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Alumni Profiles

John Douch

MRCVS
Graduated 1953

John Douch MRCVSLooking back over my past, I often ponder on how and why I became a Veterinary Surgeon. Born 1925, the son of a Peckham postman, it seemed unlikely that I should ever attain the rank of middle class professional - not that at that time I had any such lofty ambition, although I did manage to win a scholarship from my council school to a minor public school which in the time-honoured tradition separated "clever" boys who were exposed to the classics. Being useless at chemistry, maths and other such, to me, arcane subjects, this suited me fine.

I gained the old General Schools Certificate with exemption from matriculation and left school with mixed feelings just before my 16th birthday. It was wartime and the opportunity for such as me for further education was remote. Although a townie, I was always attracted to the countryside and the open air -my father's Kentish roots dated back to beyond the 18th century - and so I thought I would try the farming way of life.

It was not a success. I was soon to find out that hard labour for the next half century of my life with very limited prospects of financial advantage was not a rosy one. I decided to return to London life and for the next 18 months worked as junior office boy in a firm of structural engineers in Victoria Street. A life of errand running and tea making soon appalled me as much as farm work had and as soon as I was old enough I joined the Army.

It was then that my education took off. Four years service, three spent in India with the Rajputana Rifles (the RajRif as it was known or, as I once heard it called, The Raspberry and Banana Trifles) soon showed me how different life could be. My interest in the outdoor life developed and I was introduced to a style of living far different from that to which I had hitherto been accustomed. Perhaps it was then that the seeds of an idea of one day becoming someone who had an interesting job in the country took root.

Come demob. day - what to do? I was 21 with no qualifications, no money and not much sense. The Ministry of Labour ran an advice bureau for people, like me, uncertain of their next step in life. The affable official there had the following advice: ‘Look, you get along to the Royal Veterinary College and see if they’ll take you on, now!’ Which I did, and they did. But I had to wait over 12 months to join the 1948 intake, and there was a lot of catching up to do.

My first concern was how to fill the next 12 months before entering College. As I have already admitted, my knowledge of science was abysmal and so I determined to relieve this somewhat by enrolling in a course at Woolwich Polytechnic. Noticing my background, the Principal offered me free tuition and a job as Biology Lab boy for which I would be paid. My immediate financial difficulties solved, I proposed marriage to Barbara whom I had met at a wedding some months before. Somewhat to my surprise and delight she accepted me and has now stood by me for over 60 years. With a government ex-serviceman's grant of £5 per week, plus the same marriage allowance, plus a bit of luck, we would manage admirably - so I thought. Barbara immediately improved our financial position by finding a job at the local aerodrome. Thanks to her father's generosity we eventually managed to put down a payment on a caravan in which we were to live happily for the next two years or so. The idea of failing exams seldom entered my head. That was to come later!

Now came "seeing practice" which entailed a daily round trip of some 30 or so miles. I was lucky enough to see practice together with a fellow student, Don Basinger; we are to this day still great friends, although we see very little of each other owing to distance and, I regret to say, old age. He was the proud possessor of a 125 cc Royal Enfield motorbike ("The Monster" as Don had immediately christened it) which he had recently bought second-hand for £20 and he was kind enough to carry me pillion on our journey to and from the practice. We had many laughs during this period, not only seeing practice but also back in Camden Town. Our favourite eating place was a cafe in Pratt Street - it was truly Dickensian, the tables were solid oak and the seating was a couple or so of pew-like structures. You could eat well for 1/- (or 1/6 if you had afters). Our favourite was steak and kidney pudding followed by jam roly-poly or treacle tart. Tea was, as I remember, a penny or two extra. We developed a revision system ("the grind") which involved going over and over things we thought we ought to know. Competition was keen and tempers sometimes frayed. However, we scraped through Finals - Don assures me it was thanks to the grinds and I heartily agree. So there I was, poised on the threshold of a new life. Battle was about to commence.

In the 1950's it was not difficult for a newly qualified MRCVS to find a post. I started my professional life in Cornwall. Considering my lack of experience, I think my starting pay of £14 pw less £1 rent for a small terrace house quite reasonable, with use of car for work and leisure (which was limited).It was almost 100% large animal. Dogs and cats were occasionally treated in the stables attached to the surgery. A list was kept of cats due for spaying; Mrs Jenkins was at the top of the list when I started work there - she was still there when I left two years later. I found it a good place to learn the basic farm animal techniques, I was always treated with great consideration by the three partners and never reprimanded (although I am certain I merited it often). I do have to say however that there was no question of a written agreement over pay and working conditions. As far as I was concerned it was "If you don't like the heat, get out of the kitchen". If the work was there, you got on and did it.

After a couple of years, I decided it was time to move on. It was still comparatively easy to find a job and I returned to my roots in Kent, along with Barbara and a month old daughter, to manage a single handed practice on the coast. We boarded the train in Cornwall and eventually arrived at our new destination. It was a bitterly cold March day and out first impressions were not favourable. The surgery was a basement topped by our accommodation in a rundown terrace of small late Georgian houses. Utilities were minimum - no central heating, no refrigerator, a kitchen sink - and not much else. The previous incumbent had a good reputation as a veterinary surgeon but his love and attachment to dogs and cats had blinded him to their less endearing qualities - the whole place was flea-infested. Surgical equipment was, to put it mildly, very basic. There were two sterilizers, a gas ring to put them on, a Victorian shallow sink, a cold water tap, a few calving ropes and other basic farm animal tackle, a handful of artery forceps, two scalpels, suture material and that was about all. Waiting room facilities were equally spartan - six hardback wooden chairs of varying pattern and a Guide Dogs collecting box.

However, we had little alternative but to roll up our sleeves and get on with it. Four years passed and I was given the opportunity to buy both house and practice. With a helpful bank manager and a loan from Barbara's long-suffering father we went ahead. It was no picnic! In our first week, Barbara went down with pneumonia and was taken off to a nursing home with our younger daughter, leaving me to hold the fort with one four year old - very willing to help as far as she could. Somehow we weathered the storm and Spring came at last; life resumed as normal. So the years passed until brucellosis struck; it was then I decided to give up farm work to concentrate on small animals. More years passed by until I suddenly realised I had reached retirement age. I accepted a very reasonable offer for the house and goodwill - the purchaser is still in possession after twenty years during which time he has enlarged his practice which, I understand, now employs at least six associates and covers a wide area.

So we moved on into the so-called Golden Years of retirement and in many ways they have been just that. Would I do it all again? With certain qualifications - definitely yes. Would any other career have suited me better - definitely no. I sometimes think when I look back and think - "Not too bad for a Peckham postman's boy was it?"

I would hesitate to give advice to anyone on anything, but if asked as a newly qualified assistant what is the most important point to remember, I would say that you will always have two patients to deal with, the owner and the animal; try to treat both with equal care and consideration and always bear in mind that they are the ultimate providers of your bread and butter.

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