Tales from the Physiology Lab

Nigel Knight sent me this tale:

Professor Hunt was a stickler for punctuality - and much else as well. Having started a practical class promptly at 09.30 the door opened soon after and the latecomer was asked where he'd come from. The answer was New Cross or some such. After a stern ticking off Hunt started the class all over again. This was repeated each time a latecomer arrived from, say, Islington, Lewisham, Hither Green etc. After the class had re-started four or five times, a brown face appeared round the door. Hunt asked him where he'd come from."Pakistan" came the answer. "in that case" said Hunt "you haven't done too badly"

This reminded me of an episode a few years later, by which time Nigel was a demonstrator or junior lecturer in Physiology, living in the bachelor accommodation in Trinity Church Square. For a student to be late was bad enough, (see above), but for a member of staff, it was unthinkable. One morning Nigel overslept, waking in time to realise that he had to be in the Lab for the start of a practical class in about 15 minutes. Dressing rapidly he ran into the street and stopped a passing motorist. "I'm a Guy's doctor, and need to be at the hospital as a matter of urgency", he said. "Jump in sir, I'll run you there", said the startled but helpful driver, and Nigel arrived with seconds to spare, as the motorist drove off thinking he had probably saved someone's life. He had, of course.

On another occasion someone, I cannot remember who, put a live mouse in the box of chalks and covered it with the board duster before one of Professor Hunt’s lectures in the physiology theatre. It provoked huge anticipation for the students assembled for the lecture. Unbeknown to us, Hunt had been waiting to come in by the lower door, had seen exactly what had gone on and sent his technician off to get a piece of chalk. He was in the habit of starting his lectures by writing something on the board – an erudite quotation to stir up the simple minds or just a single word serving as ‘a peg on which we were invited to hang our thoughts’. On this occasion, Hunt played it out with considerable skill. Nothing was written on the board. Several times he approached the box of chalks as if to take one out and the excitement built to fever pitch – but no! – he moved away again and again and continued talking. After ten minutes or so, he took a piece of chalk out of his coat pocket and finally wrote on the board. At this point, Lawrence Youlten shouted out ‘He knows you know!’ Hunt dissolved in laughter and so did we.