A memorable consultation

A home visit in an old industrial part of Swansea left me with an indelible memory of two things—the flu pandemic of 1918, which caused an estimated 24-40 million deaths, and the way in which doctors were sometimes paid in the past. It was not uncommon for this to be in kind, and occasionally grateful patients were prepared to part with cherished family heirlooms.

I saw Mrs Davies in the early 1980s, when she herself was 85 and her faculties were failing. She lived alone, and I arranged to see her with her brother, who had travelled some distance to be present. She gave an excellent account of her early life and the tragic circumstances of her husband's death.

It was early on a Friday. Her fiancé, a soldier, had returned home on leave from the first world war. On Monday they were married, and on Tuesday he started to develop flu symptoms. Its course was rapid and fulminating, and on the following Friday he died. Within that week her world had changed from absolute joy to tragedy. She did not remarry and bore her loss with great dignity.

The consultation took place in the living room, the middle room of a terraced house. On the sideboard was an exceptional clock. It was 18 inches tall with a jet black wooden case, presumably ebony. Inside the glass front was a brilliant white face with black Roman numerals; the pendulum shone. As I left, I said to her brother that it was difficult not to admire such an exceptional timepiece. He paused, looked at me sternly, and growled, “It's mine.”