In early 1959, as the All Fool's Day of my entry into psychiatry approached, I phoned the Dean's secretary to ask what my first assignment would be. ‘With Dr Post.’ We had all heard of Lewis, Shepherd, Leigh and Stafford-Clark, but I had never heard of Dr Post. Within days of arrival I was told — as I later learned at first-hand — that he was probably the best clinical teacher in the joint hospital. Of many memories, space restricts me to two.

In those first 6 months I had a young woman patient to whom today the ridiculous term ‘borderline personality disorder’ would be applied. She slashed her wrists; she ran out and took over-the-counter drug overdoses; and she got into physical fights with the charge nurse. I lost sleep wondering whether she would end up dead. On Friday's round Felix said to me: ‘On the basis of my experience I do not think she will commit suicide, but if she does, I will go to the Coroner's Court — not you.’ I have tried to follow that model.

By an error the Dean's list showed me leaving the Gresham Unit after only 3 months. I phoned the secretary, who confirmed it was an error and assigned the other registrar elsewhere. He was so upset that, although he was a fellow Irishman, he would hardly speak to me for months.