Love of bugs led to ‘flying syringes’

Julian Crampton scientist b November 1, 1952 d June 26, 2019

It made headlines around the world – two scientists had come up with a crazy idea for vaccinations: the ‘‘flying hypodermic syringe’’. Their idea, reported in 1996, was to replace outreach vaccination teams, with their doctors and needles, with something a little more compact: the mosquito.

They hit on the idea while sitting in a bar at a scientific conference. Julian Crampton, then a professor of molecular entomology at Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine, and Robert Sinden, at Imperial College in London, were excited by the discovery by American scientists that it was possible to genetically modify insects, and wondered whether this had potential for vaccinations.

They could, they thought, introduce a foreign gene to a mosquito’s salivary gland in such a way that when it bit humans and animals it would immunise them against malaria, the disease that the mosquito is responsible for spreading.

Would it be possible? The scientists returned to the lab and discovered that it was. When blood-sucking insects bite,

their salivary glands produce chemicals to stop their victim’s blood from clotting. The gene for this can be switched on and off by a control region next to it on the mosquito’s DNA. The scientists were able to attach a new gene to this region that produces a protein telling the body to resist the malaria parasite.

When bitten, their theory went, a victim would produce an immune response to malaria, and if bitten enough they would be resistant to the disease. The pair tested it on lab rodents, and it worked. It was big news because it addressed a serious problem: malaria kills about 500,000 people a year.

However, no-one has overcome the ethical problems that Crampton and Sinden identified. Flying syringes mean vaccinating people without their consent. They also mean some people are likely to get far greater doses than others; it would be like giving some a single measles jab and others 500.

Julian Moray Crampton was born near Lewes in East Sussex, in 1952, the son of Squadron Leader Roy Crampton, a fighter pilot in World War II, and Jean Crampton.

He was one of six siblings who would spend all day playing together in the New Forest. He developed a passion for bugs and in his early teens would take a train to Dorset to watch the dragonflies. When a bee nested in his bed, he put up a ‘‘do not disturb’’ sign until the grubs had hatched and grown.

At 13 he went to Brockenhurst School in the New Forest, and then the University of Sussex, where he studied biology before undertaking a doctorate at the University of Warwick. From there he took up research appointments in London and in Boston, Massachusetts.

He then moved to the University of Liverpool, where he specialised in research on the treatment of malaria and developed an interest in snake and spider bites (the bug passion had crept back). It was there that he carried out his experiments with Sinden.

In 1993 he founded the Wolfson Unit of Molecular Genetics at the university’s School of Tropical Medicine and in 2000 he became pro-vice-chancellor. His climb continued at the University of Brighton, where he was appointed vice-chancellor. As he moved south, his former PA called to congratulate his new PA. ‘‘You’re going to be working for the nicest man in higher education,’’ she said.

In 2015 Crampton was recognised in the Queen’s birthday honours: he was appointed CBE, receiving his award from Prince William at Windsor Castle. He retired as Distinguished Emeritus Professor of Molecular Biology.

With his long-time partner, Dr Teresa Knapp, he bought a piece of ancient woodland in Chichester, and they spent many years tending the land and encouraging the presence of butterflies. Knapp, who had worked at the University of Sussex, was fond of fireworks and, when she died of cancer last year, Crampton organised a display in Brighton in her honour.

One former colleague remembers him as a dapper dresser. Others remember him as quiet. But for a quiet man, he was also effective. ‘‘If people complained they couldn’t hear him he would actually go quieter, which seemed to work,’’ a former colleague said. ‘‘He was the most softly spoken man I knew, and the most listened to.’’