A.M. Cooke: an informal memoir

Extract

I shall try to explain the unique appeal of one physician, Alexander Cooke. He was not famous for any specific reason—no great discovery, no famous positions held, no unique talent. Yet by all those who knew him, or even those who only encountered him lightly, he was cherished.

He was physician to the Radcliffe Infirmary, Oxford, for over 30 years. Alec Cooke told the story of his professional life in My first 75 years of medicine, published by the Royal College of Physicians in 1994. I was his registrar from 1952 to 7 and his friend for the rest of his life. He was born in Oxford in 1899, and wanted to live to be 100 and three months so that he could have lived in three centuries. Later he lost this ambition, and at the age of 99¼, he was happy to go.

Our relationship might have been a disaster, at least for me. I was due to start my job as his registrar on 17 October 1952. The night before, my predecessor John Pease gave a farewell party, attended it seemed, by the whole of Oxford. I knew nobody, so John kindly gave me the task of wine waiter. My commission on each act of service was small, but the guests were numerous. The result was that next morning, my first in Alec's service, when I turned up at 9 am for an outpatient clinic, I still felt overtired and had the reverse of an appetite. If he had arrived then, he might have dismissed me on the spot. But fortunately the clinic didn't begin until 10 am, and by then, time, water and air had done their work and I could face the patients.