These were the days before the Veterinary Surgeons Act of 1948 which prohibited the practising of veterinary medicine and surgery by non-qualified people. Prior to this, students could work unsupervised among animals, and McDowall often left Alf to run surgeries single-handed. He wrote a letter to his parents in 1938 from Sunderland:

‘Down at the clinic (where Wight is in charge) I had to remove a tumour from a dog aged 12 years and after hacking away for a bit found it was attached to a testicle – so I had to remove the testicle too … a bigger job than I had ever tackled. I can tell you, I wished Mac had been by my side. I sent the dog away with a horrible wound and never expected to see it alive again. But, strange to say, it turned up for dressing two days later, bright and frisky and the wound beautifully clean. I felt immensely bucked up about it.’

At this stage of his life, while still only a student, he was experiencing the pressures and emotions that typify the veterinary surgeon’s day: the anxious waiting to know whether your patient is going to survive; the joy and satisfaction of a job well done. There can be no doubt that the Veterinary Surgeons Act is a necessary one. It is wrong that inexperienced people should work on animals without adequate supervision, and the Act was passed to protect the interests of the patient. Nevertheless, students in those earlier years certainly gained wonderful experience from being thrown in at the deep end.

Back in Glasgow, Alf spent most of his time studying. He was now in the ‘home straight’, with only the passing of Medicine and Surgery standing between him and a career as a veterinary surgeon. But it was not all work; some recreation was essential to break the long sessions of swotting he put in, secreted up in his little bedroom in Anniesland Road. He went walking and played tennis as much as he dared, but it was on Saturday nights that he and his friends would go to the cinema or go dancing in the big Glasgow ballrooms.

On a more cultural note, he frequently went to the theatre with his mother. Glasgow boasted a huge number, and the Regal, La Scala, the Playhouse and the Alhambra were theatres that Alf got to know well. It was here that he acquired not only an appreciation of classical music but, also, considerable knowledge of the subject. One of his greatest memories as a young man was hearing Rachmaninov play his Second Piano Concerto in a Glasgow concert hall. He and his mother who were seated very close to the stage, watched, spellbound, as the great man, crouching like a bear over the keys, played some of the most wonderful music they had ever heard.

Music a few rungs down the ladder of culture was to be heard at the veterinary college dances at Buccleuch Street on most Friday nights, and Alf regularly attended these throbbing sessions. The governing body of the college needed to turn a blind eye to the dances; if they had not done so, those riotous functions might well have been terminated.

Alex Taylor heard about the dances and asked if he could attend one. It turned out to be an evening he was never to forget. When Mrs Taylor learned that her son was going to the next vet college dance, she asked Alf, ‘I’ve heard that these occasions can be a wee bit rough, Alf, and I’ve heard that some rather odd women attend them. Now, Alex won’t get into any trouble, will he?’

He was quick to reassure her. ‘Oh goodness me, no, Mrs Taylor. It’s just a wee bit of a get-together with a few of the lads and then we just stroll up to the college to have a few dances before going off home. Don’t you worry yourself. Alex will be fine, just fine.’

He did not think it necessary to tell Mrs Taylor that this was also ‘freshers’ night’ which added that little extra spice to the evening’s activities. It began, as usual, in a public house in Glasgow. The place was bulging with students and Alex was soon enjoying himself. The noise was stupendous, with everyone laughing, including Alex, who seemed to be surrounded at all times by red, sweating faces. Any semblance of intelligent conversation soon melted away as the rate of consumption of beer and whisky accelerated.

Eventually, closing time was rung, and they were evicted noisily onto the city streets. Alex can vaguely remember Alf carrying aloft a lifesize cardboard figure of ‘Johnny Walker’, as the swaying column of students ascended the hill to Buccleuch Street. By this time, Alex’s mouth was hanging open and everything was a blur; it seemed that the whole of Glasgow was revolving before his eyes. The students decided to crash past the officials at the gates of the college to avoid paying the modest entrance fee. This was only partially successful as, in the ensuing fracas, Alex received a massive blow on the chin which laid him out.

This posed a dilemma for Alf. Here was his best friend whom he had brought to the vet college dance for the first time. It was meant to be a good night out with the lads but, instead, he was pole-axed. What was he going to do with him? It did not help that Alf was in a high state of intoxication himself and in no real condition to help anyone. The serene expression upon Alex’s face led his friend to suspect that the blow he had just received was not entirely responsible for his present condition – but he still had a crisis on his hands.

Suddenly, he had a burst of inspiration. The dance, as always, was taking place on the upper floor of the veterinary college and, in the yard below, he saw several long boxes filled with wood shavings. These seven-foot long containers had carried a supply of new microscopes and other laboratory equipment. ‘The very thing!’ thought Alf. ‘Let’s put Alex in one of those. He will be comfortable in among the shavings and I can keep an eye on him from up here.’

With the dubious assistance of several inebriated friends, he dragged the limp form of Alex down the steps to the yard below, his heels drumming rhythmically on the steel stairway. When they reached the chosen box there was a snag – Dominic Boyce was already inside, deeply embedded in the shavings. He was wearing a flat cap, his face a ghastly bluish tinge. One of the students, on seeing the staring, sunken eyeballs, said that Dom must be dead. ‘Don’t worry,’ replied another, ‘he always goes that colour.’

The second box was also occupied; another student was comfortably in residence, a peaceful half-smile on his sleeping face. Alf began to wonder whether every box would contain a moribund student, but he was in luck. An empty one was eventually found and Alex was lowered gently inside. Having made sure that his old friend was comfortably tucked up amongst the shavings, Alf gave a final glance at the rows of boxes, each containing its silent occupant, before heading to the pulsating noise above on the dance floor.

Alf remembered little about the rest of the evening, save that he thought the police were involved at some point. Somehow, he and Alex, who had spent the remainder of the evening at peace with the world, found their way home. Alex was relieved that his mother was away at the time but, when she returned a day or two later, she said to him, ‘I believe that you had a good night at the vet dance, Alex.’

‘Yes, I had an excellent evening, thank you,’ he replied.

‘I know,’ she went on, ‘I read all about it!’

Not for the first time, the Glasgow veterinary students had made the pages of the press.

Alf took a number of young ladies to dances in Glasgow but one thing he spoke very little about was his experiences with members of the fairer sex, and consequently there is precious little information about his youthful romances. He definitely had several girlfriends but he had no steady relationships until his final couple of years at college, and these were soon forgotten after he left Glasgow.

While he still lived in Yoker, he had a soft spot for a young lady called Jean Wilson and went out quite regularly with her during his time at Hillhead, but he was very young and it was never really serious. Charlotte Clarke was a girl he met while on a Boys’ Brigade weekend, and he kept in touch with her for about a year. He appeared really keen on her, describing her in his diary as ‘The sweetest thing I have ever known.’ This friendship, however, was terminated when Charlotte decided to give him the elbow during his second year at veterinary college. Young Alf was quite upset; he was always a sensitive person and capable of becoming extremely emotionally involved.