My Birth Mother's said her GP in Moseley was Dr Sanderland, a very empathetic man who came to see my Birth father who had PWT and because he refused to go to the surgery about his drinking and violence and anger management, and got a punch in the face for his trouble. The doctor was carpeted. No action was taken I wonder would it be now? I can only get a telephone consultation. But...the huge house their flat was in, the tenants were mostly professional people, including a young Dr Sanderson, two very similar names and a nurse, Mary Reilly. Next door but one was Dr Frank Alexander also a young GP and his wife Nancy.
I remember our own surgery not in Brum though, as a child, with real battle axe receptionists, you got a grunt if you were lucky, glaring over a half door, even Nan would hope not to get the matriarch with spectacles on a chain. Patients queued out in to the front garden which had a giant monkey puzzle tree in it, and then in to the street sometimes. In the office reception there was a cork board full of notes pinned on it, there was a vertical tiered file on the wall, to get your prescriptions from. Is my prescription ready? Have you looked! Was barked back, the spectacles chains dancing. The dragon glared over them at Nan and down at me, being very small. The waiting room was a living room, with leaded windows and a bay window, dingy, because of the huge tree, with an oilcloth floor, and rows of kitchen chairs and around the bare walls, and you had to ask who was waiting for who and am I after you,. Nan used to ask, who do I follow for Dr Bee? I found this funny and imagined a giant bee with clothes. I liked the buzzer and the red light came on. I never worked out how we got to see the correct GP.