When I was sixteen (in 1965) I ran away from home.
I lived on the streets for months and got into a pretty dire state. A girl I knew looked at my decaying teeth and told me:
“You must come to see my father.”
I was taken to a smart flat in Hampstead and was introduced to Dad, who was a Jewish refugee from the Nazis.
Dr Frankel was a dentist with a private practice in Harley Street. He invited me to his surgery and, over several sessions, he gave me sixteen fillings – for free.
Dear Dr Frankel, I still have all of my teeth (at seventy).