My parents, Peter and Phyllis Mond, who have died aged 96 and 92 respectively, were married in 1948 and shared the postwar optimism about building a better, fairer society – a commitment they never abandoned. They had a fascination with the natural world; loved walking and travelling in southern Europe; and had a talent for hospitality and friendship. They enjoyed a wide circle of friends, initially in north London, where they lived while Peter was a GP, and then in west Oxfordshire, where they moved after he retired in 1976.
Born Nathaniel Mond in the East End of London to eastern European Jewish immigrants, Peter did not forget the humiliations of childhood poverty. These, and his teenage experience of resisting the Blackshirts, underpinned his lifelong political radicalism. As a doctor, he was attached to the army during the north African and Italian campaigns of the second world war, helping local victims as well as allied troops.
He was already in practice as a GP in Kingsbury, in what is now the London borough of Brent, when the NHS was formed in 1948, and profoundly welcomed its establishment, which removed the financial transaction that had contaminated patient care. He cared for his patients in practical ways as well as medical: he was one of the first to introduce an appointments system, employing a receptionist at his own cost before the NHS would fund this. He was active in the Royal Society of Medicine and president of its general practice section in 1974-75.
He disliked the recent changes in the NHS, believing it would be corrupted if doctors as commissioners had a financial interest in the supply of services. He was also distressed by the treatment of Palestinians in Israel and the occupied territories. He took an interest in end-of-life care, and celebrated his 90th year with a parachute jump to raise funds for a local care charity.
My mother was inspirational in a complementary way. She was born Phyllis Holmes in Manchester; her mother died when Phyllis was an infant. Phyllis's warmth and hospitality inspired friends of her own generation, as well as many of her children's friends, and finally her grandchildren, for whom her and Peter's house became a second home.
Phyllis's career was diverted by the outbreak of war – when she abandoned her social science degree course to take up nursing – and afterwards by raising her family. She and Peter had happy years after his retirement. They spent time in Italy, where her daughter Jessica settled, then moved to the Cotswolds, volunteered in local conservation groups and developed their love of gardening and wildlife. But their later years were marred by her dementia, precipitated by a road accident in 2001. Peter visited her daily in her care home.
Peter died after a road accident. While dazed by painkillers, he asked if we would need to pay the hospital. He beamed when we told him, "You don't need to worry, this is the national health service." Phyllis died six days after Peter.
They are survived by their children, David, me and Jessica; six grandchildren; and a great-granddaughter.
