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In England NowA -7?,unning Commentary by Peripatetic CorrespondentaTHE most exciting event in last Saturday’s broadcast

play, Duet for Two Hands, was, naturally enough, thearrival of THE LANCET in Orkney. Next time the playis produced I hope we shall have fewer cries from thekittiwakes, and a longer extract from your leading article,which struck a new note ; though it seemed a pity thatthe contributor you praised so highly should later turnout to be a murderer. In more cheerful vein was theprevious week’s televised version of the work of a casualtydepartment, in which one of the casualty officers wasmade to say he thought of contributing a paper to yourcolumns on Whisky and Wallop. From time to timeboth doctors picked up a copy of the journal ; thoughI regret to say that on each occasion they put it downagain very quickly. The " prop " department musthave had an interesting time collecting such effects asangle forceps, medical reference books, and a bottle ofbarbiturate (found in a car ?). But I still think it oddthat the girl who had a sprained ankle should leave thehospital with one stocking on and one off.

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The dangers that may lurk in one’s own garden, eventhough Atropa belladonna, Solanum dulcamara, Hyoscy-amus niger, and other poisonous plants have never beenadmitted, are disconcerting. I was pointing with prideto some fine ivy tods on the garden fence not long agowhen my guest stopped disapprovingly and told me thefollowing cautionary tale.A few years ago a minister’s wife and her young son

of twelve were trimming ivy in their West Countrygarden. It was summer, and from time to time theboy refreshed himself by eating loganberries, which weregrowing nearby. Presently he complained of feelingunwell and the mother became alarmed ; she put himto bed and sent for the doctor. The case seemed seriousand urgent as well as mysterious, and the doctor imme-diately summoned a consultant from the nearest bigtown, about ten miles away. But as the consultantentered the room the boy died.

It was said that the highly acid juice of the loganberrycombines with that of ivy to form a deadly poison. Ifthis is, true, it gives one to think furiously. Mostgardens of any size grow loganberries and allied species,and most have ivy somewhere ; that more accidentshave not been reported may be because loganberries arenot. in season at Christmas. Ivy alone has a vaguereputation of being poisonous, but this does not seemto be borne out by the books, and we know on goodauthority that little lambs eat it. The berries are saidto. be purgative, and the juice of the leaves used to beused as a dressing for ulcers 1; the botanists do notmention toxic effects, and the author of my wild-flowerbook says- the berries are dry, hard, and tasteless, asthough he had sampled them.It makes one wonder what other unsuspected incom-patibilities there may be in the garden.

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Early in 1941, while working in a boys’ club, I cameacross a young lad who had. been evacuated from ablitzed area, where his home had been bombed and hismother and young sister killed. When we knew himhe was billeted with an old lady, who obviously did notwant him and of whom he was rather afraid. One nightafter he had gone to bed she found him by the openwindow trying to jump out. He was referred by thebilleting officer to the local child psychiatrist-a well-meaning woman, very keen on her work-with whom hehad many sessions. These interviews seemed to havehad little success, for the billeting officer asked us to dowhat we could to help the lad with his troubles. As faras we were concerned, he was a good club lad and thestory of his attempted suicide came as a surprise.One evening the club leader-an adept at putting

boys at their ease-got him talking over the fire. Firstthe lad told us the questions the " woman doctor " hadasked : Was he unhappy here? ? Did he like his bullet ? P

1. See Extra Pharmacopœia of 1920, vol. I, p. 800.

How had. his mother and sister been killed ? Had heactually seen them killed ? And many more. Thensuddenly the whole story came out. He had not toldanyone else because it was not the sort of thing youcould tell strangers, and certainly not women. Appar-ently his bedroom was at the top of an old dark houseand getting to the lavatory involved a long journeyacross a ’dark cold courtyard ; and he concluded ratherlamely, " the window seemed the obvious answer."

Several morals might be drawn from this story, butto me it provides yet another illustration of the weaknessof the specialist, who is rarely in a position to know hispatients as individuals.

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After five years in a crowded city in the far north-westof China, England indeed seems a green and pleasantland. I have been " home " now nearly a week and havenot seen a single person expectorate in public, haveactually given my luggage over to a porter withoutneeding to watch him with it the whole time, and havebeen to a hairdresser’s without having to rush back fora disinfectant wash immediately afterwards. The streetsof this busy northern town are incredibly clean to myChina-accustomed eyes, and a qualm of guilty conscienceassails me when I forget to place used tickets in the properreceptacle on the bus. It takes five years abroad to enableone to appreciate the kindliness of one’s fellow-country-men in the next street. I have never had so many folkout to oblige a stranger though they do not necessarilymake anything out of it.

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Alison is Canadian, but she has been with us long enoughto be regarded as one of the family. While out in thewoods with the children the other day she had a nastyfall, and when I returned home it was obvious she mustgo to hospital. " Will you take her to Sister Tussle ?

"

plaintively inquired Janet, my four-year-old, for shehas a very special regard for Sister Tussle, who can cureanything. I rang up, but Sister pointed out that Alisonwould be better admitted to one of the special centres.So, and not’- without trouble, next day Alison was takento a special hospital. Janet was very worried that wehad not sent enough clothes, and when I opened mybag later I found that another nightie and other thingshad been surreptitiously stuffed under my papers.

Progress was slow but uneventful, and at the end ofthree weeks I called at the hospital to collect Alison.She seemed well, and to my surprise the leg was notstiff. I saw she had strapping over the greater trochanterso I asked what had been done. " They’ve pinned it,"I was told. I was surprised that this new generation oforthopaedic surgeons should use even a modified Smith-Peterson nail on a two-year-old. As I left I remarkedthat this was the first benefit I had received from theNational Health Scheme. " Unfortunately, sir, thebenefits do not extend to all dependants," the secretarysaid. " Just what I thought," I replied, having myselfspent all that day in the service of the State at anotherhospital. " What do I owe ? " " One and sixpence,"she said, and I paid gladly, feeling that there must atleast be a State subsidy if that was all the Dolls’ Hospitalcharged for fixing a leg on our dolly.

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Your correspondent’s story of the Swedish guidereminds me of other pitfalls which await the users offoreign languages. The German prepositions, which lookso innocently like our own, are a good example, andamong them I suppose none is more confusing than theGerman bei, which may mean, " near " or " at thehouse of," but never" by."At the house of a friend one day I was introduced

to a German lady who, though she had married anEnglishman and lived in England for a good many years,had never mastered the subtle differences between thelanguages. In the course of conversation a Mr. Palmerwas mentioned-the headmaster of the local preparatoryschool for boys. Hearing the name of someone she knew,she made haste to join in the conversation, saying " Didyou say Mr. Palmer ? I had a child by him."