A recent visit to my old school transported me back to 1961 when in the second week of February I arrived in London to join the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine as a diploma student. My first meeting was with Professor Bertram of the division of medical entomology. He was instrumental in getting me an Andrew-Balfour memorial scholarship that paid for my tuition and made it possible for me to come to England.
Never before had I met a scientist of Professor Bertram's stature. He was kind and avuncular and inquired about my voyage, my boarding arrangements, and if I liked British food. After the interview he rose from his chair, escorted me across the room to the door, opened it, and wished me luck. He pointed out that there would be students from all over the world and that I would feel at home in London.
To this day I remember those words that had conjured such a positive image of physician scientists. We were taught tropical medicine by the giants in the field. The first lecture was given by Professor P C C Garnham, a towering figure in the field of malariology, who had discovered the exoerythrocytic cycle of Plasmodium vivax and showed that the organism was capable of surviving in the human liver for a long time.
Professor A W Woodruff was lean, lanky, serious, and Sherlockian in appearance, and thoughtful and masterly in discourse. I was lucky to have known him as he had visited India and knew many of my professors. Dr Robert Greenhill Cochrane had helped to set up the Union Medical College in Peking and the Leprosy Study Centre in Wimpole Street. A devout Christian with a sense of humour, he admonished, “There are no lepers; there are only patients with leprosy.” The statement summarised his vision and dedication to the cause of leprosy.
Philip Manson-Barr taught about malaria. Sir Bradford Hill introduced statistics by alluding to Disraeli's words, “Lies, damn lies, and statistics.” The ebullient and animated Professor McDonald guided us through the mathematical maze of the epidemiology of malaria; the epidemic curves, the density and longevity of anopheline, important at that time, but now a faded memory.
Just a few blocks away at 136 Gower Street stood H K Lewis & Co Ltd, booksellers. Founded by Henry King Lewis in 1844, it was also a lending library. The membership dues were minimal. Members could borrow books, regardless of price. It was the best bargain for those of us who had come from overseas with limited funds. Neither the book dealership nor the library now exists. The premises are now part of University College Hospital.
The Wellcome Building, designed by Septimus Warwick and built by Sir Henry Wellcome, once contained the most comprehensive museum and library of tropical diseases. We would spend afternoons reviewing pathological specimens, chest x ray films, and beautifully drawn diagrams. The tropical disease museum, moved to another location, is no longer within easy reach for students at the school of hygiene.
The London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine continues to flourish. In increasing numbers students come from all corners of the world. But the image of my alma mater that existed in my memory no longer survives.
A recent visit to my old school transported me back to 1961 when in the second week of February I arrived in London to join the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine as a diploma student. My first meeting was with Professor Bertram of the division of medical entomology. He was instrumental in getting me an Andrew-Balfour memorial scholarship that paid for my tuition and made it possible for me to come to England.
Never before had I met a scientist of Professor Bertram's stature. He was kind and avuncular and inquired about my voyage, my boarding arrangements, and if I liked British food. After the interview he rose from his chair, escorted me across the room to the door, opened it, and wished me luck. He pointed out that there would be students from all over the world and that I would feel at home in London.
To this day I remember those words that had conjured such a positive image of physician scientists. We were taught tropical medicine by the giants in the field. The first lecture was given by Professor P C C Garnham, a towering figure in the field of malariology, who had discovered the exoerythrocytic cycle of Plasmodium vivax and showed that the organism was capable of surviving in the human liver for a long time.
Professor A W Woodruff was lean, lanky, serious, and Sherlockian in appearance, and thoughtful and masterly in discourse. I was lucky to have known him as he had visited India and knew many of my professors. Dr Robert Greenhill Cochrane had helped to set up the Union Medical College in Peking and the Leprosy Study Centre in Wimpole Street. A devout Christian with a sense of humour, he admonished, “There are no lepers; there are only patients with leprosy.” The statement summarised his vision and dedication to the cause of leprosy.
Philip Manson-Barr taught about malaria. Sir Bradford Hill introduced statistics by alluding to Disraeli's words, “Lies, damn lies, and statistics.” The ebullient and animated Professor McDonald guided us through the mathematical maze of the epidemiology of malaria; the epidemic curves, the density and longevity of anopheline, important at that time, but now a faded memory.
Just a few blocks away at 136 Gower Street stood H K Lewis & Co Ltd, booksellers. Founded by Henry King Lewis in 1844, it was also a lending library. The membership dues were minimal. Members could borrow books, regardless of price. It was the best bargain for those of us who had come from overseas with limited funds. Neither the book dealership nor the library now exists. The premises are now part of University College Hospital.
The Wellcome Building, designed by Septimus Warwick and built by Sir Henry Wellcome, once contained the most comprehensive museum and library of tropical diseases. We would spend afternoons reviewing pathological specimens, chest x ray films, and beautifully drawn diagrams. The tropical disease museum, moved to another location, is no longer within easy reach for students at the school of hygiene.
The London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine continues to flourish. In increasing numbers students come from all corners of the world. But the image of my alma mater that existed in my memory no longer survives.
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