First decent overseas trip for a couple of years as I decided against my annual time with Uncle Sam in May. Off to Europe; which is not a thing I would have written when the event that prompts the trip occurred in 1969. The United Kingdom was certainly not Europe at that time. Wogs started at Dover and Grocer Heath was still years away from leading Blighty into the Common Market as it was then . General DeGaulle, owner of the biggest nose in history, was still saying 'Non' at every opportunity. A trip to France in the late 1960s was proper going overseas and not the trip to the hypermarket in Calais to stock upon Stella Artois it has now become.
In September 1969 word was just beginning to filter into the UK via the pages of the New Musical Express that a fairly big popular music concert had been a greater success than envisaged in upstate New York. There was no other way of finding out about Woodstock. I watched a few minutes news footage on the black and white telly at home prior to taking the District Line to Paddington station. I and seventy three like minded pimply youths (including, I think, fourteen youthettes) walked up Praed Street to start Medical School.
There followed four and a half years (we were considered cooked in that time in the seventies) of various things that culminated in 1974 with possession of medical qualification at the age of twenty two. Why did I chose St Mary's Hospital Medical School out of the thirteen similar establishments available in London at that time? They had a swimming pool under the library. I could discern no other difference between the various establishments offering the same degrees on the basis of a cursory two hour sixth form visit. Thus in September 1969 I received a library card which said it expired in May 1974. It might as well have said expires in 2074. 1974 was beyond my comprehension.
It soon became apparent that completing the course with the required qualification was pretty much guaranteed and that the rigours of study would not be overburdening. It was thus easy to live in the middle of London, enjoy all the delights it offered in the late 1960s/early 1970s and get a degree thrown in at the end. It was even free. Local council paid all the fess and even gave a living allowance. Four hundred and fifty quid per annum as I recall which was ample.
So what followed? Four and a half years of Mickeys, the Taqdir, the Dilshad, the Founts, the Little Western, Santinis, water polo, ULU tours to Germany and Holland (proper abroad remember), Wilson House, Stealing street furniture, beer, the key to the nurses home, afternoons at Lords instead of ophthalmology, rugby, Crystal Palace, summer afternoons at Teddington, car pooling in mini utes, Golf at Moor Park, summer evenings at the City Barge, the Darts Club, Minfordd, Green Line buses to psychiatry residence, obstetrics at Welwyn Garden City and a realisation that life out of school was better than life in school. But over and above all that was the lasting friendship of the best bunch of mates a bloke could have. Mates that would, and have done, last a lifetime.
Thus forty years after entering University a dozen of us are going on a golf tour of Lancashire. God knows why Lancashire but it does include rounds at Royal Lytham & St Annes. It also includes staying in Blackpool so there are ups and downs to the deal. Some of the twelve I have seen as recently as two years ago.The Best Man at my wedding I have not seen for over twenty years. There are a couple I haven't clapped eyes on since 1974.
Much looking forward to this. The Ping Rapture V2s are in the care of Malayasian Airlines ('cos they had a very cheap 'up the front of the plane' deal about six months ago) and I am in the newly revamped Koru Lounge at Auckland Airport awaiting the off.
I'll try and be an as regular correspondent as I can but I have golf tournament to win.
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