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In England Now

A Running Commentary by Peripatetic Correspondents

IN the book of elves and fairies beloved in my child-hood, mental deficiency looked different from the

problem which now 1 face.The beautiful baby became a changeling-presumably

through kernicterus or tuberculous meningitis-and laybrown, shrunken, and screaming in his cot till the goblinsbore him back to fairyland. Nowadays the goblins’ theftis often prevented by the cabbalistic rites of blood-replace-ment or intrathecal antibiotics, and the changeling remains,failing to gain weight, demanding and angry, dancing withrage because Earth has denied it honeydew.In the Irish myths the plump, slow, creamy girls, or lads,

with the eastern eyes were once the ’’

lucky ones " who hadeither been blessed by the saints or had strayed as two-

year-olds into the fairy ring, led by their slanting eyes andtheir " luck " into lonely adventures denied to others. Theywere laughed at, slow to learn, and loved music ; theyblundered but were tolerated. They too " joined the fairies

"

in childhood. as did our own mongols before antibioticswere discovered.

Others, who had been left in a fairy ring by a carelesssister or brother in infancy, were less lucky, for they couldnevermore escape its ceaseless dances. Charms were of noavail, nor even holy water, though sometimes a wise manguided their dance into useful ways, as we do with our

spastics.The book of elves and fairies led me astray, or the

fairies have cursed the age of hydrogen. These are nolonger the lucky ones. Today the changelings surviveto rage and scream their way through the shrill echoingmemories of their siblings. Mongols are no longer" blessed " ; their childhood is not guarded by a spellnor their musical gifts used. The wicked fairy Pædiatricastands by the cradle, and removes the normal spell ofmotherhood. " You have borne a monster-a mongol-hide it from the sight of other children lest they beafraid." I wouldn’t mind this so much if Psediatricawould wave her wand until the long waiting-list formental-deficiency institutions had vanished. Instead,like all wicked fairies, she disappears immediately in apuff of smoke, pocketing a domiciliary fee, or pontificatingto the apprentices.

I wish you would go away, or stop your charms.Psediatrica; and, pending more green hills for changelings,give the peculiar-looking baby a chance to turn out"lucky " at home.

* * *

A Cockaignshire local medical committee has beenhearing an interesting case. Dr. X, a local practitioner,was asked why he- had prescribed, on an B.C. 10, a stoneof dog-biscuits.Dr. X explained that the patient, Mr. Y. believed himself

to be a dog, and was under the care of a Psychiatrist whoinsisted that he be humoured and prescribed certain tablets.The only way to get Mr. Y to take the tablets was to concealthem inside small dog-biscuits. Dr. X contended that thedog-biscuits were therefore not a food, but an ancillarymedicament or vehicle, the equivalent of a syrup or flavouredwater. If the Chairman thought he could talk Mr. Y outof his delusion (said Dr. X), he was welcome to try ; but sofar Mr. Y had proved unusually intransigent. Indeed, afterhis last session with Mr. Y, the Psychiatrist had suddenlytied a small barrel under his chin and crawled out howlinginto a snowstorm.Dr. X claimed that his duty not only as a doctor but also

as a citizen demanded that the patient be kept fit for work ;for Mr. Y was a key man. He made the tea for the menwho made the tea at the Ministry of Incoordination in AtaxiaHouse. He was irreplaceable also in that he was left-handed,and nobody else could use his peculiar left-handed teaspoons.The Committee would be aware from the Press (continuedDr. X) that there was a crisis over the question of pay-differentials between right- and left-handed tea-stirrers,and he would ask the Chairman whether the national

economy was to be endangered for the price- of a stone ofdog-biscuits.

Dr. X spoke for a further 45 minutes on the English-man’s love of animals, concluding by singing severalverses of a ballad entitled, My Four-legged Friend, andinviting the Committee to join in the choruses. Butthe meeting had to adjourn, owing to the indispositionof the Chairman, who felt his nose becoming hot and dry.

* * *

The last patient at the clinic was a woman withneurodermatitis. The boss was evidently tired. Hehad reached the critical point at the end of the after-noon when his mind would accept nothing but the mostrelevant remark through its fatigue barrier.

" Now ma’am, you have had your skin trouble for howlong ?

"

"For thirty years at least. I have seen most of the

dermatologists iu the country, and none have done me anygood." -

" And what makes you think we will succeed where theyhave failed ?"

" I had heard you were supposed to be good at this sort ofthing."The boss closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Anyone

who did not know him would think he had fallen asleep.I knew he was wrestling with his serpent.

" Tell me, ma’am. do you use nail varnish ? "

"It seems rather a personal question, but if it is ofany interest to you, I don’t. My nails are naturally highlypolished.

Naturally. And do you scratch ? "

" Never ! Dr. Smyth accused me of that. It simply isn’ttrue. I want to scratch but I am able to control myself."

" Indeed. How long have you had your eczema? "" Is that what it is ! Then why do they call it dermatitis ...

every specialist that I come to has a different name for it.I do wish someone would explain to me in simple languagewhat I have got and how to cure it."

The boss turned slowly on his swivel chair andaddressed me as though we were alone together." Not so easy, Peter. How does one explain in simple language

that this skin lesion is a localised area of unhappiness, a focusof frustration ? It is a flag she is waving, but whether forhelp or in warning it is difficult to decide. This patch ofeczema is a target on which she receives the slings and arrowsof outrageous fortune : though, here again, if fortune is

outrageous we are so often ourselves the cause of it being so.And she has, of course, scratched and scratched and scratchedcontinuously for thirty years to sustain it ..."

" Do you mean to tell me that I have deliberately kept itgoing ? It’s ridiculous ! "

"... to sustain it for fear of losing it."‘‘ Well, it is obvious that I am not going to get any help

from you ! It was a waste of time coming."His voice lost its edge and I knew the physician had

begun to rewind the serpent round its staff." Sit down, dear lady, and relax a little. I am sure we

can help you. We will give you a paste and the rash willimprove ..."" I have heard that before.""... if you don’t scratch. I shall also dispense for you some

medicine."-’Is it brown ? I’ve had it ! It never did me any good-

only upset my stomach ! "

" I shall dispense some bromide and nux vomica. This isnot brown but red like claret."

The boss took my arm and led me out of the cubicle." Peter, I would like to see this patient again in six weeks,

when I hope to prove to you that there are some skins thatwe have no right to cure if we have the comfort and happinessof our patients at heart."

I took a swift look to see if he was smiling. If he didsmile it had already gone ; but he did not look quite sotired.

* * *

News from School.—The music comp. was very good. ’Thepianos were never together. Even the recorders were not

together, let alone being in time with the pianos. Everybodywas stiffling their laughter. - House had cellos, violons, andviola, but people say it was not a match against last year’s,as it was not nearly so out of tune.