Dental health by John McAllister

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).


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