“Now I can put on my true colours.” She had always regarded herself as Gerald’s lesser partner in terms of their Yogic life whilst being the major partner in managing the affairs of the ‘Ashram’. She had Indian friends bring her a selection of Saris and associated wear and thereafter took to wearing this mode of dress full-time. This simple dress-style suited her way of life and deportment well, it also helped to establish her position as head of the ‘Ashram’ in the eyes of new-comers. She used to say,
“A picture usually looks better with the right frame.” She was right, unlike many western women who do not succeed in looking elegant when attired in such costume.
A few weeks later, I answered a ring at the front door and was astonished to see there a younger split-image of our departed friend Gerald. Tall, well over six feet, dark haired and gentle of face. “You must be Mr. Gaskell.” I said.
He looked surprised, “Yes, my name’s Robert Gaskell. Does my father live here?”
Now Gerald had had no contact with his son since the boy was an infant and Mary had never seen him – the Grandfather and the boy’s mother had seen to all that.
“Won’t you come in, please?” I requested. “Please come upstairs.” I led him to the Salon door, just as his father had done for me quite a long time before.
Opening it I ushered him inside, he was visibly taken somewhat aback at the scene he now looked upon.
“Hello Robert,” said Mary, before I could make an introduction, “welcome to the ‘Ashram’, "I’m sorry to have to tell you that your father has ‘gone on ahead’, won’t you come over here and sit down – I’m Mary. I used to be Mary Gaskell, and now carry Temple-Simmonds-Dyer for those who insist. But, please call me just Mary.”
They had never met (in this life at least), yet once he got over his initial shock, Robert was enthralled for the next several hours hearing about his father and adjusting to the fact that now he would never get to see him (again in this life). It transpired that his mother had recently died and thereafter he had determined to try and track down his father. Both his Temple-Gaskell grand-parents having died many years before and there was no longer any bar to his pursuing his quest. Robert was married with two children and expressed a desire for us to think of him as family and to visit them in Bedfordshire. The visit ended hours later with Robert sure that he’d have earned a ‘parking-ticket or two’ but Mary quietly said,
“No you’ll be alright, the traffic wardens haven’t noticed you.”
Amazing… so it was; Robert went off on his way having exchanged phone numbers and given his address, with the assurance of further a visit when he could manage it and an open invitation to his home in Bedfordshire. Later that evening he phoned to confirm that he had not received a ‘ticket’ though he’d been parked most of the day in a restricted zone.
“It’s really truly amazing,” he said. Then true to Mary’s usual practice we all ‘met’ over the phone – Elaine, Robert’s wife and their two youngsters. Some time later we did venture forth from the ‘Ashram’ and made a trip down to see them all. Gerald would have approved of that, Mary assured them.
In the cold month of March 1972 my sister was to get married to Barry Edwards from our parents’ home in Wandsworth Common. I drove down from Leicester the evening before and arrived fairly late at the house where I had spent my teenage years. Mother was delighted to see me.
“Go into the living room to your father,” she said and I’ll bring some coffee.
I went in and saw my father; the first time for a couple of years. He was cordial and made no mention of my broken marriage and so on. We chatted in front of the fire and a short time later Mother came in with a steaming coffee-pot and a heaped plate of sandwiches for all of us.
“What are those?” I asked pointing to the sandwiches.
“Ham sandwiches with mustard of course,” she responded.
“I can’t eat those” said I….there was an audible ‘humph’ !! from Mollie.
“What’s that?” said father bemusedly.
“Your son has become a vegetarian – that’s what!” said Ma exasperatedly.
“In that case it’s ‘the more for me’, replied father merrily, taking the whole plateful onto his side of the table. Quite unphased by this new revelation.
Next morning I went early into London on the Tube to hire my grey Morning Suit from ‘Moss Bros’ for the afternoon wedding. It was a miserable wet grey march day and returning to the parental home I got myself kitted up before the drive up to the church – St. Mary Magdalene, where I had sung in the choir as a boy. The ceremony went according to schedule, photographs were taken afterwards and then we went over to ‘The County Arms’ for the wedding reception. It would be some time later that I realized that I did not feature in even one of those family wedding groups. My ex-in-laws were at the reception but avoided eye contact throughout.
Was I surprised? No, though I had been very fond of Doris and Dermot Kelly, my sons’ grandparents in better happier days; young Nicholas was a ‘page boy’; Gill of course did not come. I did not stay around for long and left my suit to be returned with other hired wear to Moss Bros. I was to see my father only once more after that. It would be seven and a half years later, in August 1979.
By mid-1972 I was once more in the ‘job market’ looking for my next surgical posting but with the handicap of having opted out of engaging in any Surgical Research Program involving laboratory animals. This immediately put me not only at a distinct disadvantage but classified me as a nut-case in the eyes of my peers. My two surgical Fellowships were of little avail if I could not progress up the career ladder towards a Consultant Surgeon appointment in England.
Inspiration came to me one day as I was walking down to the ‘Royal’ from the ‘Ashram’ past the impressive white edifice of The De Montfort Hall and the distant University buildings. If I would not use Animals in Surgical Research, what then?.... It slowly became obvious … use Humans in research for the benefit of other Humans…. Difficult?....Perhaps. Ethical?….Possibly, there may be conflicts. Practical? …..Should be possible. Of course, the answer came suddenly….
We received constantly at the ‘Royal’ a great workload of surgical emergencies related to vehicular accidents. No one was inquiring into whether or not the victims had been using seat-belts or not. Seat-belt use was not compulsory; in fact only newer vehicles even had them fitted. My research project could explore the benefits or otherwise of seat-belt use related to vehicular accidents. I set about designing a program including Questionnaire Surveys, Interviews, Direct Observations; Accident Victims/Injuries; Vehicular damage/Occupant injuries sustained; Correlated With or Without seat-belt use.
I contacted the National ‘Road Research Laboratory’ and though that agency was subsequently approached by an advertising firm who were to run a National Campaign promoting seat-belt use. This firm had provisionally engaged the services of a well known English TV personality Jimmy Savile. They needed material and a location to get their filming done. It all came together and the famous ‘Clunk Click Every Trip’ campaign was put together and launched using the clinical material I had amassed in my project.
I went for a few interviews for which I’d been ‘short-listed’ – one in London, another in Leeds and finally one in Sheffield. Then I thought I’d phone the South West Regional Head Offices and inquire by phone – they needed imminently to find a Consultant Surgeon Locum for six weeks at the Royal Cornwall Hospital, Treliske, to cover consecutive leave periods of two of the surgical consultants. That was right up my alley, my old ‘stomping ground’ it would be great. I gave my details and awaited their confirmation in writing. It arrived the following day.
So, we started to make plans for an ‘expedition’ to Cornwall. What an expedition too – there was Hari’s cage strapped onto the roof-rack of an old Triumph Herald I’d bought, Mary, buckled up in front, with the reposing ‘bird’ in her lap and one of the ‘Ashram’ residents, Eve, the widow of an Army Colonel sitting regally in the back seat with all our luggage for the six week sojourn in Cornwall. Eve was to be our house-keeper and it promised to be a jolly trip for them as neither of them had been away for years and I had an appointment that promised to be quite pleasantly challenging. We were to be housed in a hospital residential property down in Falmouth so would be removed from Truro and any possible old associations that might prove awkward to handle.
The short posting was a sinecure. Mary at last had a break from her usual burdens and even managed some time relaxing in the sun on a quiet beach. At the ‘Ashram’ the slack was taken up by another young associate who had joined the fraternity – David, a pharmacist by profession, had just finished a contract working for the ‘Save the Children’ foundation. He was a very organized chap, single and always had been; he was ‘au fait’ enough with all the residents and the local authorities to be able to cope with his new responsibilities for a few weeks. Mary thought him a ‘natural monk’.
One evening Mary, Eve and I were sitting watching television in ‘our’ lounge and watched a dreadful sequence of events unfolding. The date was September 5th 1972, earlier that week we had been watching some of the Olympics’ news coverage; now we were witnessing the Munich Massacre.
Eventually the locum period came to a close and our strange ‘caravan’ returned to Leicester. It was shortly after that, when in the doctor’s library at the ‘Royal’ one day browsing once more through the ‘situations’ pages of the British Medical Journal, that I inadvertently turned an extra page into the ‘Overseas Situations’. A small bold print entry appeared to leap off the page at me; ‘General Surgeon, St Kitts Nevis and Anguilla, West Indies, 2 year contract with an optional 3rd year’. It went on briefly to lay out the duties and responsibilities of the appointment and stated that Application should be made to the ‘Crown Agents’ Millbank, London W.1.
At that time I had been told confidentially by one of my erstwhile chiefs that, with the imminent starting up of the Leicester Medical School, if I were to gain a further year’s experience in Orthopaedics I could expect to be in the right position in 18 months or so to get appointed as a Trauma Specialist in the new unit to be developed, given my already considerable ‘soft-tissue’ trauma expertise in General Surgery. It seemed a good opportunity now to apply for the West Indies post. Maybe it wasn’t pure Orthopaedics, but being ‘in sole charge of all major trauma cases, all surgical emergencies, the surgical ward and surgical out-patient clinics seemed to foot the bill – in my eyes at least. Eighteen months could no doubt be stretched into two years and ‘hey-presto’ back to Leicester with considerable ‘working knowledge’ of West Indians to boot. There was after all a large West Indian population living in Leicester.
Upon my return to the ‘Ashram’ that evening I confided to Mary that I had sent off for application forms for this post to the Crown Agents. Mary had in fact at that time a young pupil whose mother was from St Kitts and whose father had been born in Nevis. We had therefore a little knowledge of what might be in store if I was to get this post. Two years would be just fine. No need to take the ‘optional third year’.
In due course – the Crown Agents were not an ‘overnight mail’ organization to be sure – the application forms arrived, were filled in and returned by First Class mail to London. Sure enough in a couple of days I was summoned to London for two interviews. Firstly with Messrs Crown Agents in Millbank; they were actually very close to the Westminster Hospital Medical School where I had trained and in fact occupied the same building where in the basement was located the ‘I.C.I. Rifle Range’.
I had spent many an evening shooting ‘small bore’ there for the Westminster Medical School and ‘United Hospitals’ Rifle Teams. The second interview was at the Ministry for Overseas Development a couple of miles away in Victoria. There I underwent the routine ‘physical examination and laboratory tests.
At that interview I was informed by the Chief Medical Officer that
“This is not to be the same as the Zambia affair!”
I immediately recalled having applied for, being accepted for and then failing to take up an appointment in Zambia a couple of years earlier when my triangulated emotional pressures were at their worst; it was the same Ministry but that was before I’d walked into the ‘Ashram’, though somewhat taken aback I replied,
“No, of course not!”
My interviews and ‘medical’ being successful I was informed that my posting would be early in the New Year and that I should take the opportunity of attending one of the residential orientation courses at Farnham Castle designed to facilitate those going overseas to the Tropics for the first time, that were subscribed to by the Ministry for Overseas Development. Returning to the ‘Ashram’ I told Mary the news and wondered what would be her reaction.
Sometime previously I had got her to come and see one of our Orthopaedic Specialists at the Royal Infirmary concerning her arthritic hip that gave her considerable pain and required a regular dose of analgesic medication. His response had been that ‘A warmer climate than here in Leicester would work wonders’.
Any wonder then that Mary was positive in her response to my news. “So you would consider leaving all this and coming out to the West Indies?” I inquired, “I believe that’s what the psychic predicted” she replied. “What do you think?”
“I’m all for it” I responded, “but it will take some organizing don’t you think?”
“How long before you are due to go?” she asked.
“At least a couple of months I should think” I replied.
“Good. Then you can go out ahead of me and in due course if everything goes well I’ll join you some time later.”
I started to get my own arrangements underway and informed the Crown Agents that my ‘companion’ required a passage and the various baggage allowances, but that she would not be able to leave U.K. at the same time as me owing to her ‘professional commitments’. We would know later in the coming year when she would be able to travel and we would notify them accordingly.
So we came on towards the closing of the year, 1972 to the year when the ‘Ashram’ would be 'changed' and ‘Mary would travel’.
It was ‘just what the Doctor ordered’ and what the old psychic woman had foreseen.