Roger Robinson
BMJ 2003; 327 doi: https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj.327.7421.992 (Published 23 October 2003) Cite this as: BMJ 2003;327:992All rapid responses
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Sir,
If by “enriching the obituary section,” [1] entails three or probably
in due course even more colleagues weighing in with such gushing eulogies
of one of their own, then I am sure many readers will begin to compare
such ‘enrichment’ with the unedifying detritus that followed a recent
‘obituary’ to David Horrobin.
Why the huge contrast in such ‘enrichment?’ And how patronising,
empty and duplicitous seem these eulogies “to a friend” when compared to
the appalling way Horrobin was ‘sent off’ by BMJ editors.
If there should be ‘enrichment,’ then please, a greater consistency
in how the deceased are commented on might be a good starting point. Roger
Robinson may well have been a very decent fellow, worthy of all that has
been said about him. So too, by all accounts, was David Horrobin. Yet,
none of those heart-felt tributes to him offered by those who knew him,
made the slightest difference to these same editors when it came to their
enduring refusal to extend a proper apology or retraction for their
hurtful behaviour.
[1] My tribute to Roger Robinson, Richard Smith (24 October 2003)
http://bmj.bmjjournals.com/cgi/eletters/327/7421/992#38660
Competing interests:
None declared
Competing interests: No competing interests
Before Roger Robinson began work on the life and works of James
Beattie, little, if any, research had been carried out in that area in
recent times, and recognition of Beattie’s importance both in his own
right and as a crucial influence on the Romantic poets was all but
forgotten. What work had been done dated largely from the Victorian era
when standards were very different. Many edited texts of that time were so
inaccurate and incomplete as to render many of them useless.
As so often in literary studies, it was an act of imagination that
awakened Roger to what needed to be done. His reading of Wordsworth’s poem
The Excursion (1814) in the light of Beattie’s The Minstrel (1778) brought
home to him the powerful influence exerted by Beattie on the Romantic
concept of the poet – a theme integral to the larger development of
English Literature. From that point on, he made it his business to find
out as much as he could about Beattie until he had reached the point where
he was ready to edit his complete poetical works. This was no mean feat;
indeed, it was the work of years, and led him to discover a number of
poems not previously published, and to attribute poems to Beattie not
previously recognized as his. He discovered caches of Beattie material in
libraries all over the world, particularly Scotland, and drew up the first
bibliography of Beattie’s letters and works that could make any claim to
completion.
No one could fail to be impressed by the thoroughgoing manner in
which he went about the job. I remember visiting him for lunch one fine
spring day in 1994, to be shown his den, lined with copies of every
edition of Beattie’s works ever published, including one or two extremely
rare ones which he had made it his business to track down. The
thoroughness and determination that characterized his assembly of editions
of Beattie was also to be found in his editorial work. Not being fully
aware of his reputation in his previous career, I remember feeling
astonishment that qualities which often took research students many years
to attain seemed to be Roger’s without any tuition or active guidance at
all. This was, of course, naive. He was a true scholar in all aspects of
his professional life, and just as his consummate expertise as a
paediatrician was founded on a deep compassion, so his literary
undertakings were accompanied by a genuine love of poetry. It was that, as
much as his attention to detail, that made him such a good literary
scholar and critic.
It is easy to see why Thoemmes Press thought him the editor best
suited to tackle a multi-volume edition of Beattie’s correspondence. I
doubt whether, in fact, there were any other viable candidates. It is hard
not to regret that he did not see the finished edition, but I am firmly of
the belief that its appearance will do much, in the course of time, to
revive interest in Beattie, and restore to him the credit he deserves for
having exerted such a strong influence on poets of later generations.
There could be no finer tribute to Roger’s literary work, the fidelity and
scrupulousness of which will serve scholars and critics for decades to
come.
Competing interests:
None declared
Competing interests: No competing interests
You wanted to be your best around Roger. He was so wise, fair, gentle
and kind that if you were in his company, you wanted to strive for his
high standards. He reminded us all how to behave and even in his death, is
a real role model to us all. At his funeral, people from all walks of
life, from professors to Sunday school children, were united in grief and
their love for this great man.
He always had time for everyone and treated everyone the same, no
matter what their age, stage or status. Despite being the oldest in the
BMJ office, he took great delight in meeting and helping the medical
students who came to us from around the world as Clegg scholars. There are
tears around the world for Roger and he has left a big hole in the BMJ
office that we will never be able to fill.
Competing interests:
I am an editor at the BMJ and thought of Roger as my surrogate uncle
Competing interests: No competing interests
Years before the ungainly term ‘critical appraisal’ entered the
medical vernacular, when I had recently joined the BMJ’s editorial hanging
committee, Roger Robinson taught me how to read a paper.
He was distrustful of mechanistic quality checklists applied out of
context, since defensible methods may be used to further poor science.
His legendary ‘sledgehammer to nut index’ was a powerful metaphor in
committees, especially when he enacted it by ‘weighing’ a hefty submission
in the palm of his hand to indicate that despite its substance, it was
surprisingly lightweight. But he knew the limitations of old-fashioned
common sense, and was one of the first to endorse the routine requirement
for formal quality standards (such as the CONSORT and QUORUM statements)
in the editorial process.
His wealth of clinical and research experience allowed him to
distinguish between the practicalities of the real world and the corners
cut by sloppy researchers. Incisive but never gratuitous in his
criticism, he was the grand master of the polite rejection letter - and he
did not shrink from sending them to his friends.
And as the epitome of the old-fashioned British gent, he knew how to
open a door for a feminist.
Competing interests:
None declared
Competing interests: No competing interests
What follows is a slightly edited version of the words that I read at
the funeral of Roger Robinson. I’m posting them as my tribute to Roger but
also to urge others to post memories not only of Roger but of others whose
obituaries appear in the BMJ. In this way we can provide electronic
memorials to friends and enrich the obituary section.
Roger joined us at the BMJ in 1991 at the same time that I became the
editor. Because three senior editors went at once, I went overnight from
being an enfant terrible to being the oldest editor in the place—apart
from Roger. We were vulnerable. We lacked bottom and had a distinct
tendency to frivolity even anarchy. Roger saved us. Single handedly he
supplied enough wisdom, gravitas, and judgement to keep us afloat.
But Roger was never pompous or arrogant. Indeed, when I asked people
at the BMJ for memories of Roger it was his appearance as a harlequin that
people remembered first. He came to our Venetian party in the spring of
this year with the full outfit—the checked suit, the baggy trousers, the
mask, and the hat. He was a very proper harlequin as he was a very proper
everything.
At the BMJ we talk about “Doing a Roger.” It means reading a paper
with great care and searching hard for its attributes. For a man reared on
a diet of physiology and clinical science, Roger was remarkably open to
qualitative research, decision analysis, and host of previously unfamiliar
methods—although he never developed a taste for economic evaluations. One
of his legacies is “the sledgehammer to nut ratio” of a study, steering us
away the many studies where it was too high.
Roger chaired our weekly meeting where we discussed the papers
passing through our system. Before Roger took over the chair the meeting
would sometimes go on for hours and descend into fruitless, circular
argument. Roger rescued us from that chaos—keeping a firm but gentle hand
on the meeting and sometimes getting just a little tetchy with us. Just
sometimes he would be infected by the humour of the meeting and collapse
into giggles.
Whenever we got into a mess—as we did often—I would always ask Roger
to investigate. He had a forensic ability to identify the essentials of a
story, a highly developed sense of fairness, and remarkable judgement.
Authors were always grateful to Roger--even when rejected.
But Roger was never boring. He wore his immense learning very lightly
and had a wry sense of humour. He told me this story a couple of months
ago. A colleague who had just joined us asked Roger if he remembered a
student he had taught at Oxford. “I remember her well,” answered Roger.
“How do you know her?” thinking she might have been a partner in his
general practice.
“She’s my mother answered,” the colleague.
Roger then said to me: “You know you’re getting on a bit when
realise you have taught your colleagues’ mothers.”
Roger was very good to colleagues, providing both intellectual and
emotional support. People have pointed out to me that we consciously need
to replace what Roger supplied with such good grace.
Roger’s final gift to the BMJ was to teach us how to die. With an
equanimity that some of the younger staff found almost scary and surely
born from his deep faith he told us of his prostate cancer and
prognosis—and set about ordering his life. One of his priorities was to
work on the final proofs of another Beattie book: he was anxious that
somebody else might “correct” Beattie’s characteristically wayward
spelling. As he prepared for the operation from which he never recovered
he said goodbye to us individually, assuring each of us of our worth.
We at the BMJ have all felt very privileged to have known Roger. We
will miss him, but I know he will continue to be among us as we hold the
weekly meetings that he chaired.
Richard Smith,
Editor, BMJ
Competing interests:
I'm the editor of the BMJ and accountable for all that it contains.
Competing interests: No competing interests
Truly Inspirational
The life and a wonderful inspirational account of Professor Roger Robinson
should continue to inspire a lot of young doctors like us.
Surely the BMJ needs to be lauded for enlightening about the
professional/personal facets of a wonderful personality like Professor Robinson.
Their ways of life both professional/personal cause a doctor to be
remembered and taught to the younger generation of doctors is really
commendable.
Thanks to the BMJ for letting us know a good account of these wonderful
people who leave behind them a rich heritage of experience for us to
emulate.
Competing interests:
None declared
Competing interests: No competing interests