It was just another shop in a row of shops, except there was no merchandise on display. A special light grey film, etched with the word ‘SURGERY’ and times of opening, covered the window almost to the top, screening the inside from passers by. On entering, the waiting room presented with seating arranged around its perimeter. There was no other furniture. Someone would raise their hand to indicate a space, if there was one, someone else to say, ‘You’re after me….’ and so you would sit and wait your turn to see the doctor. What I remember best about the actual surgery was the coal fire burning brightly and the scuttle of coal with brass tongs glinting on the hearth. On one wall was a tall cupboard with glass doors and behind a screen, an examination couch. By the door was a coat stand where the doctor had hung his dark grey Crombie overcoat and black Homburg hat.  Two chairs were arranged in front of a polished desk behind which sat the doctor. Doctor Kaye was a tall, rangy man with a long slim bespectacled face, distinguished grey hair and beautifully manicured hands. Black jacket, waistcoat and pin- striped trousers set off an impeccably laundered shirt and sober tie with matching tie pin and cuff links.  He always rose slightly from his chair to greet his patient. If the black telephone on the desk rang, it could signal an urgent call out which meant you had to repair to the waiting room until the doctor returned. Nobody liked this happening but return he did and would continue with his consultations until his waiting room was empty.   Continue reading →