On the 25th of July 1978, Louise Brown was born. Despite only being minutes old, she was already a monumental miracle of science, and that was all thanks to her conception using in-vitro fertilisation, otherwise known as IVF. This was a herculean step in reproductive medicine that quite simply revolutionised the field, with now an estimated ten million babies and adults owing their lives to this discovery. Yet, unlike other medical giants such as Fleming, the discoverer of penicillin, and Jenner, the father of vaccinology, the creators of IVF have not become household names. If a person was asked today who created IVF, the chances are they would not be able to answer. Some more knowledgeable might be able to say Sir Robert Edwards, but even fewer would also say his partner and subject of this article, Patrick Steptoe.  

Steptoe led quite the remarkable life. He was born in Oxford in 1913 and grew up in the nearby town of Witney, attending the local Henry Box grammar school, and he went on to study in London, graduated from St George’s Hospital Medical School in 1939. However, the outbreak of the second world war forced him to put his nascent career on hold and instead enter military service in the mediterranean as a naval surgeon. His ship was torpedoed and sunk in the fierce 1941 defence of Crete while repelling Axis landing forces, and Steptoe narrowly escaped drowning. He was then captured and interned in an Italian prisoner of war camp, where he would go on to aid in the escape of his fellow POWs, landing him in solitary confinement until his release in 1943. By the end of the war, he had risen to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, and earned the respect of those around him.

His release from service in 1945 enabled him to pursue his medical career, studying obstetrics and gynaecology, and becoming an early advocate and pioneer of laparoscopy. This, alongside his increasingly reputable career, drew him to collaborate with physiologist Robert Edwards in a new cutting-edge medical project – IVF. Steptoe used his laparoscopic experience to recover oocytes from patients with tubal infertility. His partner Edwards then developed the human cultures from the cells Steptoe collected. The creation of IVF took the pair almost a decade of work, and it was by no means smooth. They faced set back after setback, ranging from failed lab attempts to endless and merciless lawsuits from disgruntled and disgusted people. The UK Medical Research Council even refused to fund their work, describing Steptoe and Edwards as ‘publicity hounds’ and denouncing their research as completely irrelevant in a world where, in their opinion, curbing the growing global population was a fundamental priority. They were thus forced to search for private funding, which they would eventually obtain, allowing them to complete their revolutionary work and to create the first test-tube baby. 

This was a major step for, not only science, but society. The ability to manipulate the fertilisation process has opened thousands of doors in the scientific realms of genetics and reproduction, and it still has a powerful influence on modern science today. It is an underrated step in the equal rights movement of the twentieth century, as it further bolsters the reproductive rights of women by breaking the convention of who can have children and when, giving women more choice and freedom over their bodies.

The question asked is “Which historical person from your local area deserves greater recognition?” For Witney, Oxfordshire, it is undoubtedly Patrick Steptoe. It would be incorrect to say that Steptoe is completely unknown, for, to an extent, he is known, and likewise it would also be incorrect to say that he has not won any awards, for he has, but it is nonetheless at nowhere near the scale that he deserves. Millions owe their lives to this man, yet the majority do not even know his name. Even in Witney and Henry Box School, where both he and I are from, there is almost no mention of him. He not only worked to create IVF and babies like Louise Brown, but he fought tooth and nail for it, and the only recognition Witney gave him was a small blue plaque tucked away on his childhood home.

To conclude, from ferocious naval battles to cutting edge medical research, from daring prison escapes to court cases to the birth of Louise Joy Brown and his work beyond, to answer the question of does he deserve more recognition? Most definitely and irrefutably yes.