When we returned from central Africa in 1953 it was mainly for the sake of my brother Donald's health. He had suffered for a number of years from sinusitis and related breathing problems in Northern Rhodesia (today's Zambia) and doctors had advised that he return to Britain. My father loved Africa and was reluctant to return, but did so for Donald's sake. The plan was that Donald would become boarder at George Watson's Boys College in Edinburgh for a year while my father, a pharmacist, looked for a place to buy or establish his own chemist shop. However, my father also harboured the thought that, if Donald settled into his new school (where he was in his first year of secondary education), the rest of the family might return to Africa.
As it turned out, Donald was very unhappy in boarding at Watson's. His boarding master was 'Butcher' Watson, the sadistic head of PE at Watson's. He punished the boys 'in his care' with fiercesome regularity and in nasty ways. One punishment was reserved for the boy who returned last (albeit 'in time') from a week-end leave. as a result, Donald fretted all day on the Sunday of a 'home weekend' that he would be the last to report in to Mr Watson. The lats boy back into boarding would be forced to crawl the length of the dining table while the other boys kicked him. Any boarder suspected of not kicking hard enough would also have to crawl under the table, so all the boys made sure they gave the 'offender' a good kick or two as he crawled passed. Years later, after breaking a boy's legs in the gym, the school finally sacked 'Butcher' Watson - although clearly the school authorities would have known of his reputation as a sadist without doing anything about it.
As related elsewhere, my father took locum positions for chemists all over the UK - meaning we moved from guest house to guest house for the best part of a year with devastating consequences for my schooling and my 'fear' of school that stayed with me until senior years at high school. Finally, he took a position as manager of the Co-operative Society Chemist shop at Ormiston in East Lothian. By which time it was clear that Donald could not continue as a boarder at Watson's and my father decided to saty in Scotland and open his own shop. He found a suitable property in the Main Street of Pathhead in Midlothian on the A68, a main road from Edinburgh south to England. The attraction was that Pathhead had no chemist shop and the nearest ones were at Dalkeith some 5 miles to the north and at Lauder about 12 miles south. It seemed perfect, especially as my father had special qualifications as a veterinary pharmacist, and Pathhead was a country location surrounded by estates and farms.
The doctors' surgery, led by a Dr Ireland, had been able to act for many years as a dispensing surgery, that is, the doctors both prescribed and dispensed prescriptions - a very lucrative operation (as they only had to stock the drugs they knew they would prescribe). Dr Ireland fought hard to prevent my father opening his chemist shop for once a pharmacy was established all the dispensing of prescription drugs had to be done through the chemist shop. With advice and legal aid from the Phamaceutical Society, my father won the battle. But it was something of a pyrrhic victory as Dr Ireland set about trying to destroy my father's business.
It was a relatively easy, but unscrupulous thing to do. Dr Ireland, with his previous experience as a dispensing doctor, knew that certain drugs (potions and pills) had to be purchased in volume. He would prescribe a drug for say 12 pills to be dispensed, then move onto another drug, leaving my father with large amounts of stock on his shelves in the back-room pharmacy of his chemist shop untouched. Also, these were still the days when pharmacists often had to make-up a prescribed potion from various 'base' ingredients. all this stock had to be paid for by my father up-front - and I recall his anger and despair at the way Dr Ireland was undermining him.
Yet Dr Ireland was a church elder and prominent in local affairs - so much so that he was awarded an OBE (made a member of the Order of the British Empire) just two years or so after we moved to Pathhead. I remember my father snorting in disgust and saying, 'Yes, the OBE: it stands for Other Bodies Efforts!'
The other thing that Dr Ireland did was to go slow with his evening surgery so that evening after evening my father would have his chemist shop open with few people coming down from the doctors' surgery until there would be a 'rush' of patients with prescriptions coming in just before and after 8 PM - so that my father would not be able to shut up shop until close to 9 PM. The other doctor was a Dr Stewart who got on well with my father, but their relationship didn't really develop until after Dr Ireland's retirement.
Despite these difficulties, my father made a success of his business - and had a glowing reputation among the villagers. He made up his own potions to treat various problems, but always had to caution people to go and see the doctor - as he knew it would be big trouble if Dr Ireland could prove that Mr Edmonds was 'diagnosing' and 'treating' patients. In fact, my father was a practising 'community pharmacist' long before that concept became accepted.
Mr Jim Gregor, the gamekeeper on the Callendar estate, with whom I worked for many years, first as a beater and then as team leader (rounding up village lads who were prepared to go up to the moors to beat the grouse towards the guns), always spoke with admiration about my father.
'Yer faither wis a grand man, the best chemist I've ever met. He could make up a potion tae cure an itch - and he gave me something I'd tak wi' the Belhaven stout he said would do me the world o' guid - an' it did! We were a' that sorry when he have the business up - and we had to gang back to the surgery.'
For yes, when my father finally threw in the towel and went back to Africa (to Northern Nigeria as deputy head of medical supplies), the doctors' surgery applied again to become a dispensing surgery - and won a concession from the Pharmaceutical Society that they would not support another pharmacy opening in the village.
The doctors' surgery, led by a Dr Ireland, had been able to act for many years as a dispensing surgery, that is, the doctors both prescribed and dispensed prescriptions - a very lucrative operation (as they only had to stock the drugs they knew they would prescribe). Dr Ireland fought hard to prevent my father opening his chemist shop for once a pharmacy was established all the dispensing of prescription drugs had to be done through the chemist shop. With advice and legal aid from the Phamaceutical Society, my father won the battle. But it was something of a pyrrhic victory as Dr Ireland set about trying to destroy my father's business.
It was a relatively easy, but unscrupulous thing to do. Dr Ireland, with his previous experience as a dispensing doctor, knew that certain drugs (potions and pills) had to be purchased in volume. He would prescribe a drug for say 12 pills to be dispensed, then move onto another drug, leaving my father with large amounts of stock on his shelves in the back-room pharmacy of his chemist shop untouched. Also, these were still the days when pharmacists often had to make-up a prescribed potion from various 'base' ingredients. all this stock had to be paid for by my father up-front - and I recall his anger and despair at the way Dr Ireland was undermining him.
Yet Dr Ireland was a church elder and prominent in local affairs - so much so that he was awarded an OBE (made a member of the Order of the British Empire) just two years or so after we moved to Pathhead. I remember my father snorting in disgust and saying, 'Yes, the OBE: it stands for Other Bodies Efforts!'
The other thing that Dr Ireland did was to go slow with his evening surgery so that evening after evening my father would have his chemist shop open with few people coming down from the doctors' surgery until there would be a 'rush' of patients with prescriptions coming in just before and after 8 PM - so that my father would not be able to shut up shop until close to 9 PM. The other doctor was a Dr Stewart who got on well with my father, but their relationship didn't really develop until after Dr Ireland's retirement.
Despite these difficulties, my father made a success of his business - and had a glowing reputation among the villagers. He made up his own potions to treat various problems, but always had to caution people to go and see the doctor - as he knew it would be big trouble if Dr Ireland could prove that Mr Edmonds was 'diagnosing' and 'treating' patients. In fact, my father was a practising 'community pharmacist' long before that concept became accepted.
Mr Jim Gregor, the gamekeeper on the Callendar estate, with whom I worked for many years, first as a beater and then as team leader (rounding up village lads who were prepared to go up to the moors to beat the grouse towards the guns), always spoke with admiration about my father.
'Yer faither wis a grand man, the best chemist I've ever met. He could make up a potion tae cure an itch - and he gave me something I'd tak wi' the Belhaven stout he said would do me the world o' guid - an' it did! We were a' that sorry when he have the business up - and we had to gang back to the surgery.'
For yes, when my father finally threw in the towel and went back to Africa (to Northern Nigeria as deputy head of medical supplies), the doctors' surgery applied again to become a dispensing surgery - and won a concession from the Pharmaceutical Society that they would not support another pharmacy opening in the village.
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