'Yet': A Story of Triumph over Childhood Separation, Trauma, and Disability: A Story of Triumph over Childhood Separation, Trauma, and Disability (Who Do I Think You Were?
Yet is one of those rare books that lingers long after you turn the final page. Helen Parker-Drabble has given the world a gift in telling Harry’s story—a moving, unflinching, and profoundly compassionate look at a man whose life was shaped by early separation, disability, and resilience.
As a mother, I felt an ache reading about Harry’s childhood and his prolonged time away from his parents. The helplessness of being unable to comfort or advocate for your child during medical treatment is unimaginable. Parker-Drabble captures that emotional truth with honesty and empathy, helping readers see how early wounds can shape a person’s lifelong need to be seen for who they truly are.
The depictions of hospital life and the dehumanizing policies of the time were painful but necessary. I’ve read about such injustices in history books and even uncovered similar stories in my own family tree—but seeing it through Harry’s eyes brought a depth of understanding I hadn’t experienced before. His creativity, humor, and defiant spirit shine through, making the story as uplifting as it is heartbreaking.
Harry’s relationships—with his mother May, with Doreen, and with the larger world—are drawn with realism and compassion. His love story made me smile often; his fears during WWII made me shudder. The reminder that people like Harry were once viewed as “unworthy of life” is chilling, yet Parker-Drabble uses that truth to emphasize the enduring strength of the human spirit.
The reflection questions at the end of the book are an unexpected treasure. They invited me to slow down and think—not just about Harry’s life, but about my own experiences and the people I’ve loved. That’s the hallmark of a truly meaningful read.
Yet reminds us how far we’ve come as a society—and how much further we still have to go. It’s a powerful testament to empathy, dignity, and the importance of telling stories that history too often overlooks. I’ll be recommending it widely, especially to those interested in genealogy, mental health history, and the quiet courage of ordinary lives.
This is simultaneously an eminently readable but difficult book that ultimately rewards the reader with an inspiring account of one man's struggle just to live a 'normal' life. It's easy to read because of the author's fluid style and sensitive touch, which she maintains despite having to deal with the potentially complex medical issues that are central to the book. The book lifts the veil on the needless suffering of children who contracted bovine TB in Britain between the wars, and in particular her late father, Harry Drabble. Be warned that it contains harrowing examples of stupidity, ignorance and the wilful bullying, disrespect and neglect of children by medical staff and other authorities, and how this amounted to nothing less than institutional child abuse - not the sexual kind, but horrific physical and psychological cruelty over a sustained period. It's also a timely reminder that during what some still consider 'the good old days', either side of the Second World War, in fact public life, society and employment in Britain was defined by a shocking widespread bigotry, aimed at disabled people. Long before you reach the conclusion, expect to regret that you are not able to meet Harry in person, a man who overcame extraordinary personal challenges and terrible prejudice to finally triumph and - spoiler alert - find love with Helen's mother (another inspiring character). This is a story that needed to be told, and Helen's love and admiration for her late father is evident throughout the book, making it a fitting tribute to him and others like him.
This book was written as a tribute to the author's father who contracted bovine tuberculosis as a child as a result of which he was virtually written off by society. But as well as demonstrating his courage and sheer (some might say bloody-minded) determination, the book provides a fascinating insight into the social and medical history of thec1930s onwards. Diagnosed aged 2 , Harry was removed immediately to an orthopaedic hospital where his patents wete allowed to visit only occasionally and even nursing staff were dissuaded from showing affection. Although eventually discharged, this treatment, and further periods of hospitalisation. made it hard for Harry to readjust to home life. It's a sad indictment of past medical practice and a climate in which any disability (Harry struggled to walk) was something to be ashamed of. Meticulously researched and documented, Yet also details wartime rationing and the stigma of poverty suffered by Harrys wife to be. Based on Harry's testimony, the book has a happy ending. but as well as a tribute to his courage in demanding a place in society it would make a great case study for research into the topics covered. An absorbing read, highly recommended.
I found this an incredibly difficult book to read. Coming from spending much of my nursing career in Tuberculosis Control, I found it hard to fathom the unnecessary cruelty the children like Harry in this book faced. Thank heaven it's from a bygone era. Or so I hope it is ! With nursing shortages everywhere, how much time do nurses have to get to know and understand their patients' needs these days? I'm glad a few student nurses disobeyed Matron and had some conversations with Harry briefly relieving the isolation he endured. Harry fought to be seen as the man he could be throughout his young life. "Yet" is a book about a courageous, resilient man who persevered to get what he wanted out of life. This is a moving tribute Helen Parker-Drabble has written about her father, well-researched and compassionate. It brings to light the tremendous responsibility dairy farmers have to keep their herd of cows healthy and continue to pasteurize their milk so no human has to suffer like Harry from Bovine Tuberculosis. Thank you Helen for sharing this story. I'll remember this book for a long time.