SIR FREDERICK BANTING, K.B.E.
A Memoir by Dr. Frederick W.W. Hipwell from the book BANTING AS AN ARTIST, by A. Y. Jackson published in 1943 by The Ryerson Press, Toronto. Published here with permission of his relatives. He was a cousin of Frederick Banting. They grew up together in Alliston Ontario.
By Frederick W.W. Hipwell M.B. (1894 -1949)
Margaret Grant, the mother of Fred Banting, was the first white girl born in the pioneer settlement of Alliston, Ontario. She was all that a fine, beautiful and understanding woman could be. It was characteristic of her that when I lost my mother she put her arm around me and looking at her own Fred, said, “I’ve got two “Freds” now.” I shall never forget this.
His father was no less a pioneer. Born in Bond Head, he later, with his parents, moved to the homestead farm at Thompsonville, perfectly mated, Margaret and William Banting, with an utter love and respect for each other, lived an ideal life. Theirs was a happy home. Work on the farm was hard, but there was always the reward for honest toil. The fertile soil gave of its best. There was domestic, comfort, and always a full larder. The Bible was read daily. No one had ought to conceal this from the others, or from anyone for that matter. Each had his tasks and they were efficiently done. Peace and contentment, work and happiness, personified the home in which Fred Banting spent his boyhood.
The school in Alliston on was a mile and a half from the farm. In spring and fall Fred’s path of choice was along the Boyne River, through woods and fields. Sometimes his keen eye would see an Indian arrowhead, or it might be a four-leafed clover. It was remarkable how many four-leafed clovers he could find. During the winter his journey home often became one of comfort and joy in an opportune farm sleigh with the jingling bells and crunching snow. And he loved it all.
He was not a brilliant student, but he was an average steady, industrious boy. He played baseball and soccer well. He did not like Latin. But he was the best baritone in the class when the high school principal decided some music and singing were good for us.
Fred was popular. All admired his sincerity and his rugged honesty. He believed in everyone until he found he was wrong. And then he never forgot.,
His natural kindliness and his sympathy for those in trouble, pain, or suffering continued throughout his life.
And he never failed to write, no matter where he might be, to his mother every Sunday. His achievements and honours were measured relative to their meaning to his mother.
His first contact with university life was at Victoria College. Our parents hoped and prayed that we both would be ministers of the Methodist Church, and later, medical missionaries. But our desires and reasoning were fairly and generously considered by them. The year 1912 found us both enrolled as medical freshmen living together near the University.
Fred considered the study of medicine very seriously. The hours of work were hard and long. Often, he took those of us seemingly more frivolous to task for our shortcomings. But it was done invariably in that kindly and sincere way of his own, and without rancor. His desire was to help us.
He particularly enjoyed the study of anatomy. I recall his pride in the possession of a three-volume Sabotta McMurrich (his text book on anatomy). When clinical years followed, his determination to practice surgery was well established.
Enlisting in 1915 with the Medical Corps as a private, he spent some months at Niagara with the camp hospital and was promoted to staff sergeant. Later, the wisdom of completing his medical course became apparent to him and he returned to college in time to continue with his class and graduate with them in December, 1916.
He was proud to be a member of “Meds Seventeen.” To be able to say that his classmates had enlisted as a class was to him, and to us all for that matter, a splendid thing. No matter where he went, or what he did, never were his classmates forgotten. He rejoiced in their achievements and felt for them in their sorrows and disappointments. When honored later by His Majesty, King George the Fifth, his only concern was how the class would take it. He
wanted to be as always one of us. He later rejoiced in our pride in the Knighthood hood bestowed on him.
With the first group of this war-class of Seventeen, Fred proceeded to England. At Granville Canadian Special Hospital, he reveled in hard work and obtained good training in orthopedic surgery.
Finally, the opportunity came and he proceeded to France for duty with the Thirteenth Field Ambulance. He was next assigned for duty with the Forty-Fourth Battalion. Shortly he returned to the Field Ambulance where, under fire and plenty at it, he proved the stuff of which he was made. At Lilac Farm, near Cambrai, shrapnel ripped open his forearm. The wound was dressed and he carried on. The dressing station was in heavy cross-fire from German batteries. The Major, finding Fred wounded, ordered him down the line. Twelve hours later he returned to find Fred still on the job ministering to the wounded. This time Fred went down. And, incidentally, on the way he nearly died of hemorrhage. For this devotion to duty under fire he was recommended and received the Military Cross.
Not satisfied with the progress of his wound, he took over, perhaps with some asperity, the supervision of his own treatment and dressings. The arm, labelled as a probable amputation, healed slowly and well.
On return to Canada his appointment as senior intern in surgery at the Hospital for Sick Children, Toronto, rounded out a fine surgical training.
He next received a junior teaching appointment at the University of Western Ontario in London. His inventiveness, resourcefulness and kindness to his few patients will long live in their memories.
While reading a medical journal late one night, he had his vision of insulin. But early in 1918 he had discussed, with some of us in England, the possibilities of such a substance and expressed his desire to do research on the pancreas. Perhaps the passing of a little child in diabetic coma back home in Alliston, when he as a boy had after all directed his future actions. This event affected him profoundly all the time.
Of the discovery of insulin, of his work on cancer, silicosis, navy, army and air force medicine, much will be written, it is sufficient to say that Fred loved his work and his associates. He would sit with me quietly for a while and then begin to smile; that whimsical, satisfying smile, and say., “You know those young beggars nearly put it over me today.” He was proud, so very proud, of his associates. He would speak of their work as if it were all their own. Demanding their full loyalty and hard work, he objected bitterly to having his name appear on reports of work by his staff., Needless to say he was with justice, many times overruled. Typically, when awarded the Nobel Prize, his first action was to share it equally with his associate Charles Best. Restless, keen, anxious to take part in the present world struggle he lost no time in again enlisting. But his value as a scientist was recognized. He served with distinction on the National Research Council. Still, he would not be content to remain in Canada when others were in danger. He must smell powder. He must be close to the fight.
Shortly before he went away on his last journey, as he talked over his trip with me, he said “Freddy, for the first time in my life 1 think I’m a little afraid.” He was fully aware of all the risk, the danger and the uncertainty. But men were accomplishing miracles. And he was as good as any man. When the end came I know Fred was in there fighting, not selfishly, but for those with him.
He died as he lived, giving his all that others might live; truly a physician, a man, and a great Canadian.