My surgeon was Mr Henry Dobie, of whom more later. As everything seemed to go well with the operation, my memories of CRI are pleasant. True, one of the nurses did call me a "little Turk" for wetting my bed but the First World War was on at the time and I suppose we had no great love for the Turks. Otherwise very happy memories.
It was summer and beds were moved on to the verandah. What a wonderful verandah it was! Trains passed frequently within viewing distance travelling past the Racecourse to and from London. It was then I first got my love of railway trains.
In the CRI I wrote, stamped and posted my first letter. One of the women patients was called Eleanor and I informed my parents "Eleanor is still hear (sic)". I remember going home in a taxi. I was just 4 years and seven months old.
The sequel to this story happened when I was 10. I was a pupil
at the Kings School and although it was not a tough school, there were
some lively boys who thought it would be fun to push a fellow pupil (namely
me!) into a small store cupboard. It was dark and I soon became aware
that my hair was wet. When the door was finally opened, I realised
that my head was bleeding, and it so happened that the nearest doctor was
the same Henry Dobie whose surgery was in one of the streets across the
Town Hall square from the school. Some days later I was back at the
surgery with my mother. Looking at my operation scar the doctor said
to mother, 'That's a very neat job'. 'So it should be,' she said,
'You performed the operation!'."