For many who grew up in Somers Town in the 1950s and 60s, one name still brings a smile of recognition: Dr. Monica Shaw. She was no ordinary GP. Brilliant, eccentric, and utterly devoted to her patients, she left behind a legacy of stories that locals continue to share with warmth and laughter.

Her surgery stood on Eversholt Street, a small, crowded practice where there was no appointment system — you simply sat and waited your turn. Inside, the waiting room was often full, but nobody seemed to mind. Patients knew they might be there a while, as Dr. Shaw was famous for asking after every member of the family as much as treating the ailment at hand. “She really did know everyone,” one patient remembered.

Dr. Shaw was rarely seen without a cigarette, and her nicotine-stained fingers became part of her legend. She would chat with a croaky voice, often with her hair pinned in a bun, false teeth slipping now and again. Her fingers were usually covered in plasters, not from illness but from her beloved cats. She adored them — both the feral ones she cared for at home in Bloomsbury with her housekeeper, Mrs. Harris, and the china cats that decorated her surgery. 

Many recall the chaos of her desk, stacked high with papers, but she could always put her hand on exactly the right piece of paper when needed.

Her private life was as unconventional as her surgery. She never married, choosing instead to share her life with Dr. Beards, a surgeon. “She didn’t believe in marriage,” one local recalled, “and she didn’t want children either.” She preferred her independence, her patients, and her cats.

She came from a well-to-do family, yet spent much of her money on animal welfare and died with little to her name.

Yet her eccentricities never dulled her brilliance as a doctor. She had an uncanny instinct for illness. One patient recalls her sending their mother urgently to Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Hospital — an act that saved her life. Another remembered her saying, bluntly but effectively, “Either get out of bed or die” — advice which their grandmother took to heart, living on to the age of 99. 

She would turn up at houses late at night if needed, stethoscope tucked in her shopping bag along with vegetables. Children weren’t spared her directness: one woman recalls having her dummy snatched out and thrown in the bin with the words, “You’re too old for that!”

Dr. Shaw’s love of racing, her chats with fathers about the horses, her compassion for families, and her fierce independence made her unforgettable. “She was always on your side,” one person said simply. For all her quirks — the yellow fingers, the plasters, the cats, and the Nora Batty stockings — she was remembered above all as the best doctor Somers Town ever had.

When she retired, Dr. Foram took over the practice. Opinions were mixed about him, but one thing was clear: Dr. Shaw was missed deeply.

Even now, decades on, the people of Somers Town speak of her with affection. She was more than a GP — she was a character woven into the fabric of the community, proof that sometimes the most unconventional people leave the most lasting mark.

A building in Somers Town bears the name of Dr. Monic Shaw, reflecting her immense importance and value to the community as a doctor, advisor, and friend. She was a remarkable woman, always present when needed.