Agnes Arnold-Forster

Throughout the 20th century, there was disagreement over whether doctors were workers or a special set of elite, bourgeois professionals. This debate didn’t only get to the heart of the question of what if anything makes medicine special or different from other pursuits or practices, it also tapped into broader questions about the ethics and viability of industrial action by doctors and the place of the NHS in British national identity.

In 1958, the managing editor of a widely read women’s magazine rejected a romantic novel for serialisation by arguing: ‘I have a theory that fiction must never disturb the faith and trust a woman feels for doctors and/or nurses.’ He was not alone in his concern that fictional representations of healthcare professionals had the capacity to undo readers’ and viewers’ devotion to the health service and its employees.

Over the last few days, it has emerged that the foundation set up in Captain Tom’s name (not NHS Charities Together) not only paid out more in management costs than it did in grants during its first year, but also paid over £50,000 to two companies run by Ingram-Moore and her husband. The revelation has provoked outrage. But more illuminating, really, is what happened to the £33 million that Captain Tom raised himself, and what it tells us about the NHS’s increasing reliance on charitable giving.