From the editor: With great sadness, Dr Malcolm Brown has died. Describing him as a retired community pharmacist doesn’t begin to cover it, but it was one of his talents, and we were fortunate that he became a regular columnist for C+D. His take on the world of community pharmacy was enriched by his philosophical approach and wealth of experience, and he filed many thought provoking columns. He was never short of ideas and he explored complex issues with cheery anecdote and friendly authority, always with an eye on the future. It’s been a great pleasure to have such a wide-ranging and well-seasoned thinker writing for C+D, and we will miss his warm contributions. Here is the last one, filed shortly before his death, and published with the kind permission of his loving wife. I hope you enjoy it. James
Snow fell thick upon the cobbles, softening the rattle of carriage wheels outside the High Street shop. A brass oil lamp glowed in the window, casting warm light on glass carboys filled with red, blue and green solutions. Inside, the air smelled of beeswax, turpentine and ground ginger.
A woman pushed through the door, her shawl drawn close. She carried a boy of about five, face pale and pinched, breath catching with a hollow cough. The chemist, a man in his fifties with silver at his temples, did not like the look of the child. He had seen many such before. Some recovered, some did not. He feared this boy might not live. Yet on Christmas Eve, he resolved to give this family his best, though his heart grew heavy with pity and the silent ache of helpless foreboding.
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He ushered them toward the coal fire, then stepped into the dispensary. Here, the air was cooler, the counters crowded with mortars, conical measures, bottles with ground-glass stoppers and a leech jar; labelled drawers surrounded. The mother could not see him; only the clink of glass and smell of spirits betrayed his work. A pill machine lay to one side, though tonight he would make up a bottle.
He began with reddish-brown ipecacuanha powder, weighing twelve grains upon the balance, the scales quivering before settling and scraping into the mortar. Into a conical measure he poured two drachms of reddish Paregoric, smelling of camphor and anise, delivering opium. Next, three drachms of sweet spirit of nitre, smelling of rum. Then, two drachms of spirit of chloroform, with cloying sweet odour.
Porcelain clinked as pestle rang against mortar. Then back and forth into the measure to top up to six ounces with water. A final stir, then he decanted into the bottle. He corked it and polished the glass.
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He took a sheet of white paper, wrapped it about the bottle and sealed the package with red wax, secundum artem. Glass and liquid became something else: not mere medicine, but a parcel fit for a Christmas gift, its weight carrying dignity, compassion and the promise of hope against despair.
Outside, the bells began to ring, tones rolling over the rooftops, mingling with the hush of snow against the windowpanes. He paused, letting the sound steady his hand. What might pharmacy look like when another hundred and fifty winters had passed? Perhaps no more mixtures, or even pills, but the new tablets as used for glyceroli trinitratis. Perhaps not even the pharmaceutical chemist himself, but machines that could calculate and dispense with accuracy. He imagined Babbage’s difference engine, wheels and cogged columns endlessly churning, numbers clicking forward like the tick of a clock. If such a machine could master calculation, might not a thinking machine one day measure powders and cork bottles—without fatigue or error? Yet even the grandest engine could not comfort a mother or warm a sick child’s hands.
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He smiled at his own fancy. Science fiction writer Jules Verne could hardly have imagined the whole of it. And yet science had already moved beyond dreams: the solar spectrum held hundreds of lines; each element bore its own spectral signature. Such spectroscopy was reshaping chemistry, promising to test purity and expose the essence of things—as pharmacy already extracted healing alkaloids from plants.
Once, surgery meant death, yet now carbolic acid sweetened wounds. Perhaps, one day, some novel drug might heal torn lungs. The chemist knew such thoughts were fanciful. The mortar, the bottle, the folded paper, the words of advice: these remained the true heart of his calling.
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He carried the parcel to the waiting mother. She met his gaze. “Will it ease him, sir?”
“It may calm his cough,” he replied. “Give him a teaspoonful twice daily and keep him warm by the fire.”
Her hands trembled as she took the bottle, whispering thanks, her eyes glistening with desperate gratitude. He waved her away, saying nothing of payment. Outside, the bells continued to peal, and though the night was bitterly cold, hope went with them into the snow, carrying the promise of kinder days and a blessing unspoken yet felt on Christmas night.
Obituary
Dr Malcolm E. Brown was a community, hospital and industrial pharmacist, as well as a sociologist.
He held a bachelor of arts (BA) degree from the Open University, a master’s degree from the university of Bradford and a doctorate in natural and social science research from the University of East Anglia, the latter of where he was an honorary careers mentor at the University of East Anglia.
Throughout his career, Brown also took on senior positions from a production manager role in a pharmaceutical company to director roles in the NHS.
Other roles followed such as training an international company’s sales teams on how to sell medicines to the NHS.
Brown was an EU qualified person (QP) that certified batches of medicines and took on auditing and advisory roles in several countries.
He had been a keynote speaker at an international multidisciplinary conference at the Hague, and also had a prolific career as a writer.
Brown has had 184 articles published, with dozens in Chemist+Druggist as well as having a regular column the “Bottled Brown” in the Industrial Pharmacy (IP), an official journal of the International Pharmaceutical Federation (FIP).
He also wrote two books “Winning Words” and “Pharmacy Miscellany”.
In 2021, Brown was elected as a Fellow of the Royal Pharmaceutical Society (RPS) for distinction in the profession of pharmacy.
Dr Malcolm E. Brown passed away peacefully on November 22, 2025.