the bedroom. I continue to use a bow tie on my less occasional visits and meetings outside the home. Recently I was surprised when visiting my Milltown annual dinner that I had some difficulty in tying it properly. But I eventually achieved that nice, casual, carelessness which is a feature of a properly tied bow tie.

It was certainly well identified as one of my peculiarities in my early days but I overcame the embarrassment of being a perpetual bow tie wearer. In fact, it might have become a source of comment to others if it was missing during ward rounds and/or other areas. It is true to say that there are few people with the patience and the capacity to learn the skill of making the bow tie and therefore we shall continue almost certainly to be a rare breed indeed.

The woods today.

Stopping by Woods. A Guide to the Forests and Woodlands of Ireland. Donal Magner.

This review was written on July 7th 2012

(today's blog is illustrated with some of the Editor's favourite 'creepy' trees to be found in Wicklow woodlands)

I borrowed this book in the RDS and decided to order a copy for my son Richard. The book is not intended for reading and is more a reference source for those who are enquiring about our forests and major woodlands and who may wish to visit them. It is divided into 32 short chapters dealing with each county in Ireland in alphabetical order. Maps are provided for each county and there are numerous short maplets of many forests with numbers marking points of special interest.

The contents pages list each woodland and forest according to county. It would require most of a lifetime to visit all the areas included in the text.  The preface provides information about all our important trees, divided into native broadleaves and conifers, European natural broadleaves and conifers, and exotic trees outside Europe. A design of each of these trees with their characteristic leaf and fruit is provided. The author also provides a note on the recent revolution in forestry which has occurred in Ireland.

This is primarily a reference book and should be in every library access to all of us interested in our native silviculture.  For the tree alickadoo it would be useful in his or her library and for the forester and those with a keen interest in our woodlands it might be needed in the car.

When I first went through the book I took the opportunity to congratulate the author – I had known him well when I was a member of the Irish Timber Growers Association. I added a note about the paucity of ivy in his many photos and I sent him a copy of For Love of Trees with the 2012 rider.

Dear Donal,

I have been looking through your Stopping by Woods with great interest and I felt I should write to you to congratulate you on such a valuable addition to my library. It is a long time since I was active in the ITGA but my interest in trees continues and has been passed on to my son Richard who has planted 140 acres of trees (of which 20% are hardwood) at Kilmichael on the borders of Wicklow and Wexford. He has also taken over my 30 acres of Sitka and Japanese Larch in Johnstown in West Wicklow.

I expect I sent you a copy of the enclosed monograph on ivy some years ago. I was interested to find that none of your trees had ivy apart from on ash on p.354 and a beech on p358. You were of course dealing largely with woodlands and forests where ivy is much less evident. But it is widespread in our hedges of hawthorn and hedgerow trees and in small woodlands, and has received little attention from farmers and landowners.  I am sending you a copy of the original book and a rider I added last month to bring the subject up to date.

I apologise for intruding on your valuable time but you must understand that in retirement over 24 years I have little else to do than  interfere into the lives of others.

Irish turf and the second world war.

The second world war commenced in September 1939.  At first there was little hardship in terms of food and other factors of living. Ireland had a plentiful supply of all our needs at the time but things changed gradually and by the end of the war we were seriously depleted of many of the necessities of life except for food or other matters relating to the countryside.  One of these was turf.   The country here, particularly within our major central plain is rich with turf and peat which might be described as heavy ancient bog which was useful as a valuable if somewhat low energy source compared to coal or timber.   

Where else but Ireland...

Up to 1946 or so, coal and other high quality fuels had become impossible to find and we were largely dependent on turf for heating and for similar purposes.  Turf  left a heavy residue which was in itself an inconvenience in its use.  Nevertheless most of our trains and ships depended on turf for fuel and continued to do so for another two or three years following the end of the war.

A lorry with its load of turf.

I thought it appropriate to refer to some of the difficulties created by turf during these years. We had no means of travel during our holidays except by bicycle.  I went for a 10 day holiday to Kerry and Cork and as I was cycling through the main street of Yougal, my ancient bike (which cost £1 previously at a police auction) cracked on the crossbar and made the bike impossible to use.  I was isolated with nothing but my two legs to get me the 120 miles back to Dublin. However, at the time turf was made available by contractors who carried the fuel to Dublin and other urban areas for necessary domestic and other needs.  As I walked with my bike from Yougal to Cork I was fortunate to meet one of these lorry’s carrying a load of turf.  The driver obliged me by throwing my bike on top of the load and driving me to the train station in Cork.  At that time the trains had nothing but turf to run their engines but the turf left such a massive amount of residue that the train had to stop every twenty miles so that the residue could be removed and fresh turf added to the rekindle the boiler.  The journey took exactly twenty four hours and here I was with my broken bike and a very empty pocket which allowed me little food and the more desirable pint of Guinness! 

Church of Saints Peter and Paul, Athlone.

A few months earlier I and three of my friends from the rowing club spent two days cycling to Galway, a distance of 130 miles.  One of my friends on this trip was on his honeymoon.  It required two days to get to Galway against a Westerly wind but when we returned home ten days later we reached the 130 miles from the railway station in Galway to the ballast office in Dublin in eleven and a half hours.  On this occasion we had of course a strong following wind and the eleven and a half hours included a stop of one hour or more when we climbed the campanile of the new cathedral in Athlone.  We arrived in Dublin at 11.30 pm and went straight to the railway station at Westland Row to meet the bride who had taken the train.  We waited five hours in the station until she arrived to find four exhausted but nevertheless grateful friends.

Turf mound Phoenix Park

I spoke about the turf lorries which carried the turf to the urban areas.  At the latter end of the war was the turf was stored at various sites in Dublin in large mounds in the Phoenix Park and elsewhere including the five acres of army field beside our house in Rathmines.  The mound formed a long line of many tons which was large enough to make a suitable terrace stretching the entire length of the five acre sports field.  We were constantly reminded of the arrival of the turf and the packing of it into this large area.  Eventually grass grew through the whole mound  and I suspect that much of the turf that was borne so laboriously by those special lorries is still there but I expect that much of it has been hidden by nature and the changing environment.  I suspect the turf policy was one of many other wasted policies introduced by our many governments and that the turf we depended on at Lissenfield  House was probably used sparingly or replaced by black market coal.

Bumpsadaisy.

During my second year in university I had an income of one shilling and six pence.  It was earned by taking part in the Question Time quiz which was held every day in the Theatre Royal in Dublin.  The quiz was held as part of the cinema and was part of a stage show at that time.  The question time was held every afternoon and my friends and I attended every Friday.  We almost invariably won because I had with me three other members of the university and we were way ahead in general knowledge then the other contestants who entered the quiz. 

The prize was ten shillings for the winner.  The admission for the show was one shilling per person and that left us with 6 shillings, 1 shilling and 6 pence per person pocket money!  We always sat in the front seats in order to get up to the stage first but soon we were told by the quizmaster that he could only deal with us once every week in order to be fair to the other contestants. If we didn’t comply with his wishes he threatened to ban us altogether.  

This practice went on for about a year or two and it provided us with enough money to survive. One of my colleagues, who later became a secretary of UCD and who was well known as an international bridge player was often the first in with the correct answer. 

A year or two later I was employed by the Sunday Independent to correct the crosswords entered in the competition during the previous Sunday.  For this I got 10 shillings every week and I was probably then one of the richest members of the faculty and possibly better off than some of the staff.  This employment was to continue until my last year in college when I had to settle down to do some work for my final medical examinations.  As a result of my intense interest in rowing, I barely scrapped through my first four years but the last year I devoted entirely to my studies.

I was advantaged by the fact that the standard of lectures was poor and sometimes irrelevant to the exam itself. I retired to the library during the lecture periods and probably learned four or five times more that I would have if I had been confined to the lecture theatre.  As a result, I shared second place with a colleague in the final examination.  He subsequently went to the Mayo Clinic where he became a faculty member there and only died recently.

The Royalettes (when they were more numerous and slimmer)

To return to the Theatre Royal and our various antics there, we were also entertained by the stage show which involved the Twelve Royalettes who did much of the dancing and other frivolities.  They were dressed in colourful if somewhat gaudy costumes and were a great source of interest to the young men in the audience.  We were there on the afternoon when the first show of “Bumpsadaisy” was revealed to the public.  The four of us, among other enthusiasts were invited onto the stage to join the Royalettes in performing this new number.  I was a little late arriving on the stage and I was left with the shortest but strongest member of the Royalettes.  As the music started, I took her hand, danced a few steps, then we took two or three turns around followed by a bump between my right hip and the dancer’s left. This contact was followed by two more turns and a further hip bump.  This procedure carried on for a few moments much to the enjoyment of the audience and the participants. However as the dancing came to an end I turned to have a final bump with my partner. This bump was perhaps more enthusiastic than the previous ones and I was thrown by the rather hefty weight of her hip and I went sprawling right back onto the stage. This caused much amusement in the audience.  As I collapsed in confusion I saw the big screen on the stage advancing rapidly towards my head but I was quickly moved away by two sprightly stage hands.  I soon came too as I was lifted up by the stage lads and removed to the side like a piece of old stage set.  I was then pushed out of a side door back to the audience area.  All this was much to the laughter and mirth of the onlookers. 

The theatre closed on June 30th 1962 and was demolished soon after.

As regards to my medical education, it was not until the end of the third year of college that I came in direct contact with a patient.  I was officially admitted to St Vincent’s Hospital to clinical sessions which were held every weekday morning. My first three years in university were virtually irrelevant from the academic point of view, but my interest in medicine and in my career was transformed as soon as I reached the hospital.  There I found myself working with physicians, surgeons, nurses and other members of the staff.  The transformation from the lecture hall to the hospital was for me a great moment in my life.  I was fortunate to have joined a great profession which suited me wonderfully. 

The Art of Travel

The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton. Penguin books. 2002. 

This review was written on December 30th 2011 

The nine chapters are made up of a pot-pourri of essays about travel, observation and the appreciation of beauty. Chapter 1 On Anticipation starts with a holiday from home;  later chapters deal with business trips, scientific exploration and finally with the appreciation of one’s own bedroom. It was bought by Louise on an impulse about possible holiday reading.

Holidays - Irish style.

The author provides insights into why we travel and into the problems and the impulses that induce people to travel rather than remaining at home. To the holiday seekers it provides an answer to the question ‘’ How did you enjoy your holiday?’’, the answer being not infrequently ‘’ It was fine but I was glad to get home’’. 

Ahhh...that's more like it

Chapter one is about the author’s holiday in Bermuda. He makes the point that the boredom which drives us to need a holiday is not necessarily avoided with our change of scene. There is a compulsion about a regular need to satisfy our challenging expectations in being elsewhere. During his stay with his accompanying person in Bermuda, a holiday he chose after seeing an alluring photo of a dazzling beach, some palm trees leaning in the breeze and an azure sea, he found that interpersonal domestic hazards are not unusual even during such idyllic times away. After a silly squabble the second day out, they did not speak for the rest of the day. He spent his time alone on the beach and in general felt miserable.

The Beach - China Style

Other chapters deal with his belief, or rather hope, that we can find many features to occupy our minds whether we are following the tourist guide to the parks and churches of Madrid or standing alone in the Sinai Desert with apparently nothing to see except limitless expanse of sand. His account of his visit to the Sinai was full of observations and impressions sufficient to provide a separate chapter. It was clearly more exciting than wandering around Madrid.

Chapter 4 entitled On Curiosity provides an account of the German, Alexander von Humboldt, and his extraordinary explorations and scientific discoveries during the five years starting 1799 in South America. This chapter is advanced to emphasise how our observations of strange places can provide us with an unlimited amount of interest and information as in the apparently absorbing desert.

Fascinating.

The book makes light reading suitable for going on a holiday, although the author’s last chapter about the many fascinating things to be found in your own bedroom might tempt you to stay at home!