Farewelling the great Dr Smith
Dr Allan Gibson Smith, MNZM, general practitioner: b Wellington, October 13, 1924; m Helen Smith nee Paine, dec; d Taupo, January 7, 2018, aged 93.
They don’t make doctors like Allan Smith anymore.
He became a Member of the New Zealand Order of Merit for services to community medicine in 2001 after spending the best part of 50 years working as a GP from the home he and his wife Helen made at Titahi Bay, Porirua, in the 1950s.
He was the community’s go-to man for anything from rugby injuries to gallbladders, at a time when the bay’s small rural settlement had big sections, dirt roads, and a growing number of state houses sprouting up in the former Makara County.
One of those long-standing patients was Hellen Clifford-Marsh. Dr Smith cared for her family for at least 35 years.
One time her eight-year-old typeone diabetic brother fell nine metres down a cliff at the beach.
‘‘He sustained a hole in each side of his head, having landed in the sea and a rock penetrated each side of his skull.’’
Her sister found him and he was taken to Dr Smith on the back of a fisherman’s truck.
‘‘It’s fair to say Dr Smith saved his life. When my parents got there and while waiting for the ambulance, Dr Smith had cleaned out both holes and on top of that had stabilised his diabetes as he was going into shock.
‘‘He then spent a few years wearing a skull cap while his skull mended.’’
The doctor also made house calls at any time of the day or night.
‘‘My father was gardening with his slippers – misjudged – and the garden fork went straight through his foot, pinning it to the ground.
‘‘Dr Smith was called and he came through the gate with a smile, saying to dad, ‘now, why the heck are you gardening in your slippers?’. He laughed while shaking his head. ‘This is going to hurt’.’’
He pulled out the fork, fixed up the wound, leaving no infection or permanent injury.
The last time she saw him was the day her parents were leaving the bay, and hermumneeded unexpected help. ‘‘I went to the surgery, it was closed. I went to his house, but he wasn’t there so I went to another doctor in desperation who gave me a script.
‘‘I went into the chemist and there I found Dr Smith. I was frantic. The lady behind the counter started to tell me that I couldn’t talk to him, but Dr Smith smiled held his hand up to her and said, ‘what’s wrong, Hellen?’. This was amazing as I hadn’t seen him in about 15 years but he recognised me straight away.
‘‘I told him what happened and he looked at the script and said, ‘no, no, she can’t have these’. He knew mum’s medicines straight off the top of his head, changed her script and said, ‘I only gave yourmuma script two weeks ago, where is her medicine?’ I told him that my brother had put them on the truck somewhere and no-one knew where they were.
‘‘Dr Smith with a wry smile just said, ‘well that wasn’t very smart was it?’.’’
One of their four children, Hugh Smith, said at his father’s funeral that there was always something of the pioneering spirit in Paps.
‘‘My early memories of dad are as an old-school GP, working long hours, patients coming around to the house after dinner, call-outs to Porirua in the middle of the night, pretty much in the Dr Findlay of the Bay mould.
‘‘This included the years as the first doctor providing maternity care at the new hospital at Porirua. There are many families in Titahi Bay who had their kids and grandkids delivered or cared for by dad.’’
In his personal life, Hugh Smith said that if it wasn’t boats, it was mountains for his dad. ‘‘He loved to pack up the old Toyota and head off to Ruapehu on a weekend. And there were weeks during the school holidays staying up on the mountain through all kinds of weather.
‘‘Who can forget the sight of dad shouting encouragement to Tony Cossham as after one too many gins Tony would take in a huge mouthful of kerosene and blow his legendary great balls of fire over a lighted match like a crazy human flame thrower?’’
His youngest son, Ian Smith, recalled family hiking tours up Mt Ruapehu. ‘‘At the infrequent stops, a small sip of the old concentrated Raro from a solid tin can – without opener – was given to each participant, direct from the can. Access to the fluid in the can was more often than not achieved by puncturing it with the tip of a ski pole.
‘‘The concentrate was diluted and washed down with a mouthful of snow. This concoction was made out by you to be the nectar of the gods – and he played it up so much that we believed it to be just that. It generally lifted spirits and made us forget about whatever miserable conditions we were enduring in yet another trip in the mist and rain.’’
Along with his general practice, Dr Smith ran a ward at Kenepuru Hospital, and in retirement established the Te Aro Health Trust in Wellington with fellow doctor Ernst Phillip. The volunteer-run clinic served the disabled, problem youth and refugees who struggled to pay for healthcare elsewhere. - Jared Nicoll