Experiences of a Medical Representative in the 1950s

—25— Experiences of a Medical Representative in the 1950s

any J o B which involves interacting with people is certain to create memorable experiences and mine was no different. I often wish I had maintained a diary, but I didn’t so have to rely on memory to recall a few of the more memorable experiences. One must remember that in the ’50s, there were not many multiple surgeries. GPs would work from home and, as well as surgeries and visits, they would often be called out during the night. Many of the country doctors had patients who were in the local cottage hospital. I thought it might be interesting to include some of my experiences around that time.

Pitsea

When I was young, it was common knowledge that Pitsea was a rather poor, run-down area of Essex. Apparently, after the First World War, ex-soldiers could acquire land for a few pounds where they could build a home and run a small-holding. Often, these homes were little more than wooden huts and the occupants could only just scrape a living. The whole set-up was rather like a shanty town with muddy tracks linking the properties and eventually, the main road.

On my first visit to one Pitsea GP, I was the last to be sitting in the waiting room when a horse put his head through the open window. This was a first for me! He appeared to be friendly and seemed to be looking to see how many patients were left. When I went in, I asked the doctor about the horse only to be told that what I had surmised was correct! Because of the thick mud and scrub, a car was useless so the doctor did his calls on horseback and the horse usually checked how many patients were left in the surgery before he could start his rounds! That horse obviously needed to plan his day!

Rayleigh

Rayleigh was a small market town, east of Southend. When I called on the local pharmacy, I was told that they dispensed vast quantities of Virvina – a tonic which had a sherry-type base. When I went to call on the doctor, I found a large somewhat run-down house with a dull, unpolished brass plate and a dull waiting room to match. The whole place seemed neglected. I was first and a few other patients came in to sit in this dim and depressing room. The surgery was due to start at 9am. At 9.15am there was no sign of the doctor, so I asked one of the elderly patients what time he started. He looked at me strangely and said it could be any time up to 10am. I decided to wait.

Around 9.30am, we heard sounds coming from the surgery next door and the other patients started to shuffle, hopefully. The surgery door opened a fraction and a voice said, “Come in” so in I went to find an elderly, somewhat bleary-eyed doctor in a room piled up with paper and rubbish. His roll-top desk was the same and there was a small light above it with very little daylight entering the room.

The interview was somewhat restrained until I mentioned Virvina when he suddenly sprang to life and asked if I had any with me. I had some 50ml (2oz) bottles. He asked for six which I happened to have with me. When I gave them to him, he opened one and drank the entire contents! Sadly, this doctor was an alcoholic which I confirmed later.

Great Bardfield and the Salings

I suppose some of my favourite days were spent in North Essex. I had details of one 9am surgery in Great Saling – a very pretty village. Leaving home early, I arrived just after 8.30am to find my destination was a

The doctor opened the door eating toast! Apparently, his patients never arrived during breakfast! He was very pleasant and invited me to wait in his elegant, beamed lounge and I was offered coffee. He joined me later and we discussed various products before I left. There were still no patients and I had the feeling that his home address was not normally used as a surgery. He had surgeries in various villages on different days of the week, in village halls and the front rooms of cottages where the locals would gather for a chat. What a pleasant life this doctor enjoyed. Needless to say, I never called at his home again but saw him in one of his village surgeries!

Petrol Rationing

In 1956 during the Suez Crisis, petrol rationing was introduced. This was potentially disastrous as far as I was concerned, particularly when I was working more than 10 miles from home. Some companies supplied their representatives with Lambrettas, but these were of little use when it rained! A wet, bedraggled, representative could not carry out a good presentation and he had little capacity for literature and samples.

At that time, petrol was about 10p per gallon (4 1/2 litres) and I used a local garage where I had an account. By some means, he was able to secure ‘extra petrol’ which did not need petrol coupons, so my local travelling was reasonably secure. The problem was when I was travelling greater distances from home and I had to resort to conservative driving to maintain minimum fuel consumption for my Hillman Minx. Although highly illegal, on one occasion I had been in Danbury, the highest point in Essex and I was returning to Chelmsford. From Danbury, I put the car into neutral and was able to coast all the way to Great Baddow on the edge of Chelmsford, thus saving quite a lot of petrol. Many of my competitors used this petrol rationing as an excuse to work less but I saw this as a great opportunity. With fewer competitors on the road making fewer calls, I was able to gain a great advantage and I believe I did.

I studied selling and tried to put into practice what I had learned. It has to be said that many salesmen only did the minimum necessary. If they have had a good day by, say, lunchtime, they finish. Equally, if they have had a good week or reached their target by Thursday, they take Friday off. I did not share those sentiments. I always worked on the basis that if I was having a good day, I would make an extra effort and turn it into a super day. Likewise, at the end of a day, I would always try to make one extra call – if you made 10 calls in a day, one extra call was a 10% increase and could be productive. This proved itself on one occasion.

Coggeshall

A good salesman is always prospecting. In other words, one must never become complacent and must always be looking out for new business opportunities. Even though I had Essex well covered, there was the odd place that had been off my standard path. Such a place was Coggeshall. My way through the county was the A12 linking Chelmsford with Colchester.

To get to Coggeshall meant a diversion on to the A120 towards Braintree but one afternoon I decided to get in that one extra call and look the place over. What a fascinating gem I had discovered. A small medieval town with its 13th Century church, Paycockes House (a beamed merchant’s house dating back to the 16th Century), the ancient Woolpack Inn etc. In all, there are about 90 monuments in this small town. I have made many visits since.

The pharmacy was in the centre and what an interesting character the pharmacist proved to be. He was not only very involved in local activities, but seemed to be quite a ‘wheeler and dealer’. Petrol was still rationed but, somehow, he had large drums of it in his yard! He was kind enough to let me have some for my car so I was grateful. Above all, he knew my company and I even got an order. My day was made.

Colchester

Colchester was a favourite place of mine along with the surrounding area. Colchester was the first Roman town in Britain and known as Camulodonum. One hotel where I used to stay in Lexden Road used to say that they could dig up Roman remains about 1-2 feet deep in their rear garden – and they did.

There were two good hotels in the town, The Red Lion and The Fleece. Both were Trust Houses Forte Hotels (THF) – a company that no longer exists. This company would tend to take historic hotels and maintain them, somewhat like a commercial National Trust.

The Red Lion had a Roman floor in the cellar and was a very old coaching inn with masses of oak beams and furniture to match. The old oak floors would creak as you walked on them and the windows had tiny leaded light panes. The long case clocks stood guard along the carpeted corridors and chimed the hours with great regularity. Magic. It was like arriving home, particularly on a winter’s night, to be greeted by the blazing log fires in the bar and lounge. I used to wonder how the passengers on the stage coaches felt when they were greeted by this scene. A great place but now changed. The last time I saw the Red Lion, it had become a fast food restaurant. How sad.

The Fleece, just round the corner, was old but not of the same style. It was comfortable but lacked the historic feel of the Red Lion. I had one memorable meal there. Having reached the dessert, I ordered fruit salad. Biting on a grape, I found it was a clove of garlic. Wow! Having called the waitress, I was suddenly surrounded by the Head Waiter, Head Chef, Duty Manager and various other members of staff. Everyone was so apologetic at this onslaught on my taste buds.

Not far from Colchester, on the Ipswich Road was Dedham, a beautiful village in the Vale of Dedham with beautiful and very expensive houses. It was here that Constable painted many of his famous works and was also the home of Sir Alfred Munnings, one of the greatest horse artists ever. To visit Dedham Church during their Annual Flower Festival was a fantastic experience. The whole church was full of wonderful arrangements and colour. The big houses sent flowers from their gardens (no doubt grown by their gardeners) and the ladies would create the displays.

There was, however, another place of interest. This was in the days when eating out was still quite novel. In Dedham, on the banks of the Stour, was a great restaurant named Le Talbooth. It was a small, beautiful, beamed house with a patio facing the river and swans gently gliding by. A perfect picture. The young chef/ restaurateur was a Gerald Milsom, later to become well known in the industry.

Having heard about this place, I decided one evening when staying in Colchester, to dine at Le Talbooth. It was a set menu at £3 – twice my allowance incidentally! I had never eaten in such an elegant place. The beamed restaurant, the table setting, the service and, above all, the food was outstanding. The only item on the menu that I can remember was stuffed vine leaves. I had never had them before and they were fantastic. It was a wonderful meal and I vowed to come again, but it was not be for some years. The only sad thing was that I had to dine alone. Maureen would have loved it and did, much later, when Le Talbooth was greatly enlarged.

Whilst in the area, another place I should mention was Mersea Island, south of Colchester. West Mersea was a very quiet place reached by crossing a causeway. On the mainland side of the crossing was a famous pub called the Peldon Rose. The pub was old and tiny with scrubbed tables inside and famous for the roses that surrounded the door, hence the name, Peldon Rose. Outside there was a pond, in the centre of which was a deep well.

This area was famous for smuggling, and the smugglers would land on Mersea Island bringing the contraband across the causeway and drop the barrels of brandy etc in the pond where they would sink to the bottom of the well. When the customs officers dredged the pond, their nets would pass over the well thus concealing the contents. Barrels would be rolled to the local parson’s house for storage and onward transmission. He always maintained a good cellar! This whole area is well worth exploring and was captured by the Rev S Baring-Gould in his famous romantic story of the salt marshes entitled, Mehalah. He is also the writer of the famous hymn, Onward Christian Soldiers.

My reason for spending time on Mersea, apart for its beauty some 40 years ago, was that it had a gastronomic interest. The Romans introduced oysters to the area and Colchester Natives are, perhaps, the most famous of British oysters. They come from the oyster beds of West Mersea so that is where I headed. Yes, I had a call on Mersea Island so justified the visit! In those days, I could go to the oyster beds and buy a dozen Colchester Natives that had been through the purifying tank for half a crown equal to 12 1/2 p.

The fisherman would pack the oysters to keep them moist and put them in a bag made out of sacking which was closed by sewing the opening. The oysters would arrive home perfect. You can probably appreciate why I enjoyed my job and my territory!

Hotels

I was fortunate in having a territory that was accessible by road and required minimum staying away during the week. Hotels were very different from those experienced today. En suite rooms were virtually unknown. Some hotels had a communal bathroom/toilet where one needed to queue to shave. The better hotels had a washbasin in the bedroom which helped but a queue for the ‘loo’ was usually necessary. All this put pressure on those who wanted an early start, like me. Even then one became dependent on the speed on service for breakfast in the dining room.

Hotel rooms were often poorly lit and were furnished with old wooden beds, a small mat on linoleum floors and drab wallpaper. The paintwork was usually brown. Some, like the Red Lion, Colchester, had radiators which sometimes made the rooms unbearably hot, but that was not the general case. Many had small, lukewarm radiators and occasionally there was a one bar-electric fire which one had to feed with shillings (5p).

Although, during my career, I have stayed in many hotels in the UK and overseas, in Essex I only needed to stay away in northeast of the county. I have mentioned Colchester, but not the Clacton, Harwich/ Dovercourt areas.

Clacton-on-Sea

There was no problem out of season, but very difficult in the summer for both parking, seeing doctors and chemists and obtaining hotel accommodation.

There was one memorable hotel called the Napier Hotel. It was owned by an ex-commercial traveller (CT) who had worked for the well-known stationers, John Dickinson. This man fully supported the ‘knights of the road’, as commercial travellers were often called, and would never turn one away – he was even known to give up his own bed on occasions.

Apart from the rooms in this large, converted house in Clacton, he had a number of sheds in the back garden, each around 8ftx6ft and equipped with a bed and locker. The sheds were horizontally planked and each plank was painted a different colour – bright colours too! Stripes of yellow, blue, red, green. Can you picture the scene?

This was the overflow accommodation for when the hotel was full. I slept in these sheds sometimes when there was no alternative and I was quite grateful.

The breakfast scene was unbelievable. All these men (lady CTs were virtually unheard of) would go into a conservatory/dining room. The tables were packed together – small tables with chairs to match and a narrow gangway down the centre. He had made, a special trolley which fitted this gangway, just, and he would pass along distributing plates right and left to these men crammed into these minute eating spaces. But that is not all.

Even in his retirement years, he couldn’t stop selling – it was in his blood. He would stand at the head of the dining room before commencing to push his trolley and announce, “We have some wonderful cornflakes today, the shredded wheat is freshly opened and the porridge is perfect. I can recommend the sizzling bacon and fried eggs with fried tomatoes and toast. Tell me what you would like, etc”.

The trolley would commence its run and he would take the orders. The experience was unique and I felt that all the CTs appreciated his sincerity, and knew there was always a bed and a welcome with a cup of tea and a piece of cake on arrival. I hasten to add that the usual practice was to book hotels ahead and not to arrive on the doorstop.

Dovercourt

My furthermost point was Harwich/Dovercourt which had about a dozen doctors in the area and, if we had useful information for them, it was my job to make sure they received it. The problem was that there were too many doctors for one day’s calls plus, of course, the chemists and a small cottage hospital.

As I made this a Friday on my plan, I adopted the unheard of practice of Thursday evening calls on my way into the area from Colchester. The doctors did not seem to mind and were often less busy than in the mornings. It meant that by the time I reached my hotel around 7pm, I could have seen 4 doctors. Writing my daily reports etc made it a long day, particularly as I would have left my Colchester hotel around 8am.

Arriving at the Cliff Hotel (another THF hotel), I was tired and hungry. In the winter, it could be raining heavily or snowing with a strong, icy, gale force, easterly wind from Siberia, emphasised by the fact the hotel stood on the cliff facing the sea.

I remember that the spring on the front door was so strong as I struggled at the top of those steps trying to open it, whilst holding my grip and suitcase as well as fighting the weather. As soon as it opened, everything changed. I was hit by a torrent of hot air – this hotel was always over heated but in the winter, it was so welcome.

By that time, dinner was being served and, after checking in to my room and having a wash, I would make my way to the dining room. It had been a long day and I would always look forward to arriving at the Cliff with its warmth, welcome and good food. The long Thursday gave me a reasonable Friday as most of the remaining doctors were in multiple practices and the receptionists would fit me in.

As I could complete any other calls (including a direct order) by lunchtime, I was finished and could start my journey home, having sufficient time to make any extraneous or special calls on the way.

Harwich was an interesting place, old, historic and another smugglers haunt. The streets ran at right angles to the harbour and it is said that they were all connected by their lofts. The reason being that contraband could be off-loaded into the first house, which, if searched by the Customs, would be taken to the loft from where it could be moved from house to house, swiftly down the street.

I had one memorable experience. Staying at the Cliff Hotel on one occasion, I met a photographer who worked for Shell. He was there to photograph a new petroleum cracking plant which was to be landed the next morning from the Hook of Holland. This was a new piece of technical equipment about 40ft long and manufactured in the Netherlands.

The plant was due to be landed around 11am (after I had completed my calls) and he invited me to be present. An opportunity not to be missed! I was keen to see this famous man’s photographic equipment and perhaps pick up a few tips.

When I arrived, he was unpacking a few old wooden boxes out of which came the biggest collection of old photographic bits and pieces you could imagine. I could not believe it. I was expecting the latest in cameras and technical equipment. I asked him whether this was what he used for the Shell films and he affirmed that this was his usual kit.

Sensing what I was thinking, he added that Shell paid him to make quality films and that was where his skill lay, not in expensive equipment. It only emphasised what I had always believed – that it is the person behind the camera that counts, not just the value of the equipment.

Watching him work showed his knowledge, experience and creativity. The plant was on a long, low trailer and he ensured that everything was exactly as he wanted it before it slowly moved past his cameras. He was taking stills as well as cine. We parted good company and I was sorry that I never saw the results of this interesting experience.

Southend-on-Sea

I once stayed in a hotel that was like moving back in time – not from the hotel point of view but from the guests. I only stayed once in Southend as it was easy commuting distance. Likewise, I cannot remember the name of the hotel or even where it was, but it was not far from the beach.

What made it so different? It must have been one of the last traditional commercial traveller hotels. I had obtained the details from the CT journal, ‘On The Road’, having tried other hotels in the area without any success as it was summer and the place was packed with holidaymakers.

On arrival, I was shown to my room which was adequate for one night. I was told that dinner was at 6.30pm.

This was odd as hotels would invariably offer a selection of times when one could eat, but not this one. Having finished my daily reports, I went down to the bar where one or two other representatives were gathering. I had a beer and at 6.30pm precisely, the group started to make their way into the dining room. I followed and could not believe my eyes. There was a top table with two sprigs. The top table had chairs, but the sprigs had benches!

The tables were laid and some of the older guests went to the top table whereas the younger ones stood by the benches. No one sat down so I went to make a move and was promptly hauled back. Why were we standing, I asked? I was quietly told that we had to wait for the most senior CT who would act as President during the meal. Who was this individual who was about to control the proceedings? Apparently, a code operated when booking which decided on seniority for the evening.

Everyone spoke in hushed tones and after a couple of minutes, the door opened and in walked ‘the President’. As he made his way to his central place on the top table, there was some clapping from the assembled gathering. On reaching his seat, there was silence. Grace was said and we all sat down; the waitresses appeared and the meal got underway. Frankly, the atmosphere reminded me of school dinners. The headmaster arrived; we all sat on benches and then received food which was not dissimilar to school dinners in that it filled a gap without being a gastronomic experience.

I found my colleagues at the table came from a variety of companies and sold a wide range of products. Most of them had never had any training and had ‘graduated’ through the time honoured principle of waiting for a vacancy when one of the ‘travellers’ retired or died. Many were in textiles and had spent years in the warehouse (shades of my beginning at Copestake, Crampton). They had never heard of a medical representative and I was viewed with something between comic interest and suspicion.

When I mentioned that I felt all salesmen should be trained in selling, their suspicions were justified and I was told in no uncertain terms that I was young; I had no knowledge of business and no experience so would in all probability fail! That was their verdict. I didn’t stand a chance! Time would show that while they were still carrying their bags and samples, I was moving up the management ladder with a success story behind me!

Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience of virtually spending time in a bygone age and it made me more determined than ever to develop the art of selling through training. I have often wondered for how long that Dickensian approach to ritual dining continued. I never went back. I didn’t need to and, in any case, it wasn’t my style.

Doctors

Doctors are as varied as any cross section of humanity. I have often thought that if I had kept a diary on doctors and doctor situations that I have met, it would fill volumes and provide much laughter and food for thought. But I didn’t so I can but lift the corner on a fascinating aspect of human life.

Really doctors are no different to anybody else although, because they have enjoyed a certain status and privileges with, perhaps, an above average education, some have considered themselves a superior breed.

As a medical representative, I spent my working life with doctors from GPs to senior consultants and, as so often happens, the higher the consultant, the more polite and pleasant they were. At the other end of the scale, there were some very short-tempered GPs. Let us just take a look a few examples of the types I met.

The Know-It-All. This type knew everything. Even if I knew he didn’t, he would insist that he did. The only way I could deal with this situation was to ask a question and if he hesitated, he couldn’t later claim he knew

The Sample Scrounger. If this doctor had his way, he would take all your samples on the basis that they would be given to patients. Strangely, they would often be seen later in the local pharmacy. The doctor had sold them to the pharmacist or exchanged them for cosmetics. Highly illegal for both parties but it did go on

The ‘Prescribe Everything Type. Said he did but never did. It was just a method of not getting involved in a discussion for whatever reason

The ‘In and Out’ Type. An example in Dagenham where, as one entered the surgery, this doctor would stand, shake your hand whilst walking you to the exit door, he opened it and you were outside. Time – 15 seconds. There was a way to handle this situation, too

There were various other types but the above are a few examples. Most of ‘my’ doctors were very pleasant and saw my visit as a breather between patients. In many cases, I would call at the end of the surgery and share a cup of coffee (and a cigarette in those days).

Everyday, doctors would be interviewing patients and they became very skilled in analysing people. The same applied to medical reps. The doctor would soon know, by gentle questions, whether the medical rep was knowledgeable and his attitude to medicine and patients.

A number of companies would only employ pharmacists who would tend to look down on other medical reps. It never worried me because I felt that pharmacists may have an advantage on the pharmaceutical aspects of a formulation, but they didn’t know much about patients and medicine. My background of working in a hospital environment directly with patients, my medical background and broad knowledge of subjects like haematology, bacteriology, body fluids, chemistry etc soon became appreciated by all levels of doctors. They realised that I could make a contribution to a discussion concerning a particular patient/condition.

As a result, it was not unusual for them to discuss problem patients and, if it concerned a product of mine, they would ask my opinion on whether they should prescribe it. They knew that my answer would be based on whether it would benefit the patient.

This level of working was the highest accolade to which a medical rep could aspire and it gave great job satisfaction but carried great responsibility. I always felt that the function of a medical rep was to help the doctor treat his patients effectively thus giving him more time to treat those in greatest need.

I met different styles of doctors. One, in a country practice in Suffolk, was a Judo expert. I went in; he shook me by the hand and I landed on my back while he laughed like a drain! On another occasion, I called on a GP in Walton-on-the-Naze. He was new to the area and had a Diploma in Tropical Medicine having returned from overseas. He kept the surgery door open during the consultation and I was amazed at his choice language. The patient came out and I heard him pass wind – very loudly! I went in to be greeted by, “What the f*ck*ng h*ll do you want?” Somewhat shattered, I grinned and said something like, “I’ve come to f*ck*ng well see you” to which he said that I had better sit down then. We got on fine after that and I got to know him well although it was quite usual for him to pass wind while we talked. I have no idea what the patients thought but they seemed to like him.

I had another doctor who held her surgery in the bar of a pub just outside Witham. Quite off-putting as one felt that the drinkers would be keeping one eye on the doctor and patient – or me!

Our Social Life

Between us, Maureen and I had busy social life. Apart from our home which required painting, decorating and looking after the front and rear gardens, we would have, or go to, dinner parties on most Saturdays. Our regular guests would include Derek and Pam Chatfield whom I met through the Air Training Corps (ATC); our teenage friends Bernard and Jean who were now married and Ted and Pat Hayes – my old school friend and his wife.

I would spend Monday and Friday evenings instructing at the ATC, with occasional Sunday mornings when I may take them on a drill parade. The Squadron was in demand for local functions, for example, Remembrance Day Services. It was usual on Friday evenings for Maureen and Grace Frost (later to become our downstairs tenant) to have baths – the only bathroom was in our flat – and then sit in their dressing gowns in Grace’s lounge and chat. When I arrived home we would round off the evening with a cup of coffee or tea. We got on very well with Grace who worked at the Prudential Head Office in London.

We spent quite a lot of time with the RAF Association (RAFA) and enjoyed their social events. Mostly, however, we were involved with the Tennis Section, playing singles and partnering each other in mixed doubles. We had good hard courts and a club house in Valentines Park and matches were arranged with other RAFA branches in the South East. These were usually at weekends, as considerable travel could be involved to places like Staines, Windsor or the south coast.

As time went on, we became increasingly committed to the UKCTA, not only because of my seminars on selling and salesmanship, but I seemed to be progressing up the ladder as an officer in the East London Branch. The members were a wonderful crowd; generous, fun-loving and would help anyone. The wives were lovely people too and they would organise fairs and jumble sales in support of the Commercial Travellers’

Every year, the East London Branch would organise a Car Rally for the Jim Denny Cup (Jim Denny was the secretary of the Branch when I joined). Technically, these were treasure hunts but, having been involved with the serious rallies in the West Essex Car Club, I relished the challenge. We teamed up with Derek and Pam Chatfield – I would drive, Derek would navigate and the girls in the back would work out the clues. I should explain.

At the start, one would be given a clue to be solved. The solution would lead one to a place where the answer lay. The answer would provide the next clue to be solved and so on. The winner would be the car returning in the fastest time and with the most correct answers. We had a superb team and with three wins out of three, won the cup outright. Some of the ‘treasures’ to find were made difficult. For example, a goose egg or the tail feather of a pheasant!

Needless to say, we had to take our turn in organising rallies. These were not easy as there must be no ambiguity in the answers and the course had to be carefully structured. Having decided the clues and the course, it was necessary to carefully check the details at home and then carry out a dummy run as a final check. It was surprising how often people would solve the clue, but give the wrong answer (organisers would sometimes supply clues which needed accuracy so as to reduce the number of correct answers).

I remember that we produced one particular clue which created havoc. The cars were directed to Theydon Bois (a village by Epping Forest) and the clue was, ‘The number of trees in the avenue, please?’ The avenue was a road that stretched through the village green and was planted with large mature trees on each side. Just imagine, speed being essential, the cars drive along the road with the occupants counting the trees. “I made it 21”. “No, I made it 23”. So, they turn round and recount, still getting different results. In the end, they must leave their car and physically count the trees until the team agree. All this cost time and, apparently, quite a lot of aggravation between team members – and still a number got it wrong! This clue became the talk of the rally and for some time afterwards.