ABSTRACT
I have a story about Anna Freud that I have probably told too often. But maybe it bears repetition if for no other reason than it captures something of the wry way in which she looked upon the follies about her—and upon the dangers of spreading psychoanalysis too far and wide. The occasion for the story was a meeting I had with her some thirty years ago to tell her that I intended to leave the Hampstead Child Therapy Course and Clinic, and take up a position in the Institute of Psychiatry and Maudsley Hospital, a leading teaching establishment in London, not known for its sympathies towards psychoanalysis.
