_December 2, 1901._--In view of the hatred in which Bettesworth had
previously held the workhouse infirmary, and which he was destined to
renew later, it is interesting to observe how favourably the place
impressed him about this time, when he visited a friend there.
The friend, whom I will rename "Tom Loveland," had been taken to the
infirmary in October, suffering with the temporary increase of some
obscure chronic disorder which to this day cripples him. Bettesworth
had gone to see him on Sunday afternoon, December 1, in company with
Harriett Loveland, the man's wife.
The patient still lay there, "on his back," I heard on the Monday.
"On Saturday they took off the poultices. Seven weeks they bin
poulticin' of 'n; but Saturday the doctor thought there was 'a slight
change.' But, law!" Bettesworth continued, in scorn of the doctor's
opinion, "they abscesses 'll keep comin'."
"There was two more died, up there in that same room where he is, o'
Saturday." This made six deaths since Loveland's admission. "One of
'em was a man I used to know very well--that 'ere Jack Grey that used
to do" so-and-so at where-is-it. "They sent for his wife, an' she got
there jest two minutes afore he died. Loveland says, 'I tucked my head
down under the blankets when I see 'em bring in the box' (the coffin)
'for 'n.' 'What, did ye think he was for you, Tom?' I says. But he
always was a meek-hearted feller: never had no nerve."
But it was in the appointments of the place where Loveland lay that
Bettesworth was chiefly interested. He was almost enthusiastic over
the whiteness of the sheets, the beeswaxed floor ("like glass to walk
on. I says to Harriet, 'You must take care you don't slip up'"), the
little cupboards ("lockers, they calls 'em") beside each bed; the
nurse, who "seemed to be a pleasant woman;" the daily attendance of
the medical men; and other advantages. All these things persuaded
Bettesworth that the patients were "better off up there than what they
would be at home." And out in the grounds, "You'd meet two old women,
perhaps, walkin' along together; and then, a little further on, some
old men," which all appeared to be very satisfactory.
Were there any circumstances to give offence? Yes: "There's that
Gunner, what used to live up the lane, struttin' about there, like
Lord Muck, in his fine slippers. He's a wardsman. And Bill Lucas,
too." (This latter is a man who lost good work and a pension by giving
way to drink.) "_He_ books ye in an' books ye out. 'I s'pose this is
your _estate_?' I says to 'n." In fact, Bettesworth would seem to have
been publicly sarcastic at this man's expense; and other visitors, I
gathered, laughed at hearing him. "'You be better able to work than
what I be,' I says; 'and yet we got to keep ye. It never ought to be
allowed.'"
To those in the infirmary "You may take anything you mind to, except
spirits or beer. Tea, or anything like that, they may have brought."
And so Bettesworth, having gone unprepared, gave Loveland a shilling,
"to get anything he fancied."