WHO Expert Study Committee to Advise on the Program for the International School for Advanced Nursing Education (Edinburgh) – 1964
For me personally, and Canadian nursing generally, the three international I projects I completed in 1964 added to the beginning of CNA’s involvement in the world of health and gained for us some stature on the international scene. In addition to my responsibilities as CNA Executive Director, I completed the projects under the auspices of the World Health Organization.
The first assignment was as chairman of the WHO Expert Study Committee advising on the program for the International School of Advanced Nursing Education at the University of Edinburgh. The one-week project began 16 February 1964 and I can, to this day, recall how cold I was when I arrived at my room in the Bruntsfield Hotel in Edinburgh. I thought I would never be able to sleep that first night in my cold, damp room which was 10 feet wide by 24 feet long with a ceiling at least 14 feet high. My bed was a cot fitted with knitted nylon sheets top and bottom, and one comforter. At one end of the room was a very small hot water heater. When I got into bed, the cot was so small and the nylon sheet so tightly drawn that I just kept slipping out. In desperation, I pulled the one heavy chair in the room over to the side of the bed to at least keep me on the bed. The next morning, when I complained that my room was too cold and my bed too small, the management assured me that I had one of their best rooms!
The entire first four days in Edinburgh were spent on curriculum development for the yet to be established WHO International School for Advanced Nursing Education. After the first few days, although I was chair of the meeting, I had to intervene to support the North American model of developing aims and objectives based on philosophy. Miss Stevenson, Director of the School, was adamant in her resistance to our “stupid” proposals. She was of the school of thought where a syllabus was followed. The syllabus had no relation to the school’s philosophy (there was none in writing, but one did exist) and, certainly, aims, objectives and anticipated outcomes were never considered. Our meetings became a tense “we” and “they” struggle which I handled as tactfully as possible. Eventually, most of the University’s faculty “saw the light” and became enthusiastic and supportive. We all became such good friends, in fact, that I was invited out one evening to hear Andy Stewart, a favourite of mine. Due to pressures involved in writing the report each night, I regretfully declined but we did agree that Saturday was possible. We had a wonderful evening. One faculty member was assigned to sit next to me in our box seats “to interpret”. Despite the thick Scottish accent, no interpretation was necessary when he sang, “There was a soldier, a Scottish soldier….”
During my week in Edinburgh, I wrote in my room each night using the day’s discussions to gradually develop the curriculum in readiness for a final presentation. After the first day, Miss Stevenson would absent herself “to attend to pressing duties”. Writing in my room was a chilling challenge. It was so cold, I wrapped myself in my Newfoundland seal coat and wore lined gloves. Writing this way was very awkward so down I went to complain, again, to the hotel manager. I was told there would be more heat –there was none. After another hour of frigid room and cold, slippery bed, I complained again. This time, a maid brought me two hot stone pigs. A little better, but still tricky trying to sleep cuddled around the stone pigs. Despite the large chair I had placed next to the bed to restrain me, I kept slipping off my cot. After another hard day of meetings, I decided that enough was enough. I would not spend another night in my chilly room. Down I went, yet again, to see the manager. “If you don’t do something, I shall take a chill,” I warned. Those must have been magic words because, when I arrived back in my room, a large, electric heater had appeared. What bliss!
The final curriculum outline for the International School was completed Friday evening in readiness for presentation the next day to the Director of the School and others from the clinical setting —from both inside the hospital and from the community (public health nursing). I remember that Saturday morning, seated at the head table in the Conference Room with Miss Stevenson, the Director on one side, and Lyle Creelman, WHO, on the other. I outlined the curriculum –starting with philosophy, aims and objectives as developed by the faculty of the school (minus Miss Stevenson) and the WHO consultants. Just before I commenced our presentation, Miss Stevenson said to me, “I disagree with everything you have done. ‘Noon’ will approve.” Facing a roomful of WHO personnel, staff of the university school, ward sisters in full uniform and public health nurses in their regalia, I started off with a full explanation of the project and how we had developed it. After 15 minutes or so, I began to outline the curriculum and our rationale for it. Then silence. Although Miss Stevenson chose not to speak, all the others were more supportive than I could have ever imagined. The chief public health nurse even said that it was the first time she actually knew what the program was all about. Two of the sisters, in their fetching bonnets agreed. Miss Stevenson, with palpable reluctance, agreed to “try it out”. She did and the program became a great success. Reports still refer to our work on the curriculum “way back in ’64”. It was, in fact, more than the development of a curriculum —it was the establishment of the first English-language WHO nursing education program for post R.N. nurses world-wide: the very first program having been the French-language school for Advanced Nursing Education in Lyon, France.
When our presentation was complete, we were invited to explain our proposal for the School of Advanced Nursing (SAN) to the medical faculty. We proceeded to the faculty’s new and modern building and, although it was winter outside, it was a bright, warm day inside. All of the senior, rather imposing members of the medical faculty were seated at the head table, with Lyle Creelman at one end. I was seated at a side table. After the introductions, I was asked to make the presentation. The room was very warm and, when I was finished speaking, sweat poured down my face. I had worn an attractive, pink wool dress which was appropriate for the occasion but not for the heat in that sun-baked room. I eyed the raised Venetian blinds which were letting in the hot sun and decided to sidle, unobtrusively, to the window and lower the blinds. With everyone’s attention elsewhere, I pulled the cord to release the blinds. Unfortunately, it was the wrong cord and only half the blind released with the most awful clatter. I held on to the cord for dear life. The Dean of Medicine came to my rescue saying, “Steady, lass. Steady. What are you trying to do?” Although I thought my intentions were obvious, I hesitantly explained. Lyle looked away in agony but, with the blinds down, the room was somewhat cooler. All of the members of the medical faculty, except one, were not too impressed with our presentation and listened to us with polite disdain. One member of the faculty, however, spoke with great enthusiasm about our new approach to nursing education. After our presentation, we were invited to the office of the President, known in Scotland as Principal. We were offered sherry but I declined. At the urging of the President, who wanted to toast the completion of the project, I relented and hoped that, on an empty stomach, I would not feel the results too soon. The Principal was a fascinating man who, at that time, was one of the world’s top scientists in the field of space exploration. He asked if we had any questions and, of course, I had one. “Was it necessary,” I asked, “for the head of a university to have been an academic?” I was interested as, in Canada, the physician administrators of our hospitals were being replaced by “lay administrators” who were graduates of hospital or business administration programs. The President paused for about 10 seconds … it seemed forever … and replied in a Scottish brogue, “Yes, it is important to have been a professor in a discipline so that you can speak the language.” I have never forgotten his reply and have used it to advantage over the years.
Lebanon -May 1964
After intensive work at CNA following the project in Edinburgh, I was invited, by WHO, to conduct a survey of schools of nursing in Lebanon. I was also asked to give one major speech and to be a member of a panel discussion at the First Middle East Nurses Assembly to be held in Beirut, Lebanon. The CNA President approved these field trips saying that probably no one would notice that I was gone. I was excited to be visiting the land of my ancestors. When the initial correspondence came early in 1963, I shared it with my father. He was so pleased but, sadly, he died in June 1963 and never heard the great stories I could have told him about my visit. Although Dad rejected the land of his birth –he wanted to be a real Canadian and do his best for Canada –he was interested in Lebanon and so pleased that his daughter would see “the old land”.
Although there was a long lead time prior to my departure for Lebanon, communications were very poor. It was difficult to receive WHO authorization for my flight and to be informed about hotel reservations in Beirut. I did put together notes for my speech and preliminary plans for the survey of schools of nursing but the information I received was so slim that I felt ill-prepared. Despite telegrams, I did not even know the name of my hotel in Lebanon —but I decided to go anyway.
The flight was long -Ottawa/Montreal/London, England -with a long wait for a connection to Beirut, via Frankfurt. The planes were slow so I slept most of the time after leaving London. I woke at one point and saw snow-covered mountains. For a moment, I thought I was crossing the Rockies on my way home to Vancouver. Then, I started to worry about how to find accommodation for the first night as we were arriving after dark. When the aircraft stairs were lowered, I was first off the plane. As I walked across the tarmac, I felt very lonely. Unexpectedly, I heard a faint, “Dr. Moo sell um” –the Arabic pronunciation of my name. Relieved, I approached the lady and gentleman and said, ”I’m Dr. Mussallem, from Canada.” A swarm of at least 20 men with flash cameras came out of the darkness and the night turned into a great, white flash of light. An elegant man approached and bowed from the waist saying, “Welcome to Lebanon, land of your father.” He was the Lebanon Minister of Tourism. Next came the Minister of External affairs, then Mme. Sultan, Director of the Red Cross School, and then other government officials. I was whisked into the VIP Lounge where arak and other liqueurs and wines were offered. My passport and luggage tags were handed over to airport officials while I sat with the welcoming delegation and talked, and talked. The Lounge was very warm and I had, as usual, travelled in a woollen suit. Eventually, a baggage handler appeared to announce that my luggage was not on the plane. “Find it!” shouted the ministers, clapping their hands in the typical Middle East clap command. We waited and waited but no luggage arrived. Finally, I was escorted to my hotel, The Orient Prince. A kindly nurse from the American University generously offered to lend me a night dress and slippers. Although she was about twice my size, I didn’t care. I slept soundly. In the morning, I was awakened by the sound of a jet overhead and then heard prayers from the Mosque, followed by the voices of vendors far below my window loudly extolling the virtues of their attractive1y-arranged carts.
At 6 a.m., a waiter, in fez, arrived with my breakfast. He knocked and, at my invitation, opened the door and stood there with my tray, screamed, put my breakfast on the floor — and ran. His startled eyes were as large as billiard halls. When I sat up, I did not realize that my night dress, miles too big, had slipped completely off.
My first day in Beirut was a busy one. Dressed in my now perspiration soaked suit (my luggage arrived two days later), I met with senior officials in the health department. Immediately after each introduction, the official would ask, “Are you Christian or Moslem?” In Lebanon, for every senior position in the entire government, there was always an equally ranking person of the other religion. I was also introduced to my national counterparts. The one that accompanied me everywhere was Christian but, when we went on distant trips to Tripoli and Tyre, my Moslem counterpart came along as well. Her English was limited as was my Arabic. My driver was Moslem. I recall so clearly the exciting ride back from Tripoli along the beautiful coast of Lebanon. There were no guardrails along the road despite the sheer drop into the Mediterranean on one side. I was especially frightened when the driver and my Christian guide got into a heated argument and several times, in his anger, the driver almost drove over the cliff.
There were many things my guides did in the name of my father. We visited the Cedars of Lebanon. “We take you there in the name of your father,” my guides said. On the drive to the coast, we visited the tomb of Kalil Gibran. At that stop, a Lebanese lady was asked to prepare chicken for us. She had just killed the chickens by wringing their necks and spices were rubbed into the meat with her bare hands. When we were ready to eat, I noted that the chicken was not well cooked and I feared that all the bacteria had not been killed. My counterparts and the driver, however, ate their portions – and mine, as I was “not hungry”.
I recall returning to my hotel that afternoon (work began at 8 a.m. and ended at 2 p.m.), to find the lobby filled with men in Arab headdress. The hotel manager said all of these men were relatives –all Mussallems.
My arrival had been reported, in English, French and Arabic, in the 30 daily newspapers. My “relatives” had read of my arrival and had come down from the mountains to welcome me. The oldest man spoke no English but, through an interpreter who accompanied him, told me how he was related to my father. I had no way of verifying this information but I thanked him, graciously, for coming. Likewise, when I was in Zahle, my counterpart called “a cousin” who took me to her home. In less than half an hour, every room in the house was filled with Mussallems or Moussallems (as it is spelled in French). They all claimed to be relatives. Mussallem, in Lebanon, is as common a name as Smith or Jones is in Canada.
The main reason for my visit to Lebanon was to conduct a survey of schools of nursing and hospitals as I had done in Canada for the PPESN. I started with the three main schools and hospitals in Beirut —the Red Cross School of Nursing, The School of Nursing at AUB, and the Moslem School of Nursing –an Arabic School and Hospital. The entire survey process and techniques used were modified from those of the PPESN (see Report, p.94-137).
We then proceeded to Tyre, Sidon and Tripoli. In all, 11 schools of nursing were surveyed. Almost half of the schools were privately run by doctors and standards were very low. Survey results revealed that only two of the schools –AUB and Red Cross –met the desirable standards.
During our travels outside Beirut, tensions were mounting and there was a real threat of war. I remember, so vividly, sitting in the back of our car, alone, traveling to Beirut. My counterpart sat in the front with the driver. Six soldiers stopped the car and –three on each side –pointed their bayonets at us. Tremulously, I volunteered, “I have my Canadian passport.” “Shaddap!” said my companion. I understood Arabic well enough to surmise that my companions were attempting to explain our trip and tell the soldiers that we were all government officials. Apparently satisfied, the soldiers shoved a bayonet into the car as though to push us on –and off we sped.
There were, however, many pleasures in Beirut: looking out over the Mediterranean; sampling the best of Lebanese food; taking pleasure trips on Sunday to remote villages or casinos; and eating strawberries at the St. George’s Hotel patio. (As WHO personnel, I was forbidden to eat the strawberries but I did –only three times. They were worth dying for.) Many quaint items were sold on the streets of Beirut but I was particularly intrigued by the never-ending boxes of Chiclets offered for sale by grown boys. One night, at dusk, a very large boy approached me brandishing his Chiclets. I said “La” (no) but he kept following me, shoving the gum in my face. In desperation, I yelled “Rhou min hown”, the equivalent of “Get to h— away.” He really ran. I suppose he had never expected such language from a lady in European dress.
Leaving Beirut was another sad, if memorable, experience. We left the hotel at 3 a.m. to allow time for all the required clearances. On the way to the airport, we were again stopped by armed soldiers. They made us get out of our car, opened our suitcases and picked through everything — especially the negligees. We could do nothing but keep quiet and watch the charade. Later, as we approached the airport, the sun rose and bathed the beautiful hills of Lebanon with glorious light. Such a contrast from my noisy welcome: men dancing the Dabke in the streets; record players and radios blaring out music; and hordes of people lining the streets –some in Arabic costume, some in European.
After the Lebanon survey, I participated in the First Middle East Nurses Assembly where I presented a major address on Research in Nursing, chaired a panel, and gave many press interviews. These were unique events as they were conducted in three languages, English, French and Arabic, with volunteer interpreters. The equipment was rather primitive but, somehow we managed.
ICN in Frankfurt 1965
I arrived back from St. Stephens N.B., on Saturday, 5 June 1965, just in time to prepare to travel to Frankfurt for ICN meetings 10 June to 1July. What a flurry of activity! Meetings with staff, the Canadian Council on Nutrition, CNF Selection Committee, etc. Also important, of course, was assembling my wardrobe for the many working and entertainment functions. I certainly remember the hat I wore for the trip to Frankfurt as were taken as Isobel MacLeod and I boarded the plane. It was an extremely large black hat –about 12 inches high –with massive black flowers adorning the crown. There was plenty of room for a bullet to pass through the crown of that hat without it touching a hair on my head.
On arrival, we began on Saturday with ICN briefings. On Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, there were meetings of the Board of Directors. As was often the case, we strategized with our U.K. and U.S. colleagues. At the Board meeting, the CNA President issued an invitation to hold the 1969 ICN Congress in Canada. Mexico had lobbied hard for the Congress and, I must confess, I was hopeful that they would be successful. The invitations were, of course, put before the Grand Council.
At the opening ceremony in Frankfurt, after each speech by a dignitary, a grand symphony orchestra would play a beautiful rendition. It was magnificent. The music breaks also gave one a chance to catch ones breath amongst all the pomp and ceremony.
A number of critical international issues were discussed at this meeting. These are well documented in Sheila Quinn’s ICN publication.
One of the highlights for Canada, at the Grand Council, was the election of Alice Girard as the first Canadian ICN President. Even though she was the only nominee, it was necessary to follow the elaborate ICN voting procedure where each country, one by one, approached the podium to have their credentials checked. They were then handed a ballot and voted. The whole process took almost two hours. When ballots were tallied, Alice Girard was proclaimed President. It was then my duty to dash over to the communications center and first telephone, then cable, the news to Canada. That took another one and one-half hours as there was some confusion finding the country code as Canada was, of course, spelled Kanada in Switzerland. The next day, the vote was taken on the site for the 1969 Congress. Canada won by a wide margin. Then and there, the CNA president asked that I remain on staff until after the Congress.
I agreed and, later, my appointment was confirmed by the CNA Board.
The next week (20-26 June) was chock full of plenary sessions with many relaxing activities running concurrently. One great day was Sunday, 20 June, when we went sailing on the Rhine. The Canadian delegates were in the lead ship with the Federal Republic of Germany’s President, Ruth Elster. Three other ships followed carrying Congress registrants –about 8,000 nurses in all! What a glorious day. When we reached the Lorelei, I was deeply moved. All during our stay, we had watched the boats sailing up and down the Rhine, with entire families on board hanging out washing, etc. It was a real “working river”.
On Monday, 28 June, 200 Board of Directors and council members were urged to accept the invitation of the West German government to visit Berlin. We were airlifted to Berlin where a very full program of activities had been arranged. It was very political. In Berlin, we were loaded into a bus and, after a short ride; we stood facing a high wall and armed soldiers. It was THE Berlin Wall. Afterwards, we were taken to see a church in the center of Berlin “The Wilhelm” which, except for its stained glass windows, had been completely destroyed by “the enemy”. The enemy was us, we were told frequently by the East Germans. They were both sad and belligerent. Then it was on to the great new hospital where we were told that a special musical concert had been prepared for us. I looked so forward to hearing Mahler, Bach etc, but, when we arrived and the choir of two rows of “interestingly uniformed” nurses began to sing, guess what? Their selection was not Mahler or Bach but “Vot shall ve do mit a dronken sailor?” That was the choir’s only English song, for which I was very grateful.
Following the concert, a tour of the hospital began. Isobel and I decided to skip the tour and found our way to a side door in the hopes of finding a cab to take us back to our hotel. We had hardly left the hospital when a young nurse came after us. She understood no English. Over and over. I tried to explain what we wanted to do but to no avail. She insisted on returning us to the hospital –and I kept saying “nein”. She won the argument.
On my return to CNA, the month of July was a hectic time of trying to catch up on the backlog of work, meeting with staff: meeting with the architect regarding our new headquarters and getting my life in order to be ready to travel to Antigua 28 days later to continue the Caribbean project.
Commonwealth Medical Conference – Edinburgh, 1-14 October, 1965
The day Dr. B. Layton telephoned to ask if I would become a member of the Canadian Government delegation to the First Commonwealth Medical Conference was a pleasant interlude in a continuous, intensive round of work as CNA Executive Director. I was invited to participate because of one item on the agenda –“Nursing Education in the Commonwealth”.
What an exciting professional and personal assignment! I worked long and hard to complete CNA assignments and be ready for this long, overseas project. When finally on my way, I was overjoyed to be seated in a quiet First Class seat –alone. I ate well and sampled many different spiritus frumenti offered. After dinner, I was given blankets and pillows and quickly dropped off into a deep sleep. During my slumber, I could occasionally discern incomprehensible conversation in the aisle but paid no attention. Next thing I knew, I woke alone in a foreign land.
It was frightening! The airplane was on the tarmac, away from the air terminal, and not one other passenger remained on board, Bravely, I rose from my seat and went to the flight deck. The captain said that we had to remain until he could get “some juice” to start the plane. Less fearful but still perplexed, I realized that I was so very thirsty. The Captain asked me to return to my seat and, presently, he brought me some wilted grapes –which tasted like ambrosia. In response to my query, I was advised that we were at Shannon Airport.
Eventually, we got “some juice” and taxied to the terminal where we were cheered by some passengers, although most were still occupied in buying duty-free items. Then, it was on to London — late. At long last, I caught my connecting flight to Edinburgh. On arrival — very late — two gentlemen greeted me at the foot of the aircraft stairs. They wore morning suits -wow!
I was escorted to the VIP Lounge where counters on four sides were loaded with every type of food and drink imaginable – including real caviar! My escorts begged me to at least have some shortbread or haggis –or a scotch or? I simply could not rise to the occasion.
Without a doubt, the Commonwealth Medical Conference was one of the most elaborate and elegant international conferences I ever attended –and well organized too. Our working environment was always bedecked with the most fantastic floral arrangements. The committee room, which seated about 50 persons around a square table arrangement, did not have a gaping, vacant area in the centre of the room. That space was always filled to the limit with huge masses of oversized chrysanthemums, orchids, roses and other exotic blooms.
Our delegation head was Judy LaMarsh – replaced after day two by Dr. John Crawford. Dr. Crawford was 6 foot 4 inches in height and a gentleman of the old school. The other members of our delegation were three doctors who brought their wives along (the wives did not like me) and three others who were not accompanied: Dr. Jack McCreary; Dr. Basil Layton (who had proposed my name as the conference was to discuss the education of nurses); and myself.
Canada was assigned a meeting room at the Conference. The six of us gathered there the first morning and chatted a bit. Dr. Crawford had been assigned, by Dr. Layton, to look after our delegation. He handed us a list of events and told us we could attend whichever meetings we wished -except that I must attend those relating to nursing education. In all of the delegations, there were only two nurses in attendance -Dossieh Kisseh of Ghana and me. Also in the meeting room each morning were our invitations for the day. Wow! There were six to eight receptions held each evening and our great decision of the day was how many receptions we would attend before dinner and how many after dinner.
The three of us (Dr. McCreary, Dr. Layton and I) usually went to the receptions together and thus used only one car and driver. As a matter of courtesy, these social events were compulsory and, after almost 10 days, one became rather exhausted by the social round – not to mention gorged with food!
Dr. Layton, as head of the Canadian delegation, was required to attend meetings to draft the final communiqué. He asked me to attend with him, as an advisor. I was seated directly behind him and was, I believe, very helpful on some matters.
The second morning of the conference, most members of our “working” delegation were absent and not to be found. I was irritated when I learned that they had each taken their cars and drivers that day and had gone sightseeing or shopping with their wives. Other delegations were holding planning meetings each morning to ensure that all important conference sessions were covered. I suggested to Dr. Layton that Canada should get organized as well. To my surprise, he left the organization of our delegation to me! I wrote notes to the Canadian delegates advising that they should meet in the Canada briefing room at 9 A.M. daily to receive instructions. Each morning, I met with Dr. Layton before 9 A.M. to make assignments. So, each day, as each delegate arrived, I handed out their assignment and asked for a brief note on their daily findings. They complied –almost like small boys –and were diligent with their assignments.
Our last meeting in that room is a precious memory. Someone had bought a pseudo medal from a “five and dime” store and attached to the “medal” was a citation for the “Medal of the Order of the Eager Beaver”, I was deeply touched. I kept that medal for many years and have given it, along with my service medals, to the CNA Archives.
The entertainment and social events for the entire Commonwealth group was spectacular. I had seen Edinburgh Castle before but never with all the accoutrements — Highland dancing, haggis, music and all the other facets of Scottish hospitality. When it was time for the Canadian delegates to leave, we would spot Dr. Crawford, whose six feet four inches made him tower above the crowd. Together, we would wait at the gate for our cars to arrive. It was stirring to hear “Canada” shouted out as a limousine, with Canadian flag flying, stopped for us. I did like all of that.
On Sunday, a glorious, sunny day, we were taken, by bus, all the way to Stirling Castle. What a sight! We were greeted, again, with food, flowers and entertainment. What glorious scenery … what great days!
The day before, Saturday, we had had the afternoon free and three of us were taken, via the Canadian limousine, for a four-hour tour of the Scottish countryside. I remember so well the Firth of Forth Bridge and I recited, with great glee, the poem about the Inchcape Rock.
Perhaps the most memorable reception I attended was the one at Holyrood Castle. Our Conference was the very first in the history of Holyrood to use the Castle without the presence of a member of the Royal Family. I saved my fanciest and fluffiest gown – a pale jade chiffon –to wear that night and it looked great. I remember feeling uneasy going down to the hotel lobby that evening, as I had been receiving notes from a man in one of the Commonwealth delegations who wanted to meet me. He did not identify himself in the notes so I showed to notes to Dr. Layton, and he and Dr. McCreary said they would keep an eye on me that night. As I left the hotel, the “three Canadian wives”, who were seated in the lobby, glared at me. One of them had used my car and driver that afternoon and, when Dr. Layton told her she did not have the authority to use the car for shopping she told him that she had as much right as Dr. Mussallem. I suppose Dr Layton straightened her out but, even on our return to Canada, we never warmed up to each other. Oh well.
Our entrance into Holyrood Castle was memorable. Our limousine, flag flying, was opened by a man of the Black Watch –dressed in 16th Century garb. His white gloved hand assisted me in exiting the limousine. Highland music piped us in as we walked through hall after hall of the historic castle and dined as the ladies and knights of old did — but with all the conveniences of modern living. The Scottish entertainment was spine tingling. All in all, an evening I shall never forget.
Reality returned on the trip back to Canada. We were delayed in leaving Edinburgh so we knew our connection to Ottawa would be lost. Dr. Layton, however, knew all the immigration and customs officials at Dorval Airport and he cabled them. Never have I been whisked through an airport more expeditiously.
View all posts in this series
- Pilot Project for Evaluation of Schools of Nursing (5.1.1) - December 12, 2011
- Autobiography Outline
- Survey of 25 Schools of Nursing (5.1.4)
- Appointment as Director of Special Studies, CNA (5.2)
- Executive Director – Canadian Nurses Association (5.4)
- Canadian Nurses Foundation
- 1965 – 1966 CNA activities and CNA House - January 2, 2012
- PAHO/WHO Project in Commonwealth Caribbean 1964-1965 (5.4.5) - December 12, 2011
- International work 1964 – 1965 (5.4.5 cont.)
- International Work 1969-1975 (5.4.5 cont.) - January 3, 2012
- International Initiatives in Cuba 1973- 1984: Encounters with Fidel Castro - December 22, 2011
- Commonwealth Nurses Federation – West Africa, 1981 - December 12, 2011