I needed a holiday job before going to university to study pharmacy so becoming a dispensing assistant at Boots the Chemist in Harborne was a logical choice. Please note the job title; an ‘assistant’, not just a delivery boy or floor scrubber. I wore a white coat.

This was more than protective clothing, it demonstrated your place in the work hierarchy. If you wore blue overalls, you would get your hands dirty, and your overalls were usually dirty as well. The foreman, who told the people in blue overalls what to do, wore a brown coat. He did not usually get his hands dirty so his coat would have been clean. However, if you wore a white coat, you were never going to get your hands dirty. Your immaculate coat proved your superiority.

At school, I had been good at science, especially biology. I was fascinated by the complexity of cells, the structure of DNA was a wonder. I procured a poster which detailed the various processes of the Krebs Cycle like a magic spell that turned chemistry into life. This is what drew me to chemistry and biology. I did not think of myself as a swot (the word for nerd in those days) but I was delighted when I discovered a second-hand book for next to nothing which explained the structures and reactions of ketones and aldehydes.

I was still essentially a shop assistant. But at least I did not have to sweep or scrub. Then a chemist’s shop was not self-service, as most shops are today. I had to learn quickly not to be embarrassed when a woman would ask for tampons, or an older person would ask for suppositories. There was always a way out of a difficulty, for both myself and the customer, by suggesting we call the pharmacist. I was floored when a man walked in one day and cheerily asked for a dozen Durex without any sign of embarrassment. It was my face that went red rather than his.

Fifty years ago, medicines were not supplied in bubble packs or in measured doses. They would arrive in bulk, up to 500 tablets in a drum, or half a gallon of liquid. My job was to decant tonic, syrup or linctus into smaller brown bottles and attach a personalised label. Plastic screw tops lids had just been introduced and some older people were suspicious because they did not have a cork. I had to count the tablets into even smaller bottles, or small white card boxes, add a piece of cotton wool to stop them rattling, and then the label.

We had a simple gadget for counting tablets. A triangular tray which arranged them in rows starting with one at the apex, two in the next row, then three etc. I simply counted the rows which immediately gave me the total number of tablets. I still remember that seven rows equal four weeks’ supply at one a day.

Dispensing pharmaceuticals meant only counting and measuring. Although the shop had a shelf or two of old jars with abbreviated Latin names on them, no-one made up ointments or mixed potions anymore. Nevertheless, I am sure that a present-day pharmacist would be bemused by the meagre stock carried by a chemist in the 1960s. Nowadays, there is a vast range of different medications, with pre-packaged doses in similar cartons. Pharmacists today have mechanised revolving shelving to allow them to store and keep track of the ever-multiplying products of the pharmaceutical industry.

It was only for a few weeks but it gave me a few pounds to take to London with me. I had experienced life as a pharmacist and earned the right to wear a white coat.