When I was seven, I asked my dad to write a book about his life. He flinched. I didn’t know why, but as I grew older, he explained:
When I was two, society wrote me off as a ‘cripple’ incapable of learning. Someone who should be kept away from ‘normal’ people.
KEY TAKEAWAYS
– At age two, Harry Drabble was labelled a ‘cripple’ and written off by society after contracting bovine tuberculosis—but he refused to let that define him
– The ‘yet’ philosophy—adding ‘yet’ to limitations—transformed his mindset: ‘I can’t do this… yet’ acknowledges growth is a process
– Despite childhood trauma and disability, Harry became an accountant, senior manager, and beloved music teacher who changed countless lives over 35 years
– Harry collaborated with his daughter to write his story, wanting to illuminate the forgotten experiences of British children disabled by bovine TB
– His final words before death: ‘You have an exceptional understanding and I trust you with my life. Publish.’
– ‘Yet’ honours both Harry’s resilience and thousands of silenced children who endured similar trauma, stigma, and institutional separation
Dad carried the weight of those words throughout his life, but he refused to let them define him. He discovered a powerful mindset shift: by adding the word “Yet” to his frustrations, he reminded himself that change and learning were processes. “I can’t do this” became “I can’t do this… yet.” That small shift helped him move forward, even when life felt impossible.
Against all odds, Dad built a remarkable life. He overcame childhood trauma and the stigma of being disabled by bovine tuberculosis (bTB) to become an accountant, senior manager, and part-time music teacher, working from home for 35 years. After he died, I was overwhelmed by the stories people shared about how he had changed their lives.
One student said:
Your dad’s endless patience and enthusiasm was infectious. I was pushed where needed and supported when I was struggling. They say a good teacher stays with you for life, and Mr Drabble proves that rule.
Another called him:
A truly amazing man who had a significant impact on my life and direction of travel.
These testimonies illustrate what research confirms: how one generation’s healing can benefit the next.
For 20 years, I jotted down the stories Dad shared with me—his lessons, reflections, and the memories he carried. As I researched how childhood trauma shapes generations, Dad began to see his story’s broader significance. As his health declined, he decided he wanted to collaborate with me and a book was born. He believed his life could shed light on the hidden truths of British children disabled by bTB, raise awareness of the psychological costs of their experiences, and explain why survivors became the people they were.
Maybe my story will help someone.
Why This Story Matters: The Forgotten bTB Epidemic
Between 1900-1960, tens of thousands of British children contracted bovine tuberculosis from unpasteurised milk. These children:
– Spent months or years separated from families in isolation hospitals
– Endured painful treatments: surgery without adequate anaesthetic, immobilisation in plaster casts, extended bed rest, exposure to UV light
– Faced lifelong physical disabilities from bone and joint damage
– Carried psychological scars from attachment trauma and institutional care
– Experienced severe social stigma, often labelled ‘cripples’ and excluded from education
The scale of the forgotten epidemic:
– Approximately 2,500 deaths annually from bovine TB in Britain (1912-1937)
– 65,000 total deaths in England and Wales during this period
– Thousands more survived with permanent disabilities
– Children disproportionately affected due to milk consumption
Understanding attachment theory helps explain why institutional separation affected these children so profoundly—and why effects persisted throughout their lives.
Children were still being infected in the 1960s—by then, generations had been unnecessarily infected.
Why their stories vanished:
– Survivors carried shame and trauma, rarely speaking about experiences
– Society wanted to forget the ‘crippled children’ kept in isolation saying, ‘Least said, soonest mended’
– Medical records were destroyed or lost
– No central documentation of children’s experiences existed
– Disability rights advocacy didn’t emerge until decades later
Modern relevance:
Bovine TB is resurgent. According to recent public health reports, antibiotic-resistant strains are emerging, and unpasteurised milk is gaining popularity in some communities. Dad’s story serves as both historical record and contemporary warning.
His voice—and those of survivors like him—must not be lost.
Why This Matters to Me
Writing Dad’s story and getting it into the world has been one of the most challenging and meaningful projects of my life.
As a former counsellor who researches intergenerational trauma, I recognise how Dad’s childhood experiences shaped our family across generations. His attachment wounds—created by separation from his mother at age two, years in institutional care without consistent caregiving, and the trauma of painful medical procedures—affected how he parented me.
Perhaps, I will writ more about his legacy, but for now I’ll tell you he loved quietly and fiercely but struggled with emotional expression. He pushed me to achieve but sometimes couldn’t understand why I didn’t understand its importance or why I needed reassurance. As a youngster, the ‘yet’ philosophy that helped him triumph over disability also sometimes felt like ‘you should be able to do this’—a high bar that felt impossible to meet. As a young woman, I complimented him, saying, ‘ You’re a hard act to follow’. He was devastated I felt that way and took it as his failure to communicate with me.
Understanding his story helped me understand us
I saw how a two-year-old boy, labelled ‘cripple’ and written off by society, built protective walls that served him well in facing discrimination and exclusion—but sometimes kept out the people who loved him most.
I recognised how his childhood trauma created both resilience and wounds, strength and vulnerability, triumph and lifelong pain and struggle. Even in his final days he never stopped trying.
This book honours all of it—the hero and the human.
Dad wasn’t perfect. Childhood trauma left scars he carried all his life. But he transformed those scars into a philosophy that helped countless people—including, eventually, me as I learned to understand what shaped him.
That’s what I hope readers take away: people who triumph over trauma are remarkable—and they’re also carrying wounds that affect how they love, parent, and connect.
Both truths can exist simultaneously.
If the reasons I wrote this book are also, in some way, your reasons for wanting to tell your own family’s story, I would be glad to hear from you. Please email me at helen@helenparkerdrabble.com.
Frequently Asked Questions
Why did your father want this book published?
Dad had three clear purposes: First, to shed light on the hidden truths of British children disabled by bovine tuberculosis—a forgotten chapter of history. Second, to raise awareness of the psychological costs survivors experienced from childhood separation, medical trauma, and societal stigma. Third, to help people understand why survivors became who they were—how childhood trauma shaped their adult lives, relationships, and resilience.
He also wanted his story to serve as a warning about unpasteurised milk dangers, as bovine TB is resurging globally and becoming antibiotic resistant.
What does the title ‘Yet’ mean?
‘Yet’ represents the philosophy that sustained my father throughout his life. When faced with limitations—’I can’t do this,’ ‘I’m not there,’ ‘I haven’t succeeded’—adding ‘yet’ transforms a fixed mindset into a growth mindset. It acknowledges that inability is temporary, that learning takes time, that we’re simply at an earlier point on our journey.
This small word shift helped Dad overcome enormous challenges: societal exclusion, physical disability, childhood trauma, and the label of ‘cripple’ that he carried from age two.
Why did it take so long to publish this book?
Dad knew I was writing his stories down for at least 20 years ago. I think it was his way of processing and reframing the painfulmemories of childhood separation from family, years in isolation hospitals, treatments that left physical and emotional scars, and the stigma of being labelled ‘incapable of learning’.
As I pursued my work as a counsellor and genealogist, and studyied how childhood experiences shape adult lives, he began to see value in documenting his story. He said,’Maybe the psychological inheritance idea is the most important one of all’. ‘Maybe understanding what happened to us could help others,’ he added quietly one day.
The urgency grew when he realised:
– Bovine tuberculosis is resurging globally, with antibiotic-resistant strains emerging
– Unpasteurised milk consumption is increasing in some communities
– The last survivors of the 1930s-1960s bTB epidemic are dying, taking their stories with them
– Little trace of what these children endured from their point of view exists
Dad realised his story wasn’t just personal—it was historical documentation. Public health warning. Testament to thousands of forgotten children.
‘No one believed us,’ he repeated often. ‘People said, “Children couldn’t have been treated like that.” But we were.’
He wanted proof. Evidence. A voice for those who’d been silenced.
Did your father see the finished book before he died?
No. Dad died before the book was completed, but he read early chapters and gave explicit permission to continue. He knew he wouldn’t see the book published, but said ‘I want the story out there, but I don’t want to be around when it is’. Some of his final words to me were: ‘You have an exceptional understanding and I trust you with my life. Publish.’
That trust—and promise—drives me to honour his story with accuracy, compassion, and the depth he deserved.
How does ‘Yet’ connect to your other work on intergenerational trauma?
As a former counsellor and ‘geneatherapist,’ I research how trauma transmits across generations through both psychological patterns and epigenetic changes. Dad’s childhood separation and medical trauma created attachment wounds that affected his parenting and our family relationships.
‘Yet’ demonstrates both the wounds trauma creates and the resilience possible when we understand and address those patterns. It connects personal narrative with broader research on how childhood adversity shapes lives across generations.
Understanding Dad’s story helped me recognise intergenerational patterns in our family—and work to heal them.
Who should read ‘Yet’?
– Anyone facing challenges, disability, or trauma seeking inspiration and practical mindset tools
– Adult children wanting to preserve parent’s stories before it’s too late
– Family historians researching 1930s-1960s British medical history or institutional care
– Educators and mentors interested in transformative teaching philosophy
– Medical historians studying bovine tuberculosis or childhood disease
– People researching intergenerational trauma, attachment wounds, and resilience
– Those interested in disability rights history and how stigma shapes lives
Honour Dad’s Legacy
Purchase ‘Yet’: A Story of Triumph Over Childhood Separation, Trauma, and Disability
Every purchase:
– Preserves a forgotten chapter of British history
– Honours thousands of children who endured similar experiences
– Supports further research into intergenerational trauma and healing
– Shares the ‘yet’ philosophy with people facing their own challenges
Read the first two chapters free
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“No one believed me. ‘Children couldn’t have been treated like that.’ But we were.”
—Harry Drabble