The absent-minded professor (London)

The first story (which took place a few decades ago) was told by another professor at the memorial service of Professor Angus Charles Graham, SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies).  

It was Professor Graham’s turn to look after baby Dawn and he went to a local library, being the bookish person he was.  He then remembered that his sister-in-law lived nearby, so he dropped in on her to say hello.  After they’d got the salutations out of the way and were nicely settling down to their cuppa and cake, she asked what he was doing in the area.  He cried out, “Dawn!!  Oh, Dawn!!  I’ve forgotten about Dawn!” and rushed off back to the library, where Dawn was still in her pram, fast asleep and quite unaware of her temporary abandonment.  I wouldn’t be surprised if, had he not popped in to see his sister-in-law, he’d gone all the way home without Dawn and not even noticed until Mrs. Graham asked about the baby’s whereabouts.  

In 1979/80, Ben, a student a couple of years below me, reported turning up for an appointment with him, knocking on his office door repeatedly without any response.  Then, as he was about to turn away, Ben heard some rustling behind the door, so he knocked again, loudly this time, and heard a startled grunt from the other side.  When Ben opened the door, he was greeted with the sight of a room completely fogged-up and Professor Graham a dim apparition in the midst of it.  The great man himself looked rather surprised by Ben’s presence and asked him what he wanted.  He’d completely forgotten about the appointment, and had been sitting there, working on some article on classical Chinese grammar or philosophy, or some translation of ancient Chinese poetry, happily puffing away at his pipe in total oblivion of time and the outside world.

(London, early 1980s)


Update 021211:  My beloved and inspirational tutor and supervisor at SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies), Dr. Paul Mulligan Thompson (d. 2007), told me this anecdote about Professor Angus Charles Graham.  The elbows of his jumper had worn through, so his wife sewed two patches on.  When he next put on his jumper, he did remember that there were two holes in the elbows — but didn't notice the new elbow patches — and turned the jumper round, so that the patches were now on top.  And he wore two new holes in the elbows, leaving the patches quite intact.

(London, late 1970s)


Paul Thompson's obituary:  https://www.theguardian.com/news/2007/jun/27/guardianobituaries.obituaries