biographies

White, Edward Rowden (c. 1884 - 1958)

Born
c. 1884
Died
3 August 1958
Occupation
Gynaecologist, Medical Practitioner and Obstetrician

Details

Transcription of item written by Dr Colin Macdonald and published in "The Book of Remembrance", The Royal Women's Hospital, Melbourne, 1958.


EDWARD ROWDEN WHITE
(1914 - 1946)

Edward Rowden White, who died on August 3, 1958, covered in his seventy-four years a wide and varied gamut of life such as is the lot of very few men. In his later years he experienced disaster and suffering, but nor defeat; the Fates had found it impossible to destroy an inherently generous and cheerful spirit. He was known to all as Teddy, and the three strong influences which shaped him, were his elder brother, his school and university college, and his teacher Dr. Rothwell Adam.

His brother, Alfred Edward Rowden White, was from childhood days an exemplar of whom Teddy was always proud, and from whose wise and gentle counsel he had the greatest respect. No two brothers were happier together. A.E. Rowden White, happily still in practice in Melbourne, had been one of the moving spirits in The Royal Australasian College of Physicians, and it was he who strongly encouraged Edward to further, in Australia, the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists for the successful development of which Edward, with his friend the late Professor R. Marshall Allan, was largely responsible.

To the example of the Elder Brother, must be added the influence of school and university college. Geelong Grammar School, which Edward entered on February 12, 1894 - the same day as his lifelong friend the late Hume Turnbull - had as its then headmaster a Cambridge graduate, J. Bracebridge Wilson, who was for many years a leader in Victoria of secondary education. Geelong Grammar, the second oldest Victorian public school, at this time was a small academy of no more that 80 or 90 boys, almost all boarders and sons of western district pastoralists; it occupied a two-storied bluestone building on the Moorabool Hill in Geelong, over-looking the river Barwon. In 1875, Bracebridge Wilson had chosen to teach classics at Geelong a young Scot, J.L. Cuthbertson, who before going to Merton College, Oxford, had been a pupil at Trinity College, Glenalmond, Perthshire; this public school - at which the boys wear the Black Watch kilt - is set amongst plantations of spruces and larches along the lovely banks of the Almond, a stream which flows east from the Grampians to join the Tay near Perth.

There was an affinity between Bracebridge Wilson and Cuthbertson; each a lover of natural history; each reveled in the open country in the bush and on the river or the lake. Between them they created at Geelong Grammar School that "light blue" spirit which has been so vivid down the years, and of which Edward White was very proud. Cuthbertson was keenly interested in all sports, only tennis he excepted, and that because he thought it prevented boys from paying proper attention to rowing, cricket and rifle-shooting. He was the coach of the crews which did much to make Geelong known, and which were almost invincible for many years. Steve Fairbairn, the legendary Cambridge oarsman, learnt his watermanship at Geelong Grammar School. The success of Cuthberson’s crews was due, to a great extent, to the long Saturday rows, where boys - Teddy well amongst them - found the longest day too short, and the week-end not long enough, to crowd into it all that could be drawn from the rowing camps. Cuthbertson also was a writer of distinction, and his verse was to Geelong what Henry Newbolt’s was to Clifton College, England. Typical of his "School Verses", which are all topical, is that headed "The Cox out of Training". It deals with the increase of weight of the school coxswain, Teddy White, who had weighed four stone two pounds when he steered his first public school race in 1894, at the age of ten:

The cox he eateth of rainbow cake,
He drinketh the coconut tree,
The cox he ought to be lean as a rake
But plump as a partridge is he.
Oh! The cox he laughs
As gaily he quaffs
I am off on a journey to seven stone now,
I shall be soon fit for a bow, for a bow.

Teddy coxed the Geelong boat in public school races for no fewer than six years; but he was much more than a coxswain. At the early age of fourteen he became a member of the school first eleven as a left-hand spin bowler, and in his last school year was cricket captain and vice-captain of football.

Entering in 1900 the Trinity College, where Dr. Leeper was then warden, he played cricket with the College and the university eleven, both of which he captained in his final year. In one intercollegiate match he made 133 and 49, taking five wickets in the first innings and nine wickets in the second. At tennis he played each year for his College, eventually captaining that team and the winning intervarsity team. He played first pennant cricket and tennis for the University and gained a double blue. Geelong Grammar and Trinity remained throughout his life two of his great interests. It was a delight when his only son Jim who died, alas, on service - rowed bow in the Geelong Grammar eight of 1939. Teddy did not learn of his son’s death until after his return from the hell of the prison camps of Formosa and Manchuria; a cruel homecoming, for great plans had been made for Jim’s future. Teddy achieved the distinction of being elected president of the Old Geelong Grammarians - than which nothing gave him more satisfaction - and was a member of the Council of Trinity College for 33 years. He never wavered as a firm believer in the value of the boarding school and the residential university college, and lived to see Trinity, with 162 men in residence, the largest college of its kind in Australia.

Graduating bachelor of medicine with final honours in 1907 (the degree of doctor of medicine he took in 1911), he was a resident at the Melbourne Hospital before proceeding to the Children’s Hospital, eventually there to be the medical superintendent. Then followed a term as a resident medical officer at the Women’s Hospital, with which he was to be honourably associated for almost 40 years. And there he met Rothwell Adam, to whom - after a year’s post-graduate work abroad - he became assistant in Collins Street, and of whom he held the highest opinion. He claimed that Adam’s precept and example were the major influences in his professional life. Rothwell Adam was born at Leeds, Yorkshire, the son of the Reverend George Adam, and came to Australia as a child; on the land for several years before going to study medicine at Edinburgh, he returned to Australian and was later appointed to the Women’s Hospital. His influence there was profound. The manner in which he applied the principles of correct ethical behaviour, in both his professional and his private life, earned the admiration of Edward White, who throughout his life gratefully acknowledged his debt to Adam, by whom he was directed into his speciality.

White was a foundation Fellow of the Royal Australasian College of Surgeons and an early Australian Fellow of the Royal College of Obstetrics and Gynaecologists. He made two post-graduate trips overseas, and it was during the 1928 trip that he had the privilege of being asked to perform the first Manchester operation for uterine prolapse in U.S.A.; this he did at H.S. Crossen’s Clinic in St. Louis.

In two World Wars he was amongst the first to enlist, and served with distinction - in 1914-1918 with a field ambulance in the Middle East, and in the second World War as commanding officer of the 10th Australian General Hospital at Singapore. Those who were with him during the fateful days of February 1942, when Singapore was being blasted and ravaged from air and land, say that none of that "naked island" exhibited more courage and cool steadfastness. It was remarkable how, not many months after returning from the prisoner-of-war camps, he had recovered his old joie de vivre. He was constantly to be seen in the members’ pavilion of the Melbourne Cricket Club, as keen as ever to savour the bowler’s guile or the batsman’s grace, and enjoying the greetings of many old friends as the field changed on the summer’s afternoon.

Under average height and weight, he possessed a trim, well-knit figure, so often the characteristic of those who excel at games demanding co-ordination of eye and muscle. The happy name of Teddy fitted him like a glove. Invariably well groomed, with pleasant voice, welcoming smile and cheerful greeting, he was indeed a man of elegance and quality.

He had married, after returning from the first World War, Miss Gladys Northcote, daughter of Edward Northcote, for many years general manager of the Adelaide Steamship Company. A wonderfully happy family life was interrupted by the second World War; his only daughter (Mrs. H.A.L. Moran) and three grandchildren survive him, in addition to the well-beloved elder brother.

Forty years ago Edward White was my first clinical teacher at the Women’s Hospital, Melbourne, and over the long years there developed for him a warm regard and affection. Teddy was a splendid colleague always kindly, gentlemanly and rich in human understanding. We at the Women’s will never forget him, for he was in the line of succession to Richard Tracy and John Maund, who so strongly founded this hospital 102 years ago.

Dr. A.P. Derham writes; Colonel Edward Rowden White finished his tour of duty as Assistant Director of Medical Services of the Fourth Division, Commonwealth Military Forces, and went on to the Unattached List of September 1, 1938. In 1940, however, he returned to active duty and was given command of the 2/10 Australian General Hospital which was included in the Eighth Australian Division shortly before it sailed to Malaya. This hospital, had of necessity, been flung together at great speed, and the commanding officer and the Matron (Dorothy Pashke) met for the first time on the troopship (the Queen Mary) before they sailed.

On its first arrival in Malaya the hospital went to Malacca, where it shared the Civil General Hospital. In addition to the problems associated with the hasty assembly of his unit, Colonel White had to face difficulties inherent in the casual selection of many of his hospital orderlies, with the necessity of licking them into military shape de novo. On the other hand, he had two priceless advantages - his medical officers were of a very high order, and his nurses were magnificent. His experience of military matters and the accumulated wisdom of nearly sixty years made it possible for him to take the early difficulties of his untrained staff without being broken by the task, as might have happened to a man with a younger and more excitable nature, and very soon he had his unit welded into a smooth working machine. He also found time to be host and friend to visiting medical officers, both military and civil, and he laid the foundations of many friendships which stood us in good stead in later years of prisoner-of-war life. His unit was essentially a happy one, and he was intensely loyal to his staff as they were to him. I believe their affection for him continued until the day of his death.

Then came the morning of the attack on Pearl Harbour and the first air attack on Singapore. Malacca missed these attentions at first, but the tide of war flowed so fast that our general hospital there was soon virtually in the front line, and early in January, 1942, the hospital, with patients and staff, was moved to Singapore Island, where it was established at a school called Oldham Hall. The area then became the venue for other medical units as they were finally driven out of their last positions.

At this stage the hospital came under aerial bombing, artillery fire, mortar bombing and machine-gun and rifle fire. Little if any of this was aimed deliberately at the hospital; it was aimed at the guns of artillery units which were sited much too close to the hospital, in spite of protests by its commander and of medical officers selected for the duty of keeping the area clear of combatant units. There were some casualties among patients and staff, but no nurse or medical officer was hit while in the hospital. Throughout this trying time Edward White maintained his steadfast composure and exercised his unhurried control. This had a steadying effect on the younger members of the staff, and at no time was there any sign of panic, even among patients who were in tented wards with no means of protecting themselves. If there had been, it would have been promptly quelled by the nursing staff, who were going about their usual duties as if nothing were happening out of the ordinary except that they were, by orders, wearing "tin hats".

On February 12, 1942, the 2/10 A.G.H. was moved to the Cathay building in Singapore city, under heavy fire but without casualty or loss of equipment. The upper floors of this heavy concrete building were occupied by an army corps headquarters, who would not or could not move, thus the hospital Red Cross flag could not be displayed, and the building was the target for heavy shelling and bombing, which fortunately did not reach the patients or staff.

After the capitulation of Singapore on February 15, the hospital was left virtually alone for a day or two; but soon, with other units, it had to move to Selarang near Changi, a distance of 16 miles. The 2/13 A.G.H. followed. Then the Japanese decided to concentrate all British and Australian hospital units in Roberts Barracks about a mile away in Changi. Malaya command consented to the Australian Hospitals’ remaining under separate administrative arrangements, but agreed that only one Australian hospital commander was necessary. Colonel White was feeling a little weary, and he gladly accepted my offer that he should become director of a post-graduate medical school which we inaugurated in Selarang Barracks and who carried on its functions until Colonel White left for Formosa with the senior officer’s party (of colonels and upwards) on August 15, 1942.

The move of Formosa took place under very trying conditions but Colonel White maintained his composure and good humour through it all. Eventually we reached Karenko on the east coast of Formosa and settled into an old disused naval barracks. The Americans were already in occupation, and we were joined by Dutch senior officers.

The Japanese are naturally clean people, and the barrack rooms into which we were ushered were spotlessly clean and contained clean beds with four warm blankets and rough but clean sheets. The Americans had drawn our crockery and had our evening meal cooked and waiting for us as we arrived tired and damp and hungry.

Edward White ensconced himself in the bed next to the door facing the ocean, which we could hear but not see, and there he lived out his peaceful life untroubled by the tramp of passing feet of inspecting Japanese guards and innumerable comrades passing to and fro. We used to sit at long wooden tables in the centre of the room on rough wooden forms, which became very hard as our weight diminished and our bones protruded, and justified the use of a folded blanket as a cushion. It was autumn when we arrived in Karenko, and the park of the old barracks was very beautiful in its russet autumn tints, but we soon became unwilling to sit in the sun. If a Japanese of any rank passed within a quarter of a mile or more, and we failed to leap to our feet and salute, we risked being kicked in the face or body for disrespect to Hirohito. We were reduced to a brisk walk in the open air, but otherwise we stayed in our barrack room, Teddy White, as we called him, was at a cruel disadvantage, because his spectacles became unsuitable, and he was attacked at least twice at night by brutal sentries he had not seen, and knocked down and his glasses sent flying. He put up with this humiliation with the dignity which characterized all his actions. His younger comrades tried without effect to protect him by direct appeal to the Japanese on the grounds of his rank and age. Although he was a very reserved man, he made many friends among the British, American and Dutch officers.

About the middle of 1943 we were moved from Karenko to a camp called Shirakawa, which was in a highly malarious valley. There we incurred 60% of malignant tertian malaria in the first twelve months, among about 500 senior officers and their orderlies.
Teddy White had picked up benign tertian malaria while waiting in the dusk and unprotected beside a railway station on the way to Karenko, but had been adequately treated with 'Atebrian" and "Plasmoquine", which were in Australian hands. As far as I know, no Australian in our senior officers party contracted malignant tertian malaria in Formosa. They must have been protected partly by luck, but more by rigid obedience to medical instructions.

We left Shirakawa early in November, 1944. Brigadiers and over were flown direct to Manchuria, but colonels and below went by ship. Because of delays, what should have been a four-day trip became a twenty-eight days’ confinement in an overcrowded hold, where there was no room to stand up. Water was strictly rationed. I do not remember a word of complaint or criticism from Edward White, who put up with these discomforts with his usual philosophy. We disembarked at the port of Moji on the Inland Sea and stayed for about a fortnight in a hotel at Beppu, which was clean and provided us with hot communal baths and good but inadequate food. Then we were moved to Pisan and were put on a troop train bound for the North. Our treatment improved for a short time, because it was just after the Potsdam Conference, and the Japanese were still hoping that the Allies might meet their demands on compromise terms.

This period lasted only two or three weeks, and was succeeded by even harsher beastliness than before. After two and a half days in a crowded troop train, in which we took it in turns to sleep sitting up, we arrived at some old Russian-built barracks in northern Manchuria. On the day after arrival it was 35º below zero Centigrade; it was too dry to snow, and a fine dust off the Gobi Desert seeped in even through our double windows, which had been sealed with strips of paper applied with Japanese paste. We used to walk around inside the boundary fence of our compound, always by appointment with a friend, partly for company and partly to have someone to see that out noses did not freeze and become frostbitten. I had many long tramps in the company of Edward White, who was an interesting talker. Our only news came by bribing our Manchurian guards. The news was passed round secretly and read out to squad members when the Japanese were out of the way.

After six months the cold gave way to spring, and we again moved south to Mukden, where we joined a large party of Americans and British. Edward White carried on with his usual composure and quiet determination and had become a universal favourite among all ranks and all nations. When the war ended, the Russians locked up the Japanese and handed over their arms to us at a ceremonial parade. The behaviour of the Japanese in these trying circumstances was almost unbelievably dignified and self-controlled.

Edward White earned our admiration for his own control of his emotions. Some time when we were at Shirakawa it became known to some of us that his only son had died of meningitis when on service in northern Australia. Only about four of us knew; and we decided that, if he knew, he wished to keep it to himself. If he did not know, we feared that the shock might do him serious injury. So we decided not to mention the sad news to him. After the war we learned that he had known from his own mail at the same time as we did, but had never breathed a word about his loss. Edward White was not only a good commanding officer and a fine comrade, but a great man.

Dr. Robert Fowler writes: The death of Dr. E.R. White brings to a close an eventful and distinguished career. Born into an era of intense scientific, social and political activity, Edward White found much to occupy his time and talents during a span of 74 years. His was a buoyant personality gallantly breasting the full tide of human affairs. As a detailed list of his accomplishments will appear elsewhere, I propose to keep his memory green by recording one or two of his own anecdotes. It was always good entertainment to meet Teddy White at the club and to find him in reminiscent mood. More than once I heard him tell or two episodes which seem to have given him life-long amusement and satisfaction: the first had to do with cricket at Geelong Grammar School; the second was concerned with his part in the evacuation at Gallipoli. Each episode reveals Ted as baffled but unbeaten; each episode leads on to anti-climax.

On one occasion, as captain of the school eleven, Ted was faced with the problem of dislodging an opposing batsman (S.M. Bruce), who looked set for a mammoth score. Putting himself on as a slow bowler, Ted posted his tallest and safest fieldsman at deep long-on. The first ball went for a six, but on attempting to repeat the stroke Bruce was caught at long-on. Although given out, Lord Bruce holds to this day that the fieldsman over-reached the boundary in taking the catch. This difference of opinion was the cause of an extraordinary phenomenon in after years, when, by coincidence, the two protagonists occupied adjacent taxis in a Piccadilly Circus traffic-hold-up. Disregarding the astonished Jehus, each put his head out the window and started yelling "Out" or "Not Out" as individual bias required.

The second episode relates to the military evacuation of Gallipoli in December, 1915. Unknown to either of them, the decision to evacuate had already been taken, when, in November, the commanding officer, Light Horse Field Ambulance, embarked for Egypt, leaving Major Edward White in charge of the Unit. We can best picture the situation that arose by quoting a few sentences from Alan Moorehead’s book on Gallipoli:

The plan that was finally adopted ...
a gradual and secret withdrawal which was to
take place during successive nights until at
last only a small garrison was left...
Clearly everything would depend upon secrecy
and the weather ... Each evening after
dusk, flotillas of barges and small boats crept
into Anzac Cove and there was a fever of
activity all night as troops, animals and guns
were got abroad ... Within an hour of
nightfall, from dozens of little gullies and
ravines ... Men were moving towards the
shore. Not smoking or talking, each group
when it reached the sea, stood quietly
waiting for its turn to embark.

On the beaches huge piles of clothing, blankets, tinned food, ammunition and other stores were made ready to be destroyed. It was now that Major White found himself in a dilemma, since the Unit was carrying much more that the regulation load. Conspicuous amongst the impedimenta was a mass of personal gear left behind by the commanding officer against the day of his expected return. By dint of tact, determination and diplomacy, Ted managed to wangle the whole "box of dice" onto the last barge before dawn. But now came the anti-climax. Having successfully evaded an exasperated embarkation officer on one side of the Mediterranean, the Major had reason to look forward to meeting a jubilant commanding officer on the opposite shore. Alas, it was not to be! As he figuratively laid the burden at his master’s feet, the unemotional response was: "Thanks, Ted, for bringing my things. I’m sorry you forgot my riding boots".

Edward White’s ineffable cheerfulness was much more than mere merriment, bringing him countless friends; his was a rich endowment of cheerful optimism that with stood the hardship and heartaches, harrowing some of his later years. Triumphant in adversity, his blithe spirit gently smoothed the way to a peaceful end - he died in his sleep

Sir Albert Coates writes: My first association with Dr. Edward R. White was as a student at the Royal Women’s Hospital in the early 1920s. I, like many others was astounded at the skill and deftness with which E.R.W. repaired a cystocele. His operations on the female genitals were masterpieces of careful and neat technique.

In February, 1941, Colonel White was my commanding officer in the 10th Australian General Hospital. We went to Malaya together, and during the next twelve months I, like other officers, orderlies and nursing sisters of the 10th Australian General Hospital, learned to esteem our Colonel. Dr. Cotter Harvey and I were his constant companions, not only in the routine hospital work, but in the various social activities so richly provided by the British residents of Malacca. His expert opinion as an obstetrician was sought by civilian doctors in Malaya.

Largely at his instigation, clinical meetings were arranged at the Malacca Civilian Hospital and, officers of the Royal Australian Army Medical Corps participated in the regular weekly discussions. The Colonel was a friendly soul, and it was easy for him to obtain the utmost collaboration from the medical men of the British Colonel Service. He oiled the wheels. We were not surprised when, at the time of our baptism of fire at Oldham Hall, Singapore, the last home of the 10th Australian General Hospital, the Colonel set us an example of serenity and quiet undisturbed behaviour, during the daily and nightly bombings about our quarters.

Wearing his tin hat, he was at his office table on the balcony of the old Chinese school, calmly carrying out his duties as if the enemy were a hundred miles away. His last words to me on "Black Friday" night, February 13, 1942, were instructions to "get out" and his kindly felicitations for a safe voyage home.

We next met in September, 1945, at Labuan in Borneo. We commenced our little talks, never prolonged or bitter, of our experiences of the intervening years. A sad blow at this time was the first news of the death of his only son, Jim, while on active service in the north. Despite the fact that Colonel White was informed of the tragic circumstances he bore this added burden with equanimity. His late wife, Gladys, was to be a friend to my wife and to the wives of the other prisoners of war during the years of waiting.

Never one to dramatize, he passed on his way, serving on committees for the review of the health of ex-prisoners of war, and as a member of assessment tribunals for the Repatriation Department. A heart attack in 1957 slowed down his activities. Tennis, his beloved game, at which he was a master, had to be abandoned. His lovely grass court, of which he was so proud, was the scene of many a friendly but hard-fought game. He passed away in his sleep, unobtrusively, in perfect character with the pattern of his life. A gentleman who served, one of the salt of the earth. Long may his savour remain!

Professor Lance Townsend writes: Soon after the death of Dr. Arthur Wilson in 1948, Dr. Edward White considered that the name of Dr. Wilson should be perpetuated in some form or another. He formed a committee of interested people, and was the driving force behind the Arthur Wilson Appeal. This appeal raised £8,000. Dr. White then established the Arthur Wilson Foundation. This foundation, of which he was the first chairman, had three main objects: first, to establish in Melbourne the home of the Australian Regional council of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists; and thirdly, to foster research in obstetrics and gynaecology.

In his lifetime the first two objects were achieved, and he lived to see and chair the first four Arthur Wilson lectures. He was present at the opening of the College House in Melbourne and was able on behalf of the Arthur Wilson Foundation, to hand over the building to the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists in the person of the then president, Mr. Arthur Gemmell - the total assets handed over being about £30,000.

He was always interested in the Chair of Obstetrics and Gynaecology at the University of Melbourne, and was instrumental in having the title of the Chair changed in 1949 from that of Obstetrics to that of Obstetrics and Gynaecology. He took a personal interest in the first Professor of Obstetrics and Gynaecology when he was appointed in 1951, and soon afterwards interested his brother, Dr. A.E. Rowden White, in setting up the A.E. Rowden White and Edward R. White Foundation for Medical Research at the Royal Women’s Hospital, whereby an annual grant of £2,000 is paid to the University of Melbourne for research in the University Department at the Royal Women’s Hospital. In the last ten years Dr. Edward White was considered the doyen of the obstetricians and gynaecologists in Melbourne, and was as a father to many of the younger specialists. He helped them with good advice on all occasions. He moulded the members of the Arthur Wilson Foundation so that they became a force in obstetrical and gynaecological circles, and his influence will be felt for many years to come.

I consulted Dr. White on many matters, as I respected his judgement; he was always approachable, he never forced his point of view, and he was willing to help when called upon. With his death those who helped to found the Regional council of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists in Victoria have all passed on. I trust that those who carry on their good work will be as worthy as he was.

Archival/Heritage Resources

Royal Women's Hospital Archives

  • Book of Remembrance, 1956 - 1975; Royal Women's Hospital Archives [ Details... ].

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Prepared by: Robyn Waymouth

Created: 20 September 2006, Last modified: 26 November 2006