Maudsley Memoir: My Four Years as a Doctoral Student of Hans J. Eysenck, 1966-1970,
at the Institute of Psychiatry, King’s College, London
Ian M. Evans, PhD FRSNZ
Professor Emeritus, Massey University, Wellington, New Zealand
In 1965 I was an Honour’s student at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, and my research project was on the effects of environmental deprivation on “intelligence”. I reared rats in a deprived environment (total darkness) and tested them in total darkness as well. The test involved speed of conditioning–speed of acquiring an operant lever-press response in a Skinner box. My supervisor was Alma E. Hannon, a Senior Lecturer and a well-known behaviourist, largely of a Hullian rather than a Skinnerian persuasion, but I had made it a point to learn as much as possible about Skinner’s approach to learning theory and to psychology, especially clinical applications. The other senior lecturer in the animal lab was Peter Radloff, who had recently come back from a study leave at University College, London. Peter was quite an academic showman, and when I asked him where I should go to do my PhD, he replied immediately, “Oh the only place in the UK is the Maudsley!”
So without knowing much else about it, I wrote to Hans Eysenck about the possibility of coming in the late summer of 1966 as one of his doctoral students. He wrote a short note back saying I was welcome to come, but that the British government “in their infinite wisdom, had once again failed to provide sufficient funding to the universities,” and so he had no money available for financial support. Fortunately I was able to obtain a scholarship from the Witwatersrand Council of Education, and furnished with my first class Honours degree in Psychology, I duly showed up at the Maudsley hospital one very wet day early in September, 1966.
I had spent the summer months traveling alone across Europe, armed only with Arthur Frommer’s wonderful American guide book Europe on Five Dollars a Day. I visited Greece, Turkey, Italy, Switzerland, France, Germany and Holland, and had some wonderful adventures. But when I arrived in London at the height of the “swinging Sixties” I was still a rather naïve, sheltered, South African young man who had just turned 22. I showed up in the morning having caught the bus from my digs, but with no raincoat or umbrella (not essential in South Africa), during a heavy shower of British rain. I stood, liked a drowned rat, in Eysenck’s office and he wisely made no attempt to talk to me. Instead he passed me over to his Administrative Assistant, Russ Willett. The story going around, and I’m not sure how accurate it was, was that Russ had been working on his PhD thesis for 14 years! In any event he looked rather helplessly at my soaked appearance and said, yes, they were expecting me, but he still hadn’t worked out a room or an office for me, could I come back in a month’s time?
This was an inauspicious start to my academic career, but I bravely checked in to my residence hall, London House (for post-graduate students from Commonwealth and ex-commonwealth countries), opened a bank account at the Midland Bank in Camberwell Green, and set about exploring London as much as I possibly could. A month later I was back at DeCrespigny Park, but being out of sight I was also out of mind, so Russ still had no desk arranged for me. I think feeling a bit guilty at this point, he set me up to share a desk in a small room that had once been a patient room at the hospital, with all the usual paraphernalia of a hospital room except with desks instead of beds dotted around. The desk I shared was with Rosemery (sic) Nelson, who was at the Maudsley for a year on a Fulbright scholarship. Rosemery had graduated from one of the universities in St Louis Missouri with a 4.00 GPA and a strong interest, like me, in clinical behaviour therapy
The great thing about Rosemery, apart from her being as bewildered as I was about life in London but nevertheless game to experience all it had to offer, was that her father, who worked for GM in Flint Michigan, had bought her a car, an Opel, in Germany and had had it shipped to London for her. Alas it was a manual shift and a left-hand drive, neither of which, when driving on the left in Britain, she could really cope with, so I became her chauffeur and we went everywhere together. We soon became very close and intimate friends, except for actual sexual intercourse, because she, a devout Catholic, was “saving herself for marriage.” Her words.
Now that I was actually in situ, so to speak, I showed up for my first interview with my PhD supervisor. Hans sat at his desk, flicking a paperclip in his fingers so it span around. This was the famous occasion in which he looked at me and said: “Zee computer is on zee second floor, zee library is on zee third floor…I don’t think there is anything else I have to tell you.” But whereas my letter of offer for admission said I’d first be admitted to the Master’s degree, he quickly told me that he was changing that and enrolling me in the PhD program. This was very helpful, except I had no real idea about what I’d work on. As I remember it, Eysenck had close to a hundred students for whom he was the nominal supervisor, and he didn’t really approach me to ask what I intended to do for the thesis work until a few months later. I rattled off some ideas and he said “You have an embarrassment de riches”—as his French was good but mine was not, I had no idea what he was talking about and he said it again in English after giving me a slightly withering look. Then he gave me the best possible advice: “You can save zee world after you have finished your PhD thesis, right now you need to do something programmatic that we are working on.” He assigned me to work with Irene Martin, a Reader in the department, and together we worked out a possible classical conditioning project for myself. As it happened, Rosemery had also been given some tasks of scoring eyelid conditioning records and had had the scoring template made for her, and I simply took it over. However, neither of us was terribly interested in the lab procedures themselves.
The reason for our distraction was slightly complicated, but boiled down to this. That year in the Psychology Department, there were a number of overseas visitors. By this stage (late in 1966) the whole operation had moved out of the hospital into the newly built quarters of the Institute of Psychiatry (IoP). There was a major intellectual ferment around behaviour therapy. The American visitors all tended to be operant people. Two of them, Irene Kassorla and Bernie Perloff were recent products of UCLA, where they had worked with Ivor Lovaas on his pioneering work on behaviour modification with autistic children. There were other more advanced post-doctoral pioneers, Jeanne Phillips, Ted Rosenthal, and a student of Lykken’s, all from the US, and Jarg Bergold, from Germany. There were also a number of New Zealand and Canadians there as doctoral students; they were all a good deal older than me, most of them married, and their major goal was to get the PhD within two years and get out. Some of them, like Glenn Wilson stayed on and had distinguished careers, but friends like John Grey (a New Zealander working in Canada), and Peter McClean, a Canadian, were pretty focused (Peter made a name for himself in depression treatment, and sadly died a few years ago—his daughter is also a well-known clinical psychologist). Our little network included Bin Toyama, from Japan, who could speak very little English, and a woman from Poland, who seemed even more lost than Rosemery and myself. It was a veritable United Nations of students and scholars—one of the explanations I was given was that Hans had an affinity for Europeans and Americans because he had been denied a Fellowship in the Royal Society. The British science establishment and jealous UK psychology professors who didn’t like his popular books were thought to be strongly biased against him.
But the big break for Rosemery and me was that a couple of people had set up some practical behavioural programs in clinical settings. For example, Irene Kassorla was working at Springfield Hospital in Tooting Bec with chronic long-term, very regressed patients and she was shaping behaviour using simple schedules of food reward. She took us out to see her work in her bright red Volkswagen. One day before we set off, she cocked her butt and let out a loud fart, saying “It’s this fucking English milk, it’s not homogenized.” I was totally shocked, both at the language and the flatulence—nothing like that had ever been part of my sheltered life in South Africa with rather proper Scottish parents.
But the person who took most interest in Rosemery and me was an Australian psychologist who was just finishing his PhD. I can’t remember his name, I’m afraid, maybe Jim something or other, but perhaps it is just as well. He was a lot older—had worked as an experienced clinician in Australia and was a friend of Hans’s—they played tennis together. As part of his doctoral thesis he had set up an operant conditioning program in a Children’s Unit out in Sutton, in Surrey: The Belmont Hospital Children’s Unit. The unit consisted of two houses just outside the hospital grounds in the suburbs—they were residential programmes for children with severe communication disorders, which included autism, developmental aphasia, elective mutism, severe hearing loss (rubella children), and so on. Jim trained us in clinical behaviour modification techniques, briefly, and then a sad thing happened. During his thesis oral defence he lied about getting statistical help from Prof Maxwell, one of the IoP’s biostatisticians. Jim’s stats were flawed, which could be excused, but he claimed in the oral to have had advice from Maxwell, which was not true. He failed the oral and was sent back to Australia in disgrace, without a PhD. The chief psychiatrist for the whole hospital, Dr Minski, had met Rosemery and me and asked us to say on and continue the work—what an incredible opportunity for two first year graduate students.
Ian (reinforcing with Smarties) and Rosemery (keeping data) with Andrew at the Children’s Unit, 1967
Meanwhile I saw next to nothing of my supervisor, Professor Hans J. Eysenck, and very little of my appointed supervisor, Dr Irene Martin. There were no required classes or courses, but we were encouraged to take a statistics course with Dr Patrick “Paddy” Slater. The second lecture was so incomprehensible one of us asked him what he was doing with all his equations on the board. He replied that he was giving the mathematical proof of the analysis of variance. I never went to another class. I did go to seminars in the IoP by visiting speakers, spent a lot of time in the library, wrote a couple of papers for publication on learning theory and on the nature of the relationship in behaviour therapy (Evans & Wilson, 1967; Evans & Wilson, 1968; Wilson, Hannon, & Evans, 1968) and devoted all my other time to the Children’s Unit. At the IoP there were mazing pioneers of behaviour therapy, from both psychiatry (Isaac Marks, Michael Gelder) and from psychology (Stanley “Jack” Rachman, Mike Berger). Jack Rachman had set up a seminar series with another behaviour therapy innovator, Dr Victor Meyer, then working at the Middlesex Hospital, somewhere near Goodge Street. The two of them chaired these fascinating monthly case presentation meetings. But when Rosemery and I volunteered to present our operant work with autistic children, Jack was very dismissive and essentially ignored us, after saying he didn’t know what we would have to contribute! Happily Vic Meyer was much more sympathetic and he eventually invited us to present, which was very positive of him.
By Christmas of my first year Rosemery and I were a definite item. We went together to one of Hans and Sybil’s “at homes” at their house, as I remember it in Herne Hill. As there was little public transport out there, and we were not yet driving her car, we arrived more than two hours late! In any event we found these events terribly awkward, although their intent was admirable. Hans would sit in a large red leather chair, smiling and saying little, and Sybil would flit around with sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and other finger food. I was always highly anxious I’d drop a cream scone on their nice Persian carpet. The annual departmental Christmas party was also in someone’s home, I can’t remember who’s, and Rosemery came up to me all worried: “Look, the professor is sitting all by himself on the sofa and no-one is talking to him”. “Well”, said I, “you go and talk to him!” So Rosemery went up and sat next to him on the sofa and Hans got up immediately and walked away. There’s introversion for you!
For someone who was such a strong critic in writing, Hans was amazingly tolerant of fools if they were not challenging his ideas directly. A good example was the infamous Irene Kassorla, who was doing a PhD. She was as thick as a post, and talked utter rubbish. Later she even did an interview on her behaviour modification work for the London Sunday Times in which she said that she had invented behaviour modification and had taught Skinner all that he knew about applied behaviour analysis! Hans simply smiled benignly whenever she opened her mouth and I’m amazed that she got a PhD—the level of science in her work was rock bottom. She later became famous back in California for her book Nice girls do, and later entertainer Merv Griffin dubbed her the “shrink to the stars” due to her celebrity clientele and in the summer of 2015 she leased a furnished vacation spot in Malibu that was listed at $20,000 a month. Maybe Hans saw talent that was totally hidden from the rest of us.
At one of Eysenck’s Tuesday afternoon seminars, when he was commenting about an issue and stated there was no available empirical evidence, I piped up that oh, yes there was such an article recently in the Journal of Consulting and Clinical. In South Africa in our Honours year, Terry Wilson and I were show-offs—we read a lot and we remembered stuff well and used to cite chapter and verse whenever we could. So I made the mistake in this seminar of saying, “Yes, Professor, it was in 1965, Volume 83, pages 29-46.” Hans perked up right away and asked “What were the findings?” “Oh” said I, “I don’t remember the findings.” There was a long silence while he stared at me and then said icily: “What is the point of knowing about a study if you don’t know zee findings?” I learned a valuable lesson from that moment of shame.
However these seminars were very informative. For example it was during one such seminar that Hans expounded for the first time on his theory of incubation, talking about the Russian experiment with a dog in which after one or two traumatically aversive conditioning trials the presentation of the CS alone did not result in extinction, but a steadily growing fear CR. It was all very interesting but the clinical examples he gave were not at all convincing—I had been doing a little work with a client who felt nausea and needing to vomit during formal meals. This, plus similar phenomena (writer’s cramp, stage fright, “shy bladder syndrome”), could be much better explained as a fear of fear phenomenon and I wrote a paper on the topic (Evans, 1972), which I still think is a very useful model that fits the clinical phenomena far better, but got very little attention, even after Dianne Chambless started writing formally about fear of fear many years later. The basic incubation theory has been analysed and critiqued numerous time since then, by authors such as Beattie and Corr (2010), Bersh (1980), and Malloy (1990).
I was also playing with conditioning theories to explain systematic desensitization after Jack Rachman had published articles claiming the effects of SD were not due to extinction but to “counter-conditioning”—I think it was the beginning of his conversion to a more cognitive interpretation of behaviour therapy. I wrote a paper on the topic and submitted it to Behaviour Research and Therapy, but it was rejected. Jack wrote me a note saying that as my paper had criticized his theory, he had sent it to two reviewers and they had both recommended rejection (it was not a tradition of BRAT’s to send the actual reviews back to the authors). Being very inexperienced in the publication game I sent the rejected manuscript to Vic Meyer, whom I really liked, to see if it was worth sending elsewhere. He called me in to talk about it and said he thought it was a good paper but he felt a bit awkward because he had been one of the reviewers for BRAT. I started to apologize for putting him on the spot like that, but he quickly said what concerned him was that he had recommended publication! My faith in the fairness of the editorial process took a bit of a beating that day, but Vic Meyer’s encouragement allowed me to re-submit to another journal where it was accepted (Evans, 1973b).
Gradually I began to understand some of the issues and politics of the department. I had not realized that the qualification I really should have been enrolled in was the clinical diploma. The academic staff of the diploma course, like Jack, Mike Berger, Monte Shapiro (all South Africans, weirdly enough) were not supportive of students in the more “experimental” PhD program, especially as there was open hostility between Hans and Monte, the director of the clinical course. There were some students doing both the clinical diploma and the PhD—one of them Rosemery and I were friendly with, John Teasdale, who went on to an eminent career in cognitive behaviour therapy at Oxford—he was one of the few people who was about our age. Oddly enough he was also the only English student we encountered in the entire doctoral program. John took us up to Cambridge one time and taught us how to punt. However I don’t think that Jack Rachman was really hostile towards me—it was he who told me that Arthur W. Staats, one of my heroes intellectually, had moved to Hawaii and was setting up a clinical program, and that I should enquire about jobs. Which I did and that is how I ended up in Hawaii.
Basically when you are young and inexperienced you don’t always understand the dynamics of a place where you are not really an insider. I remember one occasion when I was sitting in the tearoom with a group of women, some staff and some students, and I happened to mention how pleasant Sybil Eysenck was. They all turned and stared at me, with daggers in their eyes. Finally one said “That’s because you are male, Ian. She is absolutely horrible to all of us!” Their interpretation was that because Sybil had been a student who had broken up Hans’ first marriage, she was dreadfully afraid that it could happen again, so she kept the young females as far from Hans as possible.
Rosemery and I went everywhere together—to the Oxford-Cambridge boat race on the Thames, to the theatre, to Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park, to the ballet, to the Tate. We protested the Vietnam War outside the American embassy, and went to nuclear disarmament rallies in Trafalgar Square, daring movies, strip clubs in Soho, and musicals. We had befriended one of the departmental clerical staff, Valerie, the daughter of a fireman and she took us home for “tea”—a full meal served at 5.00pm. She lived somewhere on Denmark Hill and had a wonderful cockney accent, and hers was the first sort of working class English home we had ever visited. We went to a conference in Southampton, and to the BPS annual conference in Belfast, and drove around Ireland afterwards. Rosemery lived in digs in the East End of London and we went to Chinese restaurants there, as well as a strange pub called Dirty Dick’s that hadn’t been cleaned for 400 years. We went to Hampton Court and to Brighton (our station to get to the Belmont Hospital, Sutton, was the first stop on the London-Brighton railway line). Rosemery re-applied to 12 clinical programs in the US that had rejected her the year before and all 12 offered her admission this time around—the power of the Maudsley name! She selected SUNY Stony Brook because my great South African friend Terrence Wilson was starting his clinical PhD there. When it was time for her to leave we parted at Heathrow, both in tears, and holding hands to the very last minute.
Rosemery O. Nelson in 1967 at Stony Brook
The following year I did rather play the field. I dated one of the other very young secretaries and we once even had sex in the conditioning lab (nicely soundproofed, no windows, and the doors could be locked). I went out with Hans’s secretary, Tess Maxwell, a few times, usually to the theatre. She was divorced with a couple of young kids and I think it was nice to have a companion to go to plays with. We held hands and kissed a bit on the train rides back to her flat, but nothing more developed, although I think we would both have been happy for it to do so. Tess told me lots of stories about Hans, but they weren’t very scurrilous. She did tell me how he dictated his books and articles to her—walking around his office, twirling his paperclip, while she took it all down in shorthand. She’d then type up the material, he’d correct it, and voilà, a new article, chapter, or book was in the works. Tess also told me funny stories like the time that Sybil had given Hans a very loud tie, which, being an introvert, he didn’t like very much. But he bravely wore it to work, with a nice grey jersey on so that the tie was invisible—Tess came out and told me to try to catch a glimpse of the tie, but I never did.
Pat Evans at the Belmont Hospital Children’s Unit
I also dated one of the nurses at the Children’s Unit at Belmont Hospital, a truly lovely person from the midlands, Coventry, called Pat Evans. She and I went to the movies in Sutton a few times and I stayed over in the flat she shared with another nurse, Rosemary Williamson. By Easter of my second year she was inviting me home to meet her parents. But later that year a young woman I had known in South Africa showed up from Johannesburg and she was the person I eventually proposed to, in the Black Forest in Germany on a trip, and we were married in Caxton Hall, Westminster. Of course, this memoir is supposed to be really more about the Maudsley than about me, but the context is clear—this is why it took me 4 years to get a PhD that everyone else was getting in 2!
During my second and third years I knuckled down and ran my eyelid conditioning subjects, but I did not analyse the data right away. I was really much more interested in the work I was doing with the autistic children at the Belmont, supervised by a marvelous Welsh consultant psychiatrist called Henry Reese (Nelson & Evans, 1968; Evans, 1970b). And it was a big time for autism because at the Maudsley Michael Rutter was doing important research, as were Lorna Wing, Hermelin and O’Connor, and later Uta Frith—they were all more focused on causal issues whereas I was focused on treatment—the BBC Midlands even came to the Children’s Unit and made a documentary of our work for television. I was getting more involved in that area and actually built a small training device with my own hands and tools that later was published in a journal (Evans, 1970a). And my friend Jarg Bergold managed to arrange for me to give a formal talk on operant conditioning with autistic children to the Max Planck Institute for Psychiatry in Munich, and even Rutter was beginning to notice our work at the Belmont and invited me to present at a conference and to submit a chapter to his new edited book (Evans, 1969; 1971).
Dr Jarg Bergold and Ian in Munich, 1968
All this time I was pretty sure that Hans had no idea at all at what I was doing, and as far as Irene Martin was concerned, she was distracted with other things, specifically her co-researcher, Archie Levey. I would occasionally see Hans in the IoP, often on a Saturday morning if I had come in to work in the library. He often had his young children with him and he watched them run around a play in the corridors and in the elevator, with a sort of benevolent grandfatherly smile on his face. It is so hard to believe today that he must have been only about 52 or 53. I saw him strictly as an elderly person, very remote, and I certainly never really had any sort of conversation with him. But we began to learn some of his foibles, one of which was a sort of professional one-upmanship. A good example was a lecture given in the department by one of Hans’s doctoral students working in a British prison. This student told an interesting story about how the first “token economy”—rewards for good behaviour—was introduced in the Australian penal service by Governors King and Macquarie. You could see Eysenck pricking up his ears. Later we joked that this totally obscure fact would soon emerge elsewhere—and indeed it did, shortly afterwards. When asked to write a review of Alan Kazdin’s major work on the token economy, Hans gave it a positive review but said it was a pity that the author was so ignorant and had neglected the history and origins of token economies in Australia!
The psychology department was large. At 25 years of age everyone was older than me, including the various women that ran the statistical analyses for people or helped with the Facet machines that ran basic stats. I don’t remember their names, except I knew that at least one of them was a New Zealander who loved London and described New Zealand in the most disparaging terms as a cultural desert. I had a little office and on the wall I hung a poster of Picasso’s Blue Nude. In 1968 I met Phil Feldman, then director of clinical training at Birmingham University, and he invited me up to give a series of lectures on the operant approach to modifying children’s behaviour. Funnily enough it was my connection to the Wolpe/Eysenck tradition in behaviour therapy that had appealed to the clinical group in Hawaii, but in London it was my supposed Skinnerian orientation that was getting attention.
I spent a lot of time in Petticoat Lane and Carnaby Street, and took my staid visiting South African school friends to a transvestite bar near the Oval to shock them slightly. The women in the department were fairly trendy and with-it. Sybil wore short skirts and boots; Irene Kassorla wore even shorter skirts, thigh-high white boots and a large feather boa. All of London seemed to be in fancy dress—old military uniform was de rigeur and girls really did walk around in diaphanous dresses with flowers in their hair. I was working more or less full-time at the Belmont Hospital when the formal job offer from Hawaii came through. I was nowhere near finished my thesis and I hadn’t really looked at it for a year. So I quit the Children’s Unit and stayed at home in our rental flat in Pimlico for about 6 months while my new wife taught high school kids in a low-income comprehensive school near Ealing. I worked night and day to finish the data. It had to be run through the University of London’s central computer, and I hired a computer programmer to write the basic program for analysing the voluminous data. Unfortunately he wrote it in COBOL, a machine language, instead of Fortran, which the people at the computer centre understood, so the job often failed to run—and I had so many punch cards that the “CPU” (central processing time) of more than12 minutes meant that the job always had to be run after midnight. It was a very stressful time, and again I got no advice or supervision on this stage of the thesis writing. I do not remember either Irene Martin or Hans Eysenck reading any drafts at all of my thesis before I submitted it to London House. The external examiner was a professor from the University of York, one of Hans’ former students. All I remember is that I could barely talk because I had had my wisdom teeth taken out two days before; but I had heard that if they took out the sherry decanter, you had passed, and I so naturally I peeked through the door before I walked back in. Happily Hans, the professor from York, and the sherry were all there.
However neglectful or laissez faire the supervision, inspiration was all around me. Probably one of the more remarkable features of Eysenck’s department was his progress chart for doctoral students. Each person’s name was up on the board, and next to it five little coloured squares. The five stages of progress were: 1. Proposal approved, 2. Subjects being run, 3 Data analysis, 4. PhD awarded, 5, Full Professor. There were an amazing number of the fifth coloured squares after many of the names on the board.
Looking back, I was incredibly lucky to encounter such an intelligent and interested person as Rosemery, to have had supervision from Irene Martin and clinical supervision from a brilliant and dedicated child psychiatrist, Henry Reese. The intellectual atmosphere at the Maudsley was extraordinary and Hans Eysenck created a place where people could find their own way within a strong theoretical and conceptual system, which I greatly valued. I was very interested in theory—learning theory, behaviour theory, and of course Eysenck’s lofty personality theory. There was great excitement over the possibilities of behaviour therapy and the application of scientific research to direct clinical activity. But it was very much a sink or swim environment; I received very little help and guidance, and had it not been for rigorous early training in South Africa, I could easily have failed rather miserably in such an unstructured academic setting. I was very fortunate to find good people to talk to and who supported me and allowed me to do things that a clinical intern would probably rarely have experienced. London itself was a ferment of creativity and youthful revolt, and although I was very poor financially, so much of its richness was freely available.
Publications mentioned from this period:
Evans, I. M., & Wilson, G. T. (1967). Some observations on modern learning theory with special reference to Breger and McGaugh. Psychological Scene, 1, 23-29.
Evans, I., & Wilson, T. (1968). Note on the terminological confusion surrounding systematic desensitization. Psychological Reports, 22, 187-191.
Wilson, G. T., Hannon, A. E., & Evans, I. M. (1968). Behavior therapy and the therapist-patient relationship. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 32, 103-109.
Nelson, R. O., & Evans, I. M. (1968). The combination of learning principles and speech therapy techniques in the treatment of non-communicating children. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 9, 111-124.
Evans, I. M. (August, 1969). Behaviour therapy with psychotic children. Paper presented at the Second International Congress of Social Psychiatry, London.
.Evans, I. M. (1970a). A modular teaching unit for research and therapy with children. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 11, 63-67.
Evans, I. M. (1970b). Research [with non-communicating children]. In L. Minski & M. J. Shepperd (Eds.), Non-communicating children. London, UK: Butterworths.
Evans, I. M. (June, 1970c). Theoretical and experimental aspects of the behaviour modification approach to autistic children. Paper presented at the first CIBA Foundation Study Group on Childhood Autism, London, England.
Evans, I. M. (1971). Theoretical and experimental aspects of the behaviour modification approach to autistic children. In M. Rutter (Ed.), Infantile autism: Concepts, characteristics and treatment. London: Churchill.
Evans, I. M. (1972). A conditioning model of a common neurotic pattern–fear of fear. Psychotherapy: Theory, Research and Practice, 9, 238-241.
Evans, I. M. (1973a). An unusual phenomenon in classical eyelid conditioning: The double conditioned response. South African Journal of Psychology, 3, 83-89.
Evans, I. M. (1973b). The logical requirements for explanations of systematic desensitization. Behavior Therapy, 4, 506-514.
