JOHN WILFRED PICKARD
Posted: 22 Apr 2012, 08:17
JOHN WILFRED PICKARD
Here’s something I wrote about JW last year.... (April 2004)
I first met John Pickard while I was running the engine at Bancroft. I knew about Dr Pickard of course but he wasn’t my doctor and so our paths never crossed until one day he walked in the engine house and asked me if he could look at the engine. We walked round and I answered his questions and then I brewed up for him and he sat in my armchair in the corner and started talking.
Now they tell me I can talk but boy, did I ever meet my match! I triggered him off and sat back listening to pure gold. I made my mind up right away that he was a candidate for the club. That first visit was the start of a strange and disjointed friendship that, as far as he was concerned, was dictated entirely by his needs. I never initiated a meeting, he just turned up, either at the engine house or at Hey Farm. This was in the late 1970s, he was retired and apart from when he wanted his vehicle servicing, I got the feeling he was using the engine house and the Hey as a bolt-hole.
John Wilfred never came across to me as a warm personality, not surprising because I never got really close to him, however, he was precise, always polite, had a wide range of interests and was always willing to expose his own ignorance and ask for information. All qualities that I admire. He was also wide open if you asked him a question, he would give you an honest answer. But he was totally self-centred, I think this is why he was so forgetful, it wasn’t bad memory, he had a good memory, it was just that what he wanted at the time took precedence and everything else went out of the window!
I suppose the first thing to do is get some of the stories out of the way. I reckon that one of the ways you can assess a doctor is by the stories that circulate round them. John wasn’t unique, there are plenty of tales about Arthur Morrison, John Love, Dr Jagoe……. But those are for another time.
The stories I heard from other people included:
When on his rounds, John used to set off in his car and take short cuts through terraced houses into the next street. He even did this when he was on his little motor bike. One woman told me he wheeled it through her house one day. His problem came at the end of his rounds, he often forgot which street he had started in and had to ring the police to ask them to look for his car.
There was a complaint one day about him and his wife sunbathing naked in their garden. It turned out that the only way they could be seen was for the woman who made the complaint to go into the attic, stand on a stool and look through the skylight.
One day in the 1960s when Asian Flu’ was rampaging round the district he went into his surgery waiting room which was bitterly cold, handed a hot water bottle to the first person in the queue and told them to warm their hands and then pass it on. After a while he came out and announced that he had no doubt that they were all there because they had the flu’. He said that he had it as well. He was going to go home, take two aspirins and go to bed and he recommended that the rest of them did the same. With that he left.
My favourite story about him is when he was called out one night to a baby on Coates Estate that wouldn’t stop crying. He went down and examined the infant and then he straightened up, turned to the woman and put his hand down her blouse to feel her breast. “It’s quite obvious why the child is crying Madam. It’s hungry and you have no milk!” The woman said “It’d be a bloody miracle if I had, I’m its aunty and I’m only baby-sitting!”
I did ask him about these stories and he just smiled, but he allowed that there might be more truth in the last one than some of the others.
I noticed that when John came in the engine house he always took my pulse and his own as well. I just put it down to force of habit and never questioned him about it beyond asking him whether I was still alive. One day he launched into an explanation. He’d noticed that when he sat in the engine house something had a calming influence on him. He came to the conclusion that there was a correlation between the rhythm of the engine and our heartbeats. He noticed that mine was always exactly the same as the engine, 69 beats a minute and that his own, which normally ran at about 73 a minute settled down to the same speed after about ten minutes with me. His theory was that it was like being a baby in the womb and that the mother’s heart beat (the engine) had a controlling effect on ours. I like that one and reckon that there was more than a bit of sense in it. If music can affect us, why not a smoothly running engine?
He was very interested in the engine and asked lots of questions. One of the things that fascinated him was the sixth sense I had developed whereby I often detected possible problems before they happened. He had seen me suddenly break off a conversation and go and have a look at a lubricator or adjust the governor. We came to the conclusion that I was so used to listening to the engine that the slightest change in note triggered me off. He brought his old stethoscope in one day and we had a great time listening to the valves and the piston rings clicking in the bore. He gave it to me and I used it a lot. It hangs in the front room still, a reminder of John Wilfred.
I was in my workshop at home one day and he came in for a chat. As we stood there he raised one leg, put it on the workbench and stood there like a stork on the other leg. I didn’t comment until after a couple of minutes he changed legs so I asked him what he was doing. He said that he was giving his heart a rest. If he was standing normally on two legs his heart had to pump blood up from both feet. If he put one leg up on the bench it relieved the work a bit as the blood supply to that leg hadn’t to be pumped against gravity! Being an engineer and used to pumps I saw the sense in this so if anyone had come in they would have found two blokes having a conversation but only standing on one leg! This was the sort of common sense approach I like and ever since then I put my feet up if I have the chance when I’m in my favourite rocking chair.
Another little quirk was how he dealt with the sugar in his tea. I noticed that he always insisted on putting his own in and was very precise in his measurement. Once the sugar was in the tea he stirred it for what seemed like a couple of minutes before he drank it. Being a nosy bugger I asked him why he did it. He told me that he believed that sugar was bad for you so the less you had the better. He had noticed that if you put one teaspoonful in a half pint mug and stirred it for a lot longer than normal it tasted as though there was twice as much sugar in. I don’t like sugar in tea or coffee so I never tried this one out but knowing John I bet there was something in it.
One of his favourite subjects was alternative medicine. He was still going to courses on homeopathy even though he was retired. He reckoned that herbs and natural remedies still had a place in treating ailments. He recognised the value of modern drugs but didn’t discount the old remedies. I asked him whether it was true that whisky in moderation could lower blood pressure and he said that in the days when he started practicing it was about the only weapon they had if people had high blood pressure.
He warned me against salt and encouraged me to drink lots of water. He told me that a good habit to get into was that when you felt you wanted to pass water you should always drink a glassful before going. He said that way nature was reminding you to drink. I know from my own experience that this is very valuable advice. I have had a bad back for 45 years and if I slack off with the water intake I will have much more pain. It stands to reason when you think about it, you are encouraging your body to flush out poisons and keeping your blood at the right consistency. John said that when you felt thirsty your body was making up the loss by extracting water from your blood and this thickened it and raised your blood pressure.
One thing that always struck me as a lad was that if you went in a public toilet there was a big poster on the wall saying ‘BEWARE OF VD!’ I asked him about this and he said that during WW2 he helped with the Venereal Disease Clinic at Burnley. He told me terrible stories about what we now call Sexually Transmitted Diseases and made my hair curl! (Look in the LTP 78/AC/04 for Ernie Roberts on Syphilis) I asked him whether it was true you could catch VD off a lavatory seat and he said that of course you could, but it was very unlikely. He said that if contaminated blood was present on any surface and a small wound on your skin touched it the infection could pass. He said he always put his hand in his jacket pocket before touching a door handle in a toilet. He also told me that many surgeons got infections like syphilis in the old days because of bad or non-existent protection for their hands.
I noticed one day in summer that he had a lot of string round his neck. Thinking this was some obscure cure for something I asked him about it and it turned out that he had all his keys strung round his neck because if he didn’t he lost them. I used to service his little Ford Escort camper van and he always had to fish the key out of his shirt for me.
We got talking one day about pain and he said that what always distressed him was infants teething. His problem was that he knew there was an instant cure, you simply cut the skin above the tooth with a scalpel and relieved the pressure. He did this for all his children but couldn’t do it for his patients as it was frowned on by the profession because of the risk of infection. I think this illustrates exactly how John’s mind worked. If there was a problem you looked for the cause. Once you had identified the cause the next question was ‘what can I do about it’. Answer, relieve the pressure on the gum.
Mind you, he wasn’t always as well focussed. He was late one day coming to the Hey with his van and when I asked him why he said it was because he’d run his wife over! It turned out that she was directing him out of the garage and he reversed into her and broke her leg. It was the only time I ever saw him upset.
My biggest regret was that I never did a full series of structured interviews with him. He was a gold-mine of information about Barlick and disease. He had practiced before the revolution that came with antibiotics and even then he told me one day that too many were being prescribed. He said that the germs always won and that one day we would find that they were losing their effect. How right he was!
The one thing that stands out about John Wilfred Pickard is that he was a bloody good general practitioner who really cared about his patients. The other thing is that, due to his manner, you either loved him or hated him! There were many more in the first camp than the second and even though he was never my doctor I have to say I am with them. I can still see him in the deckchair on the lawn at the Hey with his panama hat over his eyes, reading the paper while I changed his oil or did some small repair for him. It was a joy talking to him, always a new subject of enquiry. The world is short of men like that and I still miss him.
SCG/06 April 2004
I got mail today from Ken Wilson and am delighted that he is still batting. He’s writing a book on Barlick and is looking for information on John Wilfred. I’ve recommended that he use the search engine as there is quite a bit in the archive but if any of you have any reminiscences of him please post them here.
I’ve looked in the index and have remarkably little. Here it is:
There is a reference to JW in ‘A Way of Life Gone By’ page 77. He died in 1986 in his eighties. He visited me regularly at the Hey and in the engine house.
I have a reference from the private memoirs of Francis Josephine Martin(?) dated 1988. (can’t remember how I got this....) “Married Alice Gautshi in the late 1920s. He met her whilst on holiday in Switzerland. Opened a surgery in Barlick in the late 1920s after being a ship’s surgeon.
I have quite a few pics of JW in the 50s, 60s and 70s.
Son Wilfred E H Pickard was Council member 1962 to 67. Chairman 1966/67.
I got mail from Heather Sheldrick’s mum this morning:
Do you agree, Stanley, that there are many co-incidences that happen during a lifetime?
One happened yesterday when I accidentally found my list of Dr Pickard stories. I had promised to send them to you long ago and it happened by coincidence just after I had met you on the square and then at H and E’s house. Here goes!
Dr Pickard was visiting Jim Scaife on a very cold day. He laid out his Billycock hat, scarf and gloves in front of the house fire, proceeded upstairs to see his patient, came down and laid in front of the fire to write out the prescription.
In Park Avenue Mrs Hall was cleaning upstairs. The doctor called out “Can I leave my bike here? When Mrs Hall came downstairs the motor-scooter was in the kitchen.
In Lower North Avenue-Lower West Avenue, he asked, “Can I come through your house to save time?” In he came - with his motor scooter.
Heather’s dad, Harry, saw him walking down Park Road with his head through a ladder, wearing a bowler hat and wearing shorts.
While visiting in Wellhouse Rd he left his car in the middle of the road. Someone told him about it. The next day he parked it on the pavement up to the garden wall. Everyone had to walk round it.
At 2.30 AM whilst on a call, he knocked-up ‘Pigeon Milk’-Harry Broughton, to ask if the tyres that he had ordered, had come. When they DID come H.B. rung the doctor at 2.30 AM to tell him.
He shuffled into a Glee Union practice late as usual, saying “Rather stuffy”, opened all the windows then went home.
He had prescribed Kaolin Poultices for a patient, who recovered. When the patient went to see the doctor. Dr P asked him if he had any left?
Visiting a house where he answered a call and saw a women holding a baby, he plunged his hand down the lady’s bosom. “No wonder that you can’t feed it, there’s nothing there.” “But doctor, I’M the baby’s auntie” was the response.
Saving fuel, Dr P gave a hot-water bottle for waiting patients to pass round the waiting room.
TEMPORARY SURGERY. He forgot his key one day and treated patients whilst sat on the garden wall, he also got a hot water bottle from a neighbour.
At a grocery shop he asked, “How fresh are your eggs.?” “Quite fresh” was the reply. “I will have one” said Dr Pickard. The shopkeeper said “How do I reckon that up?” “Well then I will have two and have you got a pin?” said the doctor. The shopkeeper found a pin and the doctor pricked the eggs and sucked out the contents saying - “I haven’t had my lunch today.”
He recommends skipping at a public meeting as the hall is cold.
What a dear sensible man this loveable character was. He encouraged me with my piano-playing and invited me to their house to play and encourage his eldest daughter Christine with her piano playing. A true member of the community and his loss was deeply felt.
From Herb on OGFB.
My mother visited Dr. Pickard on one occasion, he asked why she seemed so depressed and she told him all about her problems with her mother in law (Paternal grandmother) who was on an extended visit from London. The next time she saw Dr, Pickard he commented that she seemed much more relaxed, mother said that Mother in law had gone back to London rather suddenly and that all was well. Dr. Pickard smiled and said “ oh I’m not surprised, I saw her and suggested a 2 week stay for tests at a mental health facility”. Grandmother was always faking some kind of illness for attention.. he solved that.
I remember Dr. Pickard freaking out at another Doctor (Rankin?) who sent me off to Burnley for appendix surgery, turned out it was hernia, still have my appendix.
In 1950 scarlet fever seemed to be a big problem, Dr. Pickard said go home soak in a hot bath, if you come out red go to hospital, two of us travelled in the same ambulance to the scarlet fever hospital, then they put us in separate isolation rooms. Spent 13 weeks there before got clear test results. HERB
From Heather Sheldrick
Here’s another story - whether it’s true or not I don’t know. Dr Pickard had ordered a brand new car from one of the local garages. In those days, new vehicles were smothered in grease to stop them rusting, and this was cleaned off before delivery to the owner. He ordered the garage to leave the grease on and apparently drove it around for well over 6 months. The car gradually accumulated a thick layer of dust, twigs and leaves before the grease finally wore off. His logic was that he would get an extra 6 months’ of rust-free car out of it. Sounds fair enough to me.
From Richard Broughton
Doctor Pickard gave me a lift from Skipton to Barlick one day, I would have been at school - about 14 - so around ‘68. He seemed to be avoiding using the accelerator and was using the manual choke to maintain our speed. he explained he had had some pain in his right calf so was resting it. But a very generous man, although I never felt to be quite on the right wavelength with him.
I was reading my own 2004 piece about JW and it struck me how valuable it is to just sit down and write something like this up. I commend it to you all. I shall start a separate topic and try to trigger you off. .......... reading it again triggered my own thoughts and I can see him in my minds eye as clear as day. I also remember the wide range of conversations we used to have. He was insatiable for knowledge, he was always asking questions about the engine and boiler, I reckon in a different life he would have made a good engineer because what people saw as eccentricity was actually the result of a complete focus on the matter in hand. Heather reminds us of the protective coating on his new car, I knew that but had forgotten it. That is a good example of how his mind worked and peculiar though it might have seemed, he was on the right lines. One thing that surprised me was that even after he retired he still occasionally went to lectures and short courses on the latest medical advances. He used to sit in the garden at Hey Farm reading when I was servicing his little Ford Escort camper van and often asked me for a book on steam engines or engineering matters. Perhaps the bottom line about him is that he had en enquiring mind, he always admitted ignorance and then asked questions. Not a bad course for all of us to follow.
JW in the garden at Hey Farm in 1976 waiting for his motor to be serviced. He’s reading one of my books on engineering and stroking Fly, my old cattle dog. A man at ease......
From Bob King
My mother was one of the district nurses in Barlick during the war, she came out of retirement because most of the young district nurses had gone into the forces. She either walked to a patient or rode an old bike. One day she was somewhere up Brogden Lane attending to a farmer’s wife who was in a coma. Dr Pickard turned up and the woman woke as he was bent over peering at her - She exclaimed - “JESUS CHRIST” - and Dr Pickard replied “No madam, Dr Pickard, but a true likeness.......”!!!
He also told my mother that he did not like babies to wear nappies, he preferred them to lay on a bed of peat moss at night and do their business naturally. (Almost the beginning of deep litter for poultry???)
From Catgate on OGFB
For a number of years I was with the same company as his son. His son, Wilf, another colleague, Ronnie, and I, often used to visit “The Dorothy Rose” for lunch, and often we had the “pleasure” of the good doctor and his wife for company. One of the normal routines was for Mrs. Pickard to go round the table and shovel the residue left on everyone’s plates into her capacious handbag (presumably polybag lined). One day Ronnie happened to meet the good doctor whilst in town. Ronnie greeted him with the usual “Hello, how are you?”, to which JW said, “Don’t I know you?” Ronnie said “Of course you do, we lunch together at Dorothy Rose a couple of times a week,” “Oh, yes,” said JW , “Ronnie, isn’t it.. Well I think you may be able to help me.” It turned out that he wanted Ronnie to give his car a push to start it. Which he did. The following day Wilf was quizzed about the state of his father’s car. “ Oh, there’s nothing wrong with it. He just likes to save the battery!!”
You wonder where all the eccentrics are gone? Well, I do believe we are still here. I bet I could go back to Barlick and still find characters in Green Street Working men's club. My Father always told my Mother that he was going to "the silver slipper club, but he may have been ironic. In many ways Dr Pic was a role model for me. A couple of years after my family moved to Barlick we moved into I Park Avenue which was next door to Crossways, Dr Pic's home and surgery. It wasn't long before we had a string telegraph going between the two houses, and both families were good friends. One of my brothers married Dr PIc's eldest daughter, Sylvia. Each one of us got to know Dr Pic in our own way. I always remember my Mum's last words before I left for Gisburn Road school, "and don't get a ride home from Dr Pic!" I was always amazed when Dr Pic might happen to see me. He would offer me a lift. I would always hop in with alacrity and we would go home via East Marton and Foulridge where he always had one more call. He appreciated the company and having some one to keep an eye on his car. In any case his car was always having battery trouble so it was handy to have some one to push. But I think the real reason for his friendship was that I was an awkward kid and often got into trouble and to some extent he felt sorry for me and took me under his wing. I have a couple of good reasons to be thankful to Dr PIc. He is the reason why I am the only male kid in our family still with a shock of unruly hair. ( My wife says my hair looks like I get it cut at the Ludwig Van Beethoven school of hairdressing) When I was about eight years of age, Dr PIc told me if i deliberately moved my scalp every day it would increase the circulation and I would never go bald. The result is by daily practice my scalp is so loose i can practically pull it over my nose and I never went bald. The main reason i have to be thankful to Dr PIc is that he saved my life. Dr PIc was a brilliant diagnostician but his methodology was so long winded, it was total agony being in his waiting room. You could usually guarantee twenty minutes in the consulting room and an hour and a half in the waiting room. Unlike Dr Robertson, 15-20 minutes in the waiting room, 3 minutes in the consulting room. I had developed a swollen gland in a compromising place. He sent me to a specialist to confirm his diagnosis. The specialist said he was wrong, so he sent me to a whole series of specialist until one said he was right. They operated and Dr PIc was proved right. As a result several years later I got my medical exemption so I didn't have to go to fight in Korea. Dr Pic also introduced me to Quakerism. He had attended a Quaker private school called Bootham in York and he sent his son Wilfred to school there. Occasionally he and i would attend the Quaker meeting house in Skipton. My interest in Quakerism had a profound effect on my later life, determining my future career and my move to North America. My total joy in living on the west coast, particularly in Vancouver in such a laid back environment may have it roots in my early interest in pharmaceuticals. At age eighteen I had put on a little excess weight and I was feeling quite depressed and Dr Pic gave me e prescription for dex-amphetamine sulphate or Dexedrine. It was a hotted up version of the original amphetamine given to fighter pilots. (Its comforting to know that dexedrine is illegal in the United States and only high performance fighter pilots with their deadly load of cruise missiles are allowed to fly their planes hopped out of their minds on Amphetamines.) When I saw him a second time and told him how wonderful the pills were. He said, I know I'm on them too and wrote me a prescription for 100 tabs. To save time he would carbon copy a couple of extras so that I wouldn't have to come back too soon. Being a little devious I added an extra c to each prescription which meant I got 600 tabs of dexadrine on the National health scheme. After about 2 year I had to quit them. They began making me feel paranoid. The last time I saw him he was propped up in bed wearing his favourite balaclava and finger-less gloves. Alice may have been wandering round in the red long-johns she used go to her fitness group. They were just part of the eccentricity of Barlick which gave me such a wonderful childhood. John Martin [posted on OGFB 27 October 2006]
Doctor Pickard, was my doctor when I first came to Barlick, my only run in with him was after I had a tattoo put on my arm at Blackpool, a few days later it went septic, and my arm was a real mess, I had to go and see the doc, sure enough he took one look at my arm, and asked me when I had the tattoo done, I told him it was just last week-end, he gave me a look of pure disdain, told me that he had another needle that would sort it out, and I swear he came at me with the biggest hypodermic syringe I have ever seen, told me to drop my pants and bend over his desk, and took great pleasure, in rewarding me for my stupidity, as he told me afterwards, he also prescribe Kaolin poultice which drew the poison in no time.....yes he did not suffer fools gladly
Gus
Dr Pic - The Dentist! When I was a kid the local dentist was called Dr Atkinson and he had a surgery on Wellhouse Road. It was the most peaceful waiting room in town with its large tank of tropical fish which you could watch in all their startling glory going round and round and round in time with your throbbing toothache. The real horror began in the dentist's chair. Don't get me wrong. Dr Atkinson was a good dentist, but he had Parkinson's disease and as he approached you, pliers in hand, he would say, "this is not going to hurt you..." and you would be transfixed by the one inch quiver of his hand as it approached. So getting Dr Pic to remove a tooth was not such a crazy idea as it appears. One of Dr Pickard's secrets was that in his heart he was a frustrated dentist. Not that he would have forsaken medicine, its just that he kept a full set of dental instruments in his surgery and it wouldn't take much encouragement for him to show them to you. There was nobody in town brave enough to let Dr Pic remove one of their teeth, except one man and that was my Father. My Father, Jim Martin, was in the way of being a minor Barlick eccentric in his own right. His main claim to fame was that he organised a variety show on behalf of the local road safety committee (used to meet in the Town hall but after five minutes usually adjourned to Green Street or The Cross Keys) at the Palace Theatre where the starring attraction was a boxing match between local bruiser Frank Bell, and Frankie Pinnock who stood about 5 foot two in his stocking feet. Hilarious! Late one night my Dad was suffering from toothache so he went round to see Dr Pic, who agreed to extract the tooth but warned him he couldn't give him an anaesthetic. My Dad foolishly agreed. It was only after the extraction was complete that Dr Pickard discovered he had extracted the wrong molar. Somehow he had pulled the tooth next to the rotten one. He offered to correct his mistake, but my Dad changed his mind. My Dad's description of the pain he suffered was heart rending but the source of uncontrollable hilarity among his unsympathetic children. My Dad went to the grave with that rotten tooth, but it never ached again. I think Dr Pic actually scared the pain away. Quite a doctor! [John Martin]
Dr Pic's quintet for string and snoring doctor My Canadian wife of 37 year has her own stories of Dr Pic. After listening to all my stories, he had become a folk hero for her and when she finally met him he more than lived up to her expectations. My wife was invited to attend a concert of chamber music to be held at Salmesbury Hall with my Mother, Mrs Pickard , Dr Pickard and members of the Music Society. My Dad and I were also invited however much we both love chamber music we have both been to concerts with Dr Pickard before. I can see it now. Dr Pic would sit on the front row to allow him to stretch his long legs out, crossed at the ankles, hands deep in pockets, bearded chin settled into his chest and he would begin to snooze. I can hear it now, a Mozart quartet for strings transformed into a Mozart quintet for strings and snoring doctor. "And that's exactly what happened," my wife told me, "but that wasn't all!" While the music society was congregating on Wild's "miles of smiles" luxury charabang, Dr Pickard had discovered the gift shop in the foyer. That it was locked up for the night didn't make any difference. He persuaded the manager to open up so he could buy a jar of honey he had spotted on the top shelf at the back of the store. After much commotion Dr Pic had bought the honey and was back on the bus. The music society members had not quite got to the point of singing, "Eternal Father, strong to save... Get Dr Pickard on the bus!" but they were moving in that direction. It was at this point Mrs Pickard said the wrong thing! She said. "I don't know why you bought that. You can get the same brand at half the price in the co-op." It only took another half hour for the gift shop to be re-opened, the honey replaced and for Dr Pic to get his money back and be was back on the bus. When my wife got home I listened dutifully to her story and never said once I told you so. However, I was always amazed at what Dr Pic could get away with. I have seen him park his car outside 14 Wellhouse Road in the centre of the road and nobody would ever challenge him. It was partly because of the doctor mystique, much stronger when I was a kid, but it was also a very effective way of controlling situations and distracting people. His manipulations did not go down well with everyone, but very few would stand up to him. "Pigeon milk" once got the better of him over some new tires, however, there was only one person who would really stand up to him, but that's another story. What I did learn from Dr Pic was flexibility of thinking particularly of the absurd or impossible. The possibilities are endless. Thing are not always as they seem. Be always open to something different. I never picked up this stuff at the Grammar school. John Martin
Thanks for pointing out that I need to put things in context, addresses,
locations and dates etc. I will correct this at the first opportunity.
Earlier today, Saturday I called Christine Pickard, Dr Pickard's second daughter. She lives in Hastings and was quite interested to hear that a website was dedicated to her Father and that someone was contemplating a biography. If anyone wanted to talk about her Dad, she would take their call.
She said that Sylvia, my sister in law in Timmin, Ont., Canada (Mrs James
Martin) and the eldest child of Dr Pickard probably had most photographs and most accurate information about her Dad. So if anyone wants accurate info on Dr Pickard then they will have to get in touch with Sylvia.
I just figured out that the Martins and the Pickards have been friends for 67
years since we came to Barlick in 1939. Dr Pickard came to Barlick in the
1920's sometime and they moved out of Crossways to Springfield (just beyond
Calf Hall lane across from Weets hill in 1961.
I wonder has anyone done any local history project on Randy Whip, Barlick's
poacher during the '20s to '40s.? I knew him when I was a kid and he regaled
me with all sorts of stories about nicking pheasants up Occupation Road, and
poaching salmon from the Ribble. He actually taught me to tickle trout. I met
his daughter many years ago and she had his journals and papers. I wouldn't be surprised if the papers are not still around.
John Martin
SCG/24 October 2006
Here’s something I wrote about JW last year.... (April 2004)
I first met John Pickard while I was running the engine at Bancroft. I knew about Dr Pickard of course but he wasn’t my doctor and so our paths never crossed until one day he walked in the engine house and asked me if he could look at the engine. We walked round and I answered his questions and then I brewed up for him and he sat in my armchair in the corner and started talking.
Now they tell me I can talk but boy, did I ever meet my match! I triggered him off and sat back listening to pure gold. I made my mind up right away that he was a candidate for the club. That first visit was the start of a strange and disjointed friendship that, as far as he was concerned, was dictated entirely by his needs. I never initiated a meeting, he just turned up, either at the engine house or at Hey Farm. This was in the late 1970s, he was retired and apart from when he wanted his vehicle servicing, I got the feeling he was using the engine house and the Hey as a bolt-hole.
John Wilfred never came across to me as a warm personality, not surprising because I never got really close to him, however, he was precise, always polite, had a wide range of interests and was always willing to expose his own ignorance and ask for information. All qualities that I admire. He was also wide open if you asked him a question, he would give you an honest answer. But he was totally self-centred, I think this is why he was so forgetful, it wasn’t bad memory, he had a good memory, it was just that what he wanted at the time took precedence and everything else went out of the window!
I suppose the first thing to do is get some of the stories out of the way. I reckon that one of the ways you can assess a doctor is by the stories that circulate round them. John wasn’t unique, there are plenty of tales about Arthur Morrison, John Love, Dr Jagoe……. But those are for another time.
The stories I heard from other people included:
When on his rounds, John used to set off in his car and take short cuts through terraced houses into the next street. He even did this when he was on his little motor bike. One woman told me he wheeled it through her house one day. His problem came at the end of his rounds, he often forgot which street he had started in and had to ring the police to ask them to look for his car.
There was a complaint one day about him and his wife sunbathing naked in their garden. It turned out that the only way they could be seen was for the woman who made the complaint to go into the attic, stand on a stool and look through the skylight.
One day in the 1960s when Asian Flu’ was rampaging round the district he went into his surgery waiting room which was bitterly cold, handed a hot water bottle to the first person in the queue and told them to warm their hands and then pass it on. After a while he came out and announced that he had no doubt that they were all there because they had the flu’. He said that he had it as well. He was going to go home, take two aspirins and go to bed and he recommended that the rest of them did the same. With that he left.
My favourite story about him is when he was called out one night to a baby on Coates Estate that wouldn’t stop crying. He went down and examined the infant and then he straightened up, turned to the woman and put his hand down her blouse to feel her breast. “It’s quite obvious why the child is crying Madam. It’s hungry and you have no milk!” The woman said “It’d be a bloody miracle if I had, I’m its aunty and I’m only baby-sitting!”
I did ask him about these stories and he just smiled, but he allowed that there might be more truth in the last one than some of the others.
I noticed that when John came in the engine house he always took my pulse and his own as well. I just put it down to force of habit and never questioned him about it beyond asking him whether I was still alive. One day he launched into an explanation. He’d noticed that when he sat in the engine house something had a calming influence on him. He came to the conclusion that there was a correlation between the rhythm of the engine and our heartbeats. He noticed that mine was always exactly the same as the engine, 69 beats a minute and that his own, which normally ran at about 73 a minute settled down to the same speed after about ten minutes with me. His theory was that it was like being a baby in the womb and that the mother’s heart beat (the engine) had a controlling effect on ours. I like that one and reckon that there was more than a bit of sense in it. If music can affect us, why not a smoothly running engine?
He was very interested in the engine and asked lots of questions. One of the things that fascinated him was the sixth sense I had developed whereby I often detected possible problems before they happened. He had seen me suddenly break off a conversation and go and have a look at a lubricator or adjust the governor. We came to the conclusion that I was so used to listening to the engine that the slightest change in note triggered me off. He brought his old stethoscope in one day and we had a great time listening to the valves and the piston rings clicking in the bore. He gave it to me and I used it a lot. It hangs in the front room still, a reminder of John Wilfred.
I was in my workshop at home one day and he came in for a chat. As we stood there he raised one leg, put it on the workbench and stood there like a stork on the other leg. I didn’t comment until after a couple of minutes he changed legs so I asked him what he was doing. He said that he was giving his heart a rest. If he was standing normally on two legs his heart had to pump blood up from both feet. If he put one leg up on the bench it relieved the work a bit as the blood supply to that leg hadn’t to be pumped against gravity! Being an engineer and used to pumps I saw the sense in this so if anyone had come in they would have found two blokes having a conversation but only standing on one leg! This was the sort of common sense approach I like and ever since then I put my feet up if I have the chance when I’m in my favourite rocking chair.
Another little quirk was how he dealt with the sugar in his tea. I noticed that he always insisted on putting his own in and was very precise in his measurement. Once the sugar was in the tea he stirred it for what seemed like a couple of minutes before he drank it. Being a nosy bugger I asked him why he did it. He told me that he believed that sugar was bad for you so the less you had the better. He had noticed that if you put one teaspoonful in a half pint mug and stirred it for a lot longer than normal it tasted as though there was twice as much sugar in. I don’t like sugar in tea or coffee so I never tried this one out but knowing John I bet there was something in it.
One of his favourite subjects was alternative medicine. He was still going to courses on homeopathy even though he was retired. He reckoned that herbs and natural remedies still had a place in treating ailments. He recognised the value of modern drugs but didn’t discount the old remedies. I asked him whether it was true that whisky in moderation could lower blood pressure and he said that in the days when he started practicing it was about the only weapon they had if people had high blood pressure.
He warned me against salt and encouraged me to drink lots of water. He told me that a good habit to get into was that when you felt you wanted to pass water you should always drink a glassful before going. He said that way nature was reminding you to drink. I know from my own experience that this is very valuable advice. I have had a bad back for 45 years and if I slack off with the water intake I will have much more pain. It stands to reason when you think about it, you are encouraging your body to flush out poisons and keeping your blood at the right consistency. John said that when you felt thirsty your body was making up the loss by extracting water from your blood and this thickened it and raised your blood pressure.
One thing that always struck me as a lad was that if you went in a public toilet there was a big poster on the wall saying ‘BEWARE OF VD!’ I asked him about this and he said that during WW2 he helped with the Venereal Disease Clinic at Burnley. He told me terrible stories about what we now call Sexually Transmitted Diseases and made my hair curl! (Look in the LTP 78/AC/04 for Ernie Roberts on Syphilis) I asked him whether it was true you could catch VD off a lavatory seat and he said that of course you could, but it was very unlikely. He said that if contaminated blood was present on any surface and a small wound on your skin touched it the infection could pass. He said he always put his hand in his jacket pocket before touching a door handle in a toilet. He also told me that many surgeons got infections like syphilis in the old days because of bad or non-existent protection for their hands.
I noticed one day in summer that he had a lot of string round his neck. Thinking this was some obscure cure for something I asked him about it and it turned out that he had all his keys strung round his neck because if he didn’t he lost them. I used to service his little Ford Escort camper van and he always had to fish the key out of his shirt for me.
We got talking one day about pain and he said that what always distressed him was infants teething. His problem was that he knew there was an instant cure, you simply cut the skin above the tooth with a scalpel and relieved the pressure. He did this for all his children but couldn’t do it for his patients as it was frowned on by the profession because of the risk of infection. I think this illustrates exactly how John’s mind worked. If there was a problem you looked for the cause. Once you had identified the cause the next question was ‘what can I do about it’. Answer, relieve the pressure on the gum.
Mind you, he wasn’t always as well focussed. He was late one day coming to the Hey with his van and when I asked him why he said it was because he’d run his wife over! It turned out that she was directing him out of the garage and he reversed into her and broke her leg. It was the only time I ever saw him upset.
My biggest regret was that I never did a full series of structured interviews with him. He was a gold-mine of information about Barlick and disease. He had practiced before the revolution that came with antibiotics and even then he told me one day that too many were being prescribed. He said that the germs always won and that one day we would find that they were losing their effect. How right he was!
The one thing that stands out about John Wilfred Pickard is that he was a bloody good general practitioner who really cared about his patients. The other thing is that, due to his manner, you either loved him or hated him! There were many more in the first camp than the second and even though he was never my doctor I have to say I am with them. I can still see him in the deckchair on the lawn at the Hey with his panama hat over his eyes, reading the paper while I changed his oil or did some small repair for him. It was a joy talking to him, always a new subject of enquiry. The world is short of men like that and I still miss him.
SCG/06 April 2004
I got mail today from Ken Wilson and am delighted that he is still batting. He’s writing a book on Barlick and is looking for information on John Wilfred. I’ve recommended that he use the search engine as there is quite a bit in the archive but if any of you have any reminiscences of him please post them here.
I’ve looked in the index and have remarkably little. Here it is:
There is a reference to JW in ‘A Way of Life Gone By’ page 77. He died in 1986 in his eighties. He visited me regularly at the Hey and in the engine house.
I have a reference from the private memoirs of Francis Josephine Martin(?) dated 1988. (can’t remember how I got this....) “Married Alice Gautshi in the late 1920s. He met her whilst on holiday in Switzerland. Opened a surgery in Barlick in the late 1920s after being a ship’s surgeon.
I have quite a few pics of JW in the 50s, 60s and 70s.
Son Wilfred E H Pickard was Council member 1962 to 67. Chairman 1966/67.
I got mail from Heather Sheldrick’s mum this morning:
Do you agree, Stanley, that there are many co-incidences that happen during a lifetime?
One happened yesterday when I accidentally found my list of Dr Pickard stories. I had promised to send them to you long ago and it happened by coincidence just after I had met you on the square and then at H and E’s house. Here goes!
Dr Pickard was visiting Jim Scaife on a very cold day. He laid out his Billycock hat, scarf and gloves in front of the house fire, proceeded upstairs to see his patient, came down and laid in front of the fire to write out the prescription.
In Park Avenue Mrs Hall was cleaning upstairs. The doctor called out “Can I leave my bike here? When Mrs Hall came downstairs the motor-scooter was in the kitchen.
In Lower North Avenue-Lower West Avenue, he asked, “Can I come through your house to save time?” In he came - with his motor scooter.
Heather’s dad, Harry, saw him walking down Park Road with his head through a ladder, wearing a bowler hat and wearing shorts.
While visiting in Wellhouse Rd he left his car in the middle of the road. Someone told him about it. The next day he parked it on the pavement up to the garden wall. Everyone had to walk round it.
At 2.30 AM whilst on a call, he knocked-up ‘Pigeon Milk’-Harry Broughton, to ask if the tyres that he had ordered, had come. When they DID come H.B. rung the doctor at 2.30 AM to tell him.
He shuffled into a Glee Union practice late as usual, saying “Rather stuffy”, opened all the windows then went home.
He had prescribed Kaolin Poultices for a patient, who recovered. When the patient went to see the doctor. Dr P asked him if he had any left?
Visiting a house where he answered a call and saw a women holding a baby, he plunged his hand down the lady’s bosom. “No wonder that you can’t feed it, there’s nothing there.” “But doctor, I’M the baby’s auntie” was the response.
Saving fuel, Dr P gave a hot-water bottle for waiting patients to pass round the waiting room.
TEMPORARY SURGERY. He forgot his key one day and treated patients whilst sat on the garden wall, he also got a hot water bottle from a neighbour.
At a grocery shop he asked, “How fresh are your eggs.?” “Quite fresh” was the reply. “I will have one” said Dr Pickard. The shopkeeper said “How do I reckon that up?” “Well then I will have two and have you got a pin?” said the doctor. The shopkeeper found a pin and the doctor pricked the eggs and sucked out the contents saying - “I haven’t had my lunch today.”
He recommends skipping at a public meeting as the hall is cold.
What a dear sensible man this loveable character was. He encouraged me with my piano-playing and invited me to their house to play and encourage his eldest daughter Christine with her piano playing. A true member of the community and his loss was deeply felt.
From Herb on OGFB.
My mother visited Dr. Pickard on one occasion, he asked why she seemed so depressed and she told him all about her problems with her mother in law (Paternal grandmother) who was on an extended visit from London. The next time she saw Dr, Pickard he commented that she seemed much more relaxed, mother said that Mother in law had gone back to London rather suddenly and that all was well. Dr. Pickard smiled and said “ oh I’m not surprised, I saw her and suggested a 2 week stay for tests at a mental health facility”. Grandmother was always faking some kind of illness for attention.. he solved that.
I remember Dr. Pickard freaking out at another Doctor (Rankin?) who sent me off to Burnley for appendix surgery, turned out it was hernia, still have my appendix.
In 1950 scarlet fever seemed to be a big problem, Dr. Pickard said go home soak in a hot bath, if you come out red go to hospital, two of us travelled in the same ambulance to the scarlet fever hospital, then they put us in separate isolation rooms. Spent 13 weeks there before got clear test results. HERB
From Heather Sheldrick
Here’s another story - whether it’s true or not I don’t know. Dr Pickard had ordered a brand new car from one of the local garages. In those days, new vehicles were smothered in grease to stop them rusting, and this was cleaned off before delivery to the owner. He ordered the garage to leave the grease on and apparently drove it around for well over 6 months. The car gradually accumulated a thick layer of dust, twigs and leaves before the grease finally wore off. His logic was that he would get an extra 6 months’ of rust-free car out of it. Sounds fair enough to me.
From Richard Broughton
Doctor Pickard gave me a lift from Skipton to Barlick one day, I would have been at school - about 14 - so around ‘68. He seemed to be avoiding using the accelerator and was using the manual choke to maintain our speed. he explained he had had some pain in his right calf so was resting it. But a very generous man, although I never felt to be quite on the right wavelength with him.
I was reading my own 2004 piece about JW and it struck me how valuable it is to just sit down and write something like this up. I commend it to you all. I shall start a separate topic and try to trigger you off. .......... reading it again triggered my own thoughts and I can see him in my minds eye as clear as day. I also remember the wide range of conversations we used to have. He was insatiable for knowledge, he was always asking questions about the engine and boiler, I reckon in a different life he would have made a good engineer because what people saw as eccentricity was actually the result of a complete focus on the matter in hand. Heather reminds us of the protective coating on his new car, I knew that but had forgotten it. That is a good example of how his mind worked and peculiar though it might have seemed, he was on the right lines. One thing that surprised me was that even after he retired he still occasionally went to lectures and short courses on the latest medical advances. He used to sit in the garden at Hey Farm reading when I was servicing his little Ford Escort camper van and often asked me for a book on steam engines or engineering matters. Perhaps the bottom line about him is that he had en enquiring mind, he always admitted ignorance and then asked questions. Not a bad course for all of us to follow.
JW in the garden at Hey Farm in 1976 waiting for his motor to be serviced. He’s reading one of my books on engineering and stroking Fly, my old cattle dog. A man at ease......
From Bob King
My mother was one of the district nurses in Barlick during the war, she came out of retirement because most of the young district nurses had gone into the forces. She either walked to a patient or rode an old bike. One day she was somewhere up Brogden Lane attending to a farmer’s wife who was in a coma. Dr Pickard turned up and the woman woke as he was bent over peering at her - She exclaimed - “JESUS CHRIST” - and Dr Pickard replied “No madam, Dr Pickard, but a true likeness.......”!!!
He also told my mother that he did not like babies to wear nappies, he preferred them to lay on a bed of peat moss at night and do their business naturally. (Almost the beginning of deep litter for poultry???)
From Catgate on OGFB
For a number of years I was with the same company as his son. His son, Wilf, another colleague, Ronnie, and I, often used to visit “The Dorothy Rose” for lunch, and often we had the “pleasure” of the good doctor and his wife for company. One of the normal routines was for Mrs. Pickard to go round the table and shovel the residue left on everyone’s plates into her capacious handbag (presumably polybag lined). One day Ronnie happened to meet the good doctor whilst in town. Ronnie greeted him with the usual “Hello, how are you?”, to which JW said, “Don’t I know you?” Ronnie said “Of course you do, we lunch together at Dorothy Rose a couple of times a week,” “Oh, yes,” said JW , “Ronnie, isn’t it.. Well I think you may be able to help me.” It turned out that he wanted Ronnie to give his car a push to start it. Which he did. The following day Wilf was quizzed about the state of his father’s car. “ Oh, there’s nothing wrong with it. He just likes to save the battery!!”
You wonder where all the eccentrics are gone? Well, I do believe we are still here. I bet I could go back to Barlick and still find characters in Green Street Working men's club. My Father always told my Mother that he was going to "the silver slipper club, but he may have been ironic. In many ways Dr Pic was a role model for me. A couple of years after my family moved to Barlick we moved into I Park Avenue which was next door to Crossways, Dr Pic's home and surgery. It wasn't long before we had a string telegraph going between the two houses, and both families were good friends. One of my brothers married Dr PIc's eldest daughter, Sylvia. Each one of us got to know Dr Pic in our own way. I always remember my Mum's last words before I left for Gisburn Road school, "and don't get a ride home from Dr Pic!" I was always amazed when Dr Pic might happen to see me. He would offer me a lift. I would always hop in with alacrity and we would go home via East Marton and Foulridge where he always had one more call. He appreciated the company and having some one to keep an eye on his car. In any case his car was always having battery trouble so it was handy to have some one to push. But I think the real reason for his friendship was that I was an awkward kid and often got into trouble and to some extent he felt sorry for me and took me under his wing. I have a couple of good reasons to be thankful to Dr PIc. He is the reason why I am the only male kid in our family still with a shock of unruly hair. ( My wife says my hair looks like I get it cut at the Ludwig Van Beethoven school of hairdressing) When I was about eight years of age, Dr PIc told me if i deliberately moved my scalp every day it would increase the circulation and I would never go bald. The result is by daily practice my scalp is so loose i can practically pull it over my nose and I never went bald. The main reason i have to be thankful to Dr PIc is that he saved my life. Dr PIc was a brilliant diagnostician but his methodology was so long winded, it was total agony being in his waiting room. You could usually guarantee twenty minutes in the consulting room and an hour and a half in the waiting room. Unlike Dr Robertson, 15-20 minutes in the waiting room, 3 minutes in the consulting room. I had developed a swollen gland in a compromising place. He sent me to a specialist to confirm his diagnosis. The specialist said he was wrong, so he sent me to a whole series of specialist until one said he was right. They operated and Dr PIc was proved right. As a result several years later I got my medical exemption so I didn't have to go to fight in Korea. Dr Pic also introduced me to Quakerism. He had attended a Quaker private school called Bootham in York and he sent his son Wilfred to school there. Occasionally he and i would attend the Quaker meeting house in Skipton. My interest in Quakerism had a profound effect on my later life, determining my future career and my move to North America. My total joy in living on the west coast, particularly in Vancouver in such a laid back environment may have it roots in my early interest in pharmaceuticals. At age eighteen I had put on a little excess weight and I was feeling quite depressed and Dr Pic gave me e prescription for dex-amphetamine sulphate or Dexedrine. It was a hotted up version of the original amphetamine given to fighter pilots. (Its comforting to know that dexedrine is illegal in the United States and only high performance fighter pilots with their deadly load of cruise missiles are allowed to fly their planes hopped out of their minds on Amphetamines.) When I saw him a second time and told him how wonderful the pills were. He said, I know I'm on them too and wrote me a prescription for 100 tabs. To save time he would carbon copy a couple of extras so that I wouldn't have to come back too soon. Being a little devious I added an extra c to each prescription which meant I got 600 tabs of dexadrine on the National health scheme. After about 2 year I had to quit them. They began making me feel paranoid. The last time I saw him he was propped up in bed wearing his favourite balaclava and finger-less gloves. Alice may have been wandering round in the red long-johns she used go to her fitness group. They were just part of the eccentricity of Barlick which gave me such a wonderful childhood. John Martin [posted on OGFB 27 October 2006]
Doctor Pickard, was my doctor when I first came to Barlick, my only run in with him was after I had a tattoo put on my arm at Blackpool, a few days later it went septic, and my arm was a real mess, I had to go and see the doc, sure enough he took one look at my arm, and asked me when I had the tattoo done, I told him it was just last week-end, he gave me a look of pure disdain, told me that he had another needle that would sort it out, and I swear he came at me with the biggest hypodermic syringe I have ever seen, told me to drop my pants and bend over his desk, and took great pleasure, in rewarding me for my stupidity, as he told me afterwards, he also prescribe Kaolin poultice which drew the poison in no time.....yes he did not suffer fools gladly
Gus
Dr Pic - The Dentist! When I was a kid the local dentist was called Dr Atkinson and he had a surgery on Wellhouse Road. It was the most peaceful waiting room in town with its large tank of tropical fish which you could watch in all their startling glory going round and round and round in time with your throbbing toothache. The real horror began in the dentist's chair. Don't get me wrong. Dr Atkinson was a good dentist, but he had Parkinson's disease and as he approached you, pliers in hand, he would say, "this is not going to hurt you..." and you would be transfixed by the one inch quiver of his hand as it approached. So getting Dr Pic to remove a tooth was not such a crazy idea as it appears. One of Dr Pickard's secrets was that in his heart he was a frustrated dentist. Not that he would have forsaken medicine, its just that he kept a full set of dental instruments in his surgery and it wouldn't take much encouragement for him to show them to you. There was nobody in town brave enough to let Dr Pic remove one of their teeth, except one man and that was my Father. My Father, Jim Martin, was in the way of being a minor Barlick eccentric in his own right. His main claim to fame was that he organised a variety show on behalf of the local road safety committee (used to meet in the Town hall but after five minutes usually adjourned to Green Street or The Cross Keys) at the Palace Theatre where the starring attraction was a boxing match between local bruiser Frank Bell, and Frankie Pinnock who stood about 5 foot two in his stocking feet. Hilarious! Late one night my Dad was suffering from toothache so he went round to see Dr Pic, who agreed to extract the tooth but warned him he couldn't give him an anaesthetic. My Dad foolishly agreed. It was only after the extraction was complete that Dr Pickard discovered he had extracted the wrong molar. Somehow he had pulled the tooth next to the rotten one. He offered to correct his mistake, but my Dad changed his mind. My Dad's description of the pain he suffered was heart rending but the source of uncontrollable hilarity among his unsympathetic children. My Dad went to the grave with that rotten tooth, but it never ached again. I think Dr Pic actually scared the pain away. Quite a doctor! [John Martin]
Dr Pic's quintet for string and snoring doctor My Canadian wife of 37 year has her own stories of Dr Pic. After listening to all my stories, he had become a folk hero for her and when she finally met him he more than lived up to her expectations. My wife was invited to attend a concert of chamber music to be held at Salmesbury Hall with my Mother, Mrs Pickard , Dr Pickard and members of the Music Society. My Dad and I were also invited however much we both love chamber music we have both been to concerts with Dr Pickard before. I can see it now. Dr Pic would sit on the front row to allow him to stretch his long legs out, crossed at the ankles, hands deep in pockets, bearded chin settled into his chest and he would begin to snooze. I can hear it now, a Mozart quartet for strings transformed into a Mozart quintet for strings and snoring doctor. "And that's exactly what happened," my wife told me, "but that wasn't all!" While the music society was congregating on Wild's "miles of smiles" luxury charabang, Dr Pickard had discovered the gift shop in the foyer. That it was locked up for the night didn't make any difference. He persuaded the manager to open up so he could buy a jar of honey he had spotted on the top shelf at the back of the store. After much commotion Dr Pic had bought the honey and was back on the bus. The music society members had not quite got to the point of singing, "Eternal Father, strong to save... Get Dr Pickard on the bus!" but they were moving in that direction. It was at this point Mrs Pickard said the wrong thing! She said. "I don't know why you bought that. You can get the same brand at half the price in the co-op." It only took another half hour for the gift shop to be re-opened, the honey replaced and for Dr Pic to get his money back and be was back on the bus. When my wife got home I listened dutifully to her story and never said once I told you so. However, I was always amazed at what Dr Pic could get away with. I have seen him park his car outside 14 Wellhouse Road in the centre of the road and nobody would ever challenge him. It was partly because of the doctor mystique, much stronger when I was a kid, but it was also a very effective way of controlling situations and distracting people. His manipulations did not go down well with everyone, but very few would stand up to him. "Pigeon milk" once got the better of him over some new tires, however, there was only one person who would really stand up to him, but that's another story. What I did learn from Dr Pic was flexibility of thinking particularly of the absurd or impossible. The possibilities are endless. Thing are not always as they seem. Be always open to something different. I never picked up this stuff at the Grammar school. John Martin
Thanks for pointing out that I need to put things in context, addresses,
locations and dates etc. I will correct this at the first opportunity.
Earlier today, Saturday I called Christine Pickard, Dr Pickard's second daughter. She lives in Hastings and was quite interested to hear that a website was dedicated to her Father and that someone was contemplating a biography. If anyone wanted to talk about her Dad, she would take their call.
She said that Sylvia, my sister in law in Timmin, Ont., Canada (Mrs James
Martin) and the eldest child of Dr Pickard probably had most photographs and most accurate information about her Dad. So if anyone wants accurate info on Dr Pickard then they will have to get in touch with Sylvia.
I just figured out that the Martins and the Pickards have been friends for 67
years since we came to Barlick in 1939. Dr Pickard came to Barlick in the
1920's sometime and they moved out of Crossways to Springfield (just beyond
Calf Hall lane across from Weets hill in 1961.
I wonder has anyone done any local history project on Randy Whip, Barlick's
poacher during the '20s to '40s.? I knew him when I was a kid and he regaled
me with all sorts of stories about nicking pheasants up Occupation Road, and
poaching salmon from the Ribble. He actually taught me to tickle trout. I met
his daughter many years ago and she had his journals and papers. I wouldn't be surprised if the papers are not still around.
John Martin
SCG/24 October 2006
