BACO International is about to take place in Glasgow, 1–3 July 2026. To coincide with ENT UK’s historic flagship conference covering all aspects of our speciality, I thought that readers might be interested in a few words about its history and some of its lighter moments. I am sure that all of you who are able to attend will have a great time.
The British Academic Conference in Otolaryngology has been our principle national conference since the 1960s. It was put together by a group of senior ENT surgeons at a time when international medical meetings were rather thin on the ground and few had the time and finance to attend those that did take place.
The aim was to provide the speciality with up-to-date information from around the world, bringing in ‘big names’ that many would otherwise not encounter in the flesh. In its original format, it took place every four years and combined a scientific programme with social events from a forgotten age. There was a master’s reception with a very select invitation list, garden parties with marching brass bands, and an active ladies’ programme. A golf tournament, of course, was held, followed by a final banquet in a suitably historic location, where a prize putter was awarded to the most proficient golfer!
There was much to commend this happy blend of British pomp and eccentricity, especially when held in glorious sunshine in Cambridge or similar venerable venues but the meeting extended over an entire week, which made it a bad week to suffer an ENT emergency in the UK. It also had an organisational structure of byzantine complexity which, in those days, was independent of the British Association of Otorhinolaryngology, Head and Neck (predecessor of ENT UK) and involved layers of committees and sub-committees built up over many years, populated by an exhausting interplay of personalities, each determined to reinforce their status within the organisation. And, of course, they were all men.
"Things eventually changed, and at my instigation, the title of the ‘ladies’ programme – though somewhat reluctantly – was renamed to ‘accompanying persons’"
First of all, there would be a bidding ‘war’ as to where the next meeting would be held. I am pretty certain there were no pecuniary inducements but the selection did involve visiting each place and being extensively wined and dined whilst visiting the facilities. There was a scientific committee with its members, chair and secretary, a local committee to sort out the accommodation, food and buses, a general committee with members, chair, treasurer and secretary, and then the ‘high command’ made up of the increasingly elderly original convenors who had overall control. Add to this the various other advisory bodies and you have a tidy number of people dashing back and forth from London for endless meetings in the days before the internet, mobile phones and Zoom. In the background, much of the organisational stuff was done by the medical secretaries and wives of these gentlemen who put together the conference packs and staffed the registration desks. It was many years before an actual professional conference organiser was employed, it being thought an unnecessary expense, and when PCOs were eventually hired, it was not always an unalloyed success.
I first attended BACO in 1987 when I won the Scientific Exhibition Award. A couple of years later, I was invited to join the scientific committee, then became the committee’s secretary, served as chairman at two successive meetings, and finally left the committee in 2018, so I feel rather embedded in the organisation.
It also meant that I had to attend a host of the other committees – I like to think that I may have contributed to some modernisation over the years. As I had had experience of quite a few international meetings, it seemed something of an omission not to seek commercial sponsorship for various things such as the conference bag, badges and other ephemera but when first I suggested this, a disapproving hush fell on the general committee. I think if I had suggested we used the proceeds of prostitution or drug-dealing to pay for the bags it would have been better received at the time. Things eventually changed, and at my instigation, the title of the ‘ladies’ programme – though somewhat reluctantly – was renamed to ‘accompanying persons’. Such is progress. This anachronistic view of the place of women is best exemplified by the title of the person who is appointed as distinguished figurehead of each meeting, i.e. the ‘master’. When I was asked to take on this role for the 2018 meeting, notwithstanding the obvious incongruity of the title as its first female incumbent, I was happy to go with it in the spirit of post-modern irony and make as much mileage out of it as possible because clearly ‘mistress’ was not going to be acceptable by the old boys, and none of them were familiar with Dr Who. (The Master is a recurring arch-baddy who has featured in many stories of Dr Who, the long-running BBC television series.)
One of the supposed highlights of the meeting was a grand banquet on the last night. It was attended by the conference delegates, the worthies of the various committees and an invited speaker, who would say a few well-chosen words of thanks and inspiration. The secret of a successful post-prandial banquet speech is to keep it amusing, keep it relatively clean and, above all, keep it short. No one ever complained that a speech finished too soon, but not all speakers understand this. Although a conference banquet is now something of an anachronism, there have been enough in the past that were memorable – though not always in a good way.
Ask anyone who attended BACO 1991 in Dublin. They will shudder with real emotion as they are reminded of the after-dinner events of the banquet. This was attended by Mary Robinson, then President of the Republic, who gave a polished and succinct address. Unfortunately, she was followed by a South African ENT colleague whose talk was so long, rambling and lacking in coherence – and included a number of ‘jokes’ of extremely doubtful taste – that it left a lasting impression on all those unlucky enough to be present. One hour into the talk and, as midnight came and went, Mrs Robinson tried unsuccessfully to discreetly extricate herself from an audience who were either asleep on the table, under the table or were wandering around outside begging for it all to be over. The officials waiting to whisk the President home would start getting up at the end of each long paragraph thinking the speech was coming to an end only to sit down again as it meandered on. The speaker was finally asked to finish.
Needless to say, 27 years later, when I was the BACO ‘master’, I insisted that we had a massive party replete with glitter ball, live bands, photo booths, international food stalls and ABSOLUTELY NO speeches.
Have a fabulous time in Glasgow!
This series of stories is dedicated to those of you with whom some of these moments were shared (or endured) and, above all, to my amazing and long-suffering husband, David Howard. Most of you know him as an exceptional head and neck surgeon but, since Covid, he has been involved in a large multi-speciality international charitable project reintroducing negative pressure non-invasive breathing support which could transform the management of respiratory disease all round the world. If you are interested, please visit www.exovent.org for further information and, if you enjoy the stories, please consider donating to the charity through the Exovent website (Click DONATE on the home page drop down menu).
