Hanuš Weisl was born in Prague, the only child of Alfred and Mary Weisl—Jewish dental surgeons. Following the Nazi occupation in March 1939 and the threat to the Jewish population, his father, Alfred, left for Britain in an attempt to seek safety for his family by obtaining guarantors for Hanuš and Mary (from April 1939 no one could enter Britain without an individual acting to be responsible for looking after any financial consequences of immigration). In June 1939 Hanuš and his mother were granted a place on the very last train to leave Prague before the borders were closed. Hanuš remained eternally grateful to (Sir) Nicholas Winton and his team for securing the release of 664 Jewish children from Czechoslovakia. Little did he realise that boarding this train was to mean the difference between life and death. None of the relatives who gathered on the platform that day survived the concentration camps.
Once in Britain the family survived as refugees, his father working as a stretcher bearer at a first aid post attached to Kingston-on-Thames Hospital and very much resenting having to clean the boots of the man in charge of his superior. By 1941 the government had passed the Foreign Doctor’s Act enabling his parents to work. Despite being trained doctors in Central Europe they had to retrain before taking up practice as dentists. The little money they earned enabled Hanuš to return to fulltime education in Leigh Grammar School. In June 1942 he started as a medical student and ceased to be a refugee.
A talented academic, his first love was for arts and sociology but he felt obliged to follow his parents’ advice and study medicine. Like many of his generation, he was diligent but somewhat laconic, very conscious of his precarious situation as a foreign student in a country at war. He recalled acting as a stretcher bearer in Manchester Royal Infirmary, helping unload casualties from the D Day landings: “This was my only contribution to the war effort. The war had been fought to give people like me the opportunity to live a normal life and I was morally bound to make a contribution. I failed to do so because I was preoccupied with achieving the academic goals which I believed were essential for my future wellbeing.”
Hanuš was half way through his medical training when war ended and he faced a dilemma. If he returned to Czechoslovakia he could not continue in medicine as his training would not be recognised in Prague University, if he remained he would be separated from his only family. His parents returned to Czechoslovakia. Nothing tangible remained of their home or family. Hanuš stayed in Britain and qualified as a doctor MB ChB (Manchester) in June 1948. In the same year he became a British citizen and started his first post as a house officer in Manchester Royal Infirmary at the inception of the NHS. In the 1940s he was required to be on call at any time with one half day off a week, on a salary of £50 per annum.
Early in his career he became interested in orthopaedics and worked with two of the father figures of post war British orthopedics: Sir Harry Platt (first secretary of the BOA) and John Charnley. He became enthused by the management of childhood deformities, particularly “the club foot.”
Working initially in the anatomy department at Manchester University, Hanuš continued his surgical career securing his MD in 1953. In 1954 he married Reba, their friendship having developed after she assisted him with translations for his MD thesis. Throughout their lives Reba provided the foundations for a secure home, and they shared similar intellectual interests in art and social science that continued to bond them until her death in December 1997. Reba always realised that she would remain subjugate to Hanuš’ dedication to his work. Such was his commitment that on the morning of their wedding he was to be found in the operating theatre, much to Reba’s chagrin. Within months he received his call-up for national service and served in the Royal Army Medical Corps. On his return he was aged 31 and realised that most aspirants seeking a career in surgery would have already passed their final FRCS examination and he had not even begun on this venture. He failed his first attempt in December 1956. However, this great disappointment was mitigated by the commiserations he received from Sir Harry Platt, who had also failed the exam at the first attempt. Hanuš felt immensely touched by this gesture. Hanuš became a fellow in 1957 and following a spell in Liverpool passed MChOrth and embarked formally on his orthopaedic career.
He trained as a senior registrar at the Prince of Wales Hospital, Rhydlafar, near Cardiff, for three years, where he worked with A O Parker, Harold Richards, and Dillwyn Evans, who had established himself as an international figure in the treatment of club feet. Hanuš greatly admired Dillwyn and relied heavily on his advice but, as with much of Hanuš’ life, his journey took an unexpected turn with Dillwyn Evan’s premature death. Following the loss of his mentor, he first secured a consultant post in Bolton in 1963 but, having forged strong ties with paediatric orthopaedic surgery in Cardiff, he returned as a consultant with a specialist in club feet in 1969. His return to Cardiff also coincided with the arrival of his adopted daughter, Toni.
As a consultant in Cardiff, Hanuš trained and nurtured a continuum of orthopaedic trainees, each carried with them the influence of a man who represented the very best of orthopaedic practice. His attention to detail, thorough examination, and meticulous note taking were matched by a sense of responsibility both to his patients and his staff. He always had time to spend with patients and their relatives and remained available to his junior staff at all times. Always supportive, he criticised wisely and his nickname of “father” emphasised the paternalistic role he undertook in Cardiff.
Although always quiet and somewhat laconic, he occasionally engaged his staff with adroit anecdotes: when his senior registrar was being somewhat intolerant and aggressive to a member of the nursing staff who had made an error, he gently took the indignant junior aside and proffered to his young colleague—“Dignity young man is like an old hat: worn well it can produce admiration but for goodness sake don’t stand on it!” Like many of his generation he saw the change in technology revolutionise the therapeutic options in orthopaedics. Although never slow to encompass new concepts, he remained the sage of the department. His wisdom built on his profound medical knowledge with an overt sense of the responsibility to a patient provided for all who knew him a template on which they could base their surgical practice. Following the premature death of his beloved Reba from renal failure in 1997, he continued with medicolegal practice and reports, reintegrated himself with the Jewish community, and embarked on a course of creative writing—culminating in his writing his memoirs.
In 1988 he was invited, along with other survivors of the Kindertransport to appear on television’s That’s Life to pay tribute to Sir Nicholas Winton. After the programme he was asked what difference it had made to him coming to Britain. He replied: “The answer is obvious, I am alive, whereas if I had stayed in Central Europe I would not have survived. Because I have been able to live a free life, I have become nearer to fulfilling my potential. I have had to conduct my affairs in a very straightforward manner and with greater integrity and compensate for this by being more devious and twisted inside.”
For Hanuš Weisl, however, his journey has been one which has contributed profoundly to all those colleagues, staff, and patients who were privileged to work alongside him.
Hanuš is survived by his daughter, Toni, and his granddaughter, Ruby Tuesday.
Former consultant orthopaedic and trauma surgeon South Glamorgan Area Health Authority (b 27 June 1925; q Manchester 1948; MD, MChOrth, FRCS), died on 17 July 2007 from cerebral haemorrhage following a fall at home.