One Man's Medicine. An Autobiography of Professor Archie Cochrane

421 Pages·2009·2.95 MB·English

by  Archibald L Cochrane with Max Blythe

One Man’s Medicine
An Autobiography of Professor Archie
Cochrane
ARCHIBALD L COCHRANE
with
MAX BLYTHE
Publishing history
This edition is released to the Internet CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

2.2.2
Contents

Cochrane Colloquium edition acknowledgements
1 The tens and twenties
2 The thirties
3 The forties
4 The fifties
5 The sixties
6 Into the seventies
7 Into the eighties
Appendix A - AL Cochrane (1909-88) biographical outline
Appendix B - AL Cochrane’s principal publications
Appendix C - The prehistory of the first Cochrane Centre and
inauguration of the Cochrane Collaboration by Sir Iain Chalmers.
1989 First Edition Acknowledgements
Gratefully acknowledged is the assistance of many of Archie
Cochrane’s colleagues and friends during the completion of this
text after his death. Their critical observations on various chapters
of the biography and addition of data to Archie’s sparkling, initial
drafting of the work have enhanced its authenticity. Major
contributors include Professors Charles Fletcher, Ian Higgins,
Stewart Kilpatrick, Estlin Waters, Hubert Campbell, Peter
Oldham, Richard Schilling, George Knox, Guy Scadding, Alan
Williams, Archibald Duncan, Ken Rawnsley and Bryan Hibbard;
Drs John Gilson, Bill Miall, Reginald Saxton, Peter Elwood, Max
Wilson, Philip Hugh-Jones, Julian Tudor Hart, Jean Weddel,
Neville Willmer, Joyce Landsman, Richard Mayon-White, Wilfrid
Harding, Jeffrey Chapman and David Bainton, also Mr Fred
Moore, Mr Peter Sweetnam, Miss Irene Calford and Mr Peter
Nicholas. Artist Derek Whiteley supplied maps and charts. Special
thanks to Sir Richard Doll and Dr Dick Cohen for introductory
observations, and to Archie’s family, particularly Helen, Joe and
Maggie Stalker for supportive kindness.
Max Blythe
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4
One Man’s Medicine
An Autobiography of Professor
Archie Cochrane
1 The tens and the twenties
EARLY DAYS
I was born on 12 January 1909 in Galashiels, a small town in the
south of Scotland. (I would like to believe that I was conceived in
Bamburgh, a lovely village on the Northumbrian coast, and there
is some evidence to support the idea.) My background was
industrial upper middle class. In spite of brief encounters with
Evelyn Waugh and George Orwell, who had different views in
different directions, I have never tried to conceal or change this.
My father’s family was industrial. My grandfather and great-
grandfather became wealthy through textile manufacturing. They
made Scotch tweeds. My father was a very successful managing
director of his father’s business. He was killed in the First World
War at the Battle of Gaza when I was too young to know him well,
but he was described in his obituary as “of sterling character, kind
hearted and fair minded and he had the saving grace of human and
genuine friendship.” The Cochrane family was the wealthiest
family and the biggest employer in the small town. My
grandfather, to establish his position, built a large house,
Abbotshill, overlooking Sir Walter Scott’s Abbotsford on the other
side of the Tweed. He had a wonderful garden in which we often
played as children. It was the origin of my lifelong interest in
gardening.
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6
My mother’s family was different. Both her father and grandfather
were lawyers in a neighbouring town, Hawick. My mother was
educated at a rather snob school, St Leonard’s School at St
Andrews, and later in Paris. She painted, and played hockey for
Scotland, but gave up both activities when she married. Her family
is examined in detail for another reason in chapter 5.
I have searched in vain for any sign of a scientist in my family.
The only trace I could find is Lord Archibald Cochrane, ninth Earl
of Dundonald, who was a first rate amateur scientist, a friendly
rival of Watt, Cavendish, and Priestley. There is a suggestion that
we were descended from some branch of that family - probably
illegitimately. (I was strongly reminded of this possibility when I
visited Jamaica in the 1960s. The beautiful black Jamaican girl at
the desk kept my passport rather a long time and I asked why. She
smiled and said, “My name’s Cochrane too.” The tenth Earl
Dundonald, the famous admiral, was appointed Commander-in-
Chief of the West Indian Station in 1848 and visited Jamaica in
1849. Unfortunately further research on my family in Galashiels
made this hypothesis rather improbable.)
I had a happy early childhood. I had one elder sister, Helen, and
two younger brothers, Robert and Walter. There were two nurses
and three servants, but in spite of this we saw a great deal of our
loving parents before the war. We were, I suppose, to some degree
spoilt by regular seaside holidays at Easter and in the summer and
expensive Christmas and birthday presents, but there was an
underlying element of Calvinist discipline.
The general atmosphere of the larger family in which we grew up
was more definitely Calvinist. The work ethic was installed early
and the existence of a clear cut moral code, telling one what was
right or wrong, was assumed. There were other minor strands. It
was assumed that I would be wealthy when I grew up, but it was
always made clear to me that I would have to start at the bottom
and work my way up in my grandfather’s business. The need for
self sufficiency was stressed. Another minor strand was the need to
treat the lower classes with fairness and politeness. The whole
doctrine was probably dug in rather deeper when I was prepared
for confirmation into the Presbyterian Church by the Reverend Dr
Donald (later well known in Canada). I do not remember much
about it, but I can guess what he said.
I do not know how much influence this early Calvinist background
had on my life. I have certainly worked hard most of my life and
am still working. I am, I think, rather conscientious, and if
adaptability is one aspect of self sufficiency I certainly adapted
quicker and better to sudden changes - such as life as a prisoner of
war, the Spanish Civil War, and an unexpected presidency - than
most people. I ought possibly to be more grateful to Calvin and
John Knox than I usually am.
Our weekly pocket money was at first only one penny a week, and
church attendance was obligatory. Our social contacts were limited
at first. I think there were only five families in the town with
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whose children we were allow8e d to play. Later on we met a wider
circle of the children of upper middle class families in the
surrounding towns. We never met the “County.” We had excellent
relations with our servants. I learned to play whist, and later
bridge, from our cook Jean and housemaid Grizzle (whom I
recently visited just before her 90th birthday).
My whole world changed when war was declared in 1914. We
were on holiday at Bamburgh at the time. I remember the hurried
journey home in my father’s car and a vague memory of my father
explaining to my mother that he must join the Army at once, and
her tears.
I saw little of my father after that. He came back occasionally on
leave and all the children were very happy indeed. He was finally
posted to Egypt with the King’s Own Scottish Borderers. He came
back once, at least, on leave from Egypt. I remember how
determined I was to be the first to welcome him and how I dashed
downstairs in my dressing gown to hug him. He was killed on 19
April 1917 at the battle of Gaza. I still remember my feeling of
desolation and that of my whole family.
My family later sent money to Gaza to build a new wing to a
hospital there, which contained a memorial to my father and a
friend of his who was killed in the same battle - R R M Lumgair
(my father was killed trying to rescue Lumgair). Many years later I
decided to take my two nieces to see their grandfather’s memorial
and grave. I took advice from the Egyptian Embassy beforehand,
but everything went wrong. We were arrested at El Arish. I got out
of that by a speech in French, saying I was an elderly professor
with one foot in the grave making his last visit to his father’s
grave. They let us through. We reached Gaza, tired and worried,
had a wash and a meal, and then set off for the hospital. I knocked
on the door and a lady with a middle-Western American accent
eventually opened it. I stated my credentials — medical professor,
my family’s contribution to the hospital, and the memorial to my
father. There was a curious pause. She looked at me carefully and
then, to my utter astonishment, asked me if I was a Christian. I
admit I hesitated for a moment. My nieces and I were tired, but I
thought the question was so monstrous that I replied that I was
agnostic and that I thought the question was irrelevant. The door
was slammed in our faces! Later Arab officials forced our entry,
but it is clear that Gaza is an inconvenient place for one’s relations
to be buried in. I still cannot guess how she diagnosed me.
The desolation caused by my father’s death was not only a family
affair. Many people in the town and neighbourhood were killed in
the same battle, and there was an atmosphere of gloom in the town
for a considerable time. I slowly noticed the repercussions of my
father’s death. Our own family slowly moved down in the family
hierarchy. We were soon the only family in our circle who did not
have a car. Another unfortunate possible result of my father’s
death was that I started fighting with my brother Robert. I have no
idea why. (My psychoanalyst later had many theories, but I was
never convinced.) Soon after we had another tragedy. My brother
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0
Walter died. In retrospect I am pretty sure he died of tuberculous