improvements during the last thirty years, but much of the poverty and
sickness that belonged to these neighbourhoods remain. The looms may be
silent in the upper workshops with their wide leaden casements, but the
labour by which the people live seldom brings higher wages than suffice
for mere subsistence. The great building in which treasures of art and
science are collected is suggestive of some kind of recognition of the
need of the inhabitants for rational recreation and instruction, and
what is perhaps more to the purpose, it is also a recognition of their
desire for both; but it cannot be denied that the recognition has come
late, and has not been completely accompanied by those provisions for
personal comfort, health, and decency, which a stringent application of
existing laws might long ago have ensured in neighbourhoods that for
years were suffered to remain centres of pestilence.
The greatest change ever effected in this quarter of London was that
which followed the formation of Victoria Park. That magnificent area,
with its lakes and islands, its glorious flower-beds and plantations,
its cricket-ground and great expanse of open field, made Bethnal Green
famous. There had always been a fine stretch of open country beyond what
was known as "the Green," on which the building of the Museum now
stands. A roadway between banks and hedges skirting wide fields led to
the open space where a queer old mansion could be seen amidst a few tall
trees, while beyond this again, across the canal bridge, were certain
country hostelries, one of them with what was, in that day, a famous
"tea-garden;" and, farther on, a few farms and some large old-fashioned
private residences stood amidst meadows, gardens, and cattle pastures,
on either side of the winding road leading away to the Hackney Marshes
and the low-lying fields beyond the old village of Homerton. It was on a
large portion of this rural area that Victoria Park was founded. Tavern
and farmhouse disappeared; the canal bridge was made ornamental; and
just beyond the queer old mansion that stood by the roadway, the great
stone and iron gates of "the people's pleasure-ground" were erected.
Now, the mansion, to which I have already twice referred, was in fact
one of the few romantic buildings of the district, for it was what
remained of the house of the persecuting Bishop Bonner, and the four
most prominent of the tall trees--those having an oblong or pit
excavation of the soil at the foot of each--were traditionally the
landmarks of the martyrdom of four sisters who were there burnt at the
stake and buried in graves indicated by the hollows in the ground, which
popular superstition had declared could never be filled up.
That they have been filled up long ago, and that on the site of the
ancient house itself another great building has been erected, you may
see to-day as we stand at the end of the long road leading to the
entrance of "the people's park."
The abode of cruelty and bigotry has been replaced by one of the most
truly representative of all our benevolent institutions. The graves of
the martyred sisters might well take a new meaning if the spot could now
be discovered in the broad and beautifully planted garden, where feeble
men and women sun themselves into returning life and strength amidst the
gentle summer air blowing straight across from the broad woods of Epping
and Hainault miles away.
The people's playground is fitly consummated by the people's hospital.
That the City of London Hospital for Diseases of the Chest, Victoria
Park, might well be called "the people's," is shown, not because it is
supported by state aid or by charitable endowment, on the contrary, it
depends entirely on those voluntary contributions and subscriptions
which have hitherto enabled it successfully to carry on a noble work,
but yet have only just sufficed to supply its needs, "from hand to
mouth." Yet it is essentially devoted to patients who belong to the
working population. Like the park itself it attracts crowds of visitors,
not only from the City, from Bethnal Green, Mile End, Poplar, Islington,
Camden Town, and other parts of London, but even from distant places
whence excursionists come to see and to enjoy it. This hospital receives
patients from every part of London, and even from distant country
places. There were seven inmates from York last year, as well as some
from Somerset, Hereford, Derby, Lincolnshire, Lancashire, Norfolk,
Suffolk, Huntingdon, Northampton, Wiltshire, and other counties; so that
in fact the districts of Bethnal Green, Spitalfields, and Shoreditch,
represented only a very small proportion of the 781 in-patients and the
13,937 out-patients, who were admitted to medical treatment during the
twelve months. More than this, however, amongst the contributions which
are made for the support of this hospital, there must be reckoned those
collected by working men of the district in their clubs and
associations, in token of the appreciation of benefits bestowed by such
an institution to failing men and women, wives and shopmates and
relatives, who being threatened or actually stricken down with one of
those diseases which sap the life and leave the body prostrate, require
prompt skill and medical aid, even if they are not in absolute need of
nourishing food and alleviating rest.
Standing here, in front of this broad noble building, with its many
windows, its picturesque front of red brick and white stone, its central
tower, its sheltered garden-walks, and pleasant lawn, we may well feel
glad to hear that the work done within its wards is known and
recognised. What a work it is can only be estimated by those who
remember how fell is the disease from which so many of the patients
suffer, and how great a thing it has been, even where cures could not be
effected, usefully to prolong the lives of hundreds of those who must
have died but for timely aid. Nay, even at the least, the alleviation of
suffering to those on whom death had already laid his hand has been no
small thing; and when we know that of 240,000 out-patients who have
received advice and medicines, and 10,400 in-patients whose cases have
warranted their admission to the wards, a large number of actual cures
have been effected since the establishment of this hospital, we are
entitled to regard the institution as one of the most useful that we
have ever visited together.
Let us enter, not by the handsome broad portico in the centre of the
building, but at the out-patients' door, in order that we may see the
two waiting-rooms, where men and women bring their letters of admission,
or attend to see one of the three consulting physicians. Of these three
gentlemen the senior is Dr. Peacock, of whom it may be said that he is
the organiser of the hospital, the efficiency of which is mainly due to
his direction. This is no small praise, I am aware, but there are so
many evidences of thorough unity and completeness in all the details of
management that, considering how great a variety of cases are included
under "diseases of the chest," from the slow insidious but fatal ravages
of consumption to the sudden pang and deadly spasm of heart disease, and
the various affections of throat and lungs, it may easily be seen how
much depends upon the adoption of a system initiated by long study and
experience. The perfect arrangements which distinguish this hospital are
doubtless rendered easier by ample space and admirable appliances.
Plenty of room and plenty of air (air, however, which has been warmed to
one even temperature before it enters the wards and corridors where the
patients eat and drink, sleep and walk) are the first characteristics of
the place, while a certain chaste simplicity of ornament, and yet an
avoidance of mere utilitarian bareness, is to be observed in all that
portion of the structure where decoration may naturally be expected.
The board-room, the secretary's room, and the various apartments devoted
to the resident officers on the ground-floor, are plain enough, however,
though they are of good size and proportions, the only really ornamental
article of furniture in the board-room being a handsome semi-grand
piano, the gift of one of the committee. This is a real boon to such of
the patients as can come to practise choral singing, as well as to those
who can listen delightedly to the amateur concerts that are periodically
performed, either in the hospital itself or in one of the wards. For
they have cheerful entertainments in this resort of the feeble, where,
to tell the truth, food is often the best physic, and sympathy and
encouragement the most potent alleviations.
As to the actual physic--the employment of medicines--it is only in some
of the large endowed hospitals that we can see such a dispensary as this
spacious room, with its surrounding rows of bottles and drawers, its two
open windows, one communicating with the men's and the other with the
women's waiting room, its slabs, and scales and measures, on a central
counter, where 380 prescriptions will have to be made up to-day before
the alert and intelligent gentleman and his assistants who have the
control of this department, will be able to replace the current stock
out of the medical stores.
These small cisterns, each with its tap, occupying so prominent a place
on the counter, represent the staple medicine of the establishment, pure
cod-liver oil, of which 1,200 gallons are used every year, and they are
constantly replenished from three large cylinders, or vats, containing
800 gallons, which occupy a room of their own adjoining the dispensary
and the compounding room, the latter being the place where drugs are
prepared, and the great art of pill-making is practised on a remarkable
scale.
Continuing our walk round the hospital, we come to the consulting-rooms,
where the physicians attend daily at two o'clock, each to see his own
patients, and the reception-room, where an officer takes the letters of
introduction, and exchanges them for attendance cards. This is the door
of the museum; and though we shall be admitted, if you choose to
accompany me, it is, like other surgical museums, of professional more
than general interest, and not a public portion of the hospital. Turning
into the great main corridor, with its peculiar honeycombed red-brick
ceiling and pleasant sense of light and air, we will ascend the broad
staircase to the wards, those of the women being on the first floor,
while the men occupy a precisely similar ward on the second. These wards
consist of a series of rooms of from two to six, eight, and twelve beds
each, so as to afford opportunity for the proper classification of the
cases. A day-room is also provided for each set of wards, so that those
patients who are well enough to leave their beds may take their meals
there, or may read, play at chess, draughts, or bagatelle, or occupy
themselves with needlework. These wards and their day-rooms all open
into a light cheerful corridor, with large windows, where the inmates
may walk and talk, or read and rest, sitting or reclining upon the
couches and settees that are placed at intervals along the wall. All
through these rooms and corridors the air is kept at a medium
temperature of from fifty-five to sixty degrees, by means of hot-air or
hot-water apparatus, the latter being in use as well as the former. You
noticed, as we stood in the grounds, a large square structure of a
monumental character;--that was in fact the chamber through the sides of
which draughts of air are carried to channels beneath the building,
there they are drawn around a furnace, to be heated, and to escape
through pipes that are grouped about the entire building. In order to
ensure the necessary comfort of patients requiring a higher temperature,
each ward is provided with an open fire-place.
It is now just dinner-time. The ample rations of meat and vegetables,
fish and milk, and the various "special diets," are coming up on the
lift from the kitchens, and in the women's day-room a very comfortable
party is just sitting down to the mid-day meal. Here, as elsewhere,
greater patience and more genuine cheerfulness are to be observed among
the women, than is as a rule displayed by the men, and there are not
wanting signs of pleasant progress towards recovery, of grateful
appreciation of the benefits received, and of a hopeful trusting spirit,
which goes far to aid the doctor and the nurse. There are, of course,
some sad sights. Looking into the wards, we may see more than one woman
for whom only a few hours of this mortal life remain; more than one
child whose emaciated form and face looks as though death itself could
bring no great change. Yet it must be remembered that cases likely soon
to terminate fatally are not admitted. The severity of the diseases and
their frequently fatal character under any condition will account for
the large proportion of sickness unto death which finds here alleviation
but not absolute cure; though, of course, the sufferers from heart
disease, who are on the whole the most cheerful, as well as those whose
affections of the lungs can be sensibly arrested, if not altogether
healed, are frequently restored to many years of useful work in the
world. On this second storey, in the men's ward, there are some very
serious cases, and some sights that have a heartache in them; yet they
are full of significance, for many of them include the spectacle of
God's sweet gift of trust and patience--the mighty courage of a quiet
mind. Yonder is a courageous fellow, who, suffering from a terrible
aneurism, had to cease his daily labour, and now lies on his back,
hopeful of cure, with a set still face and a determined yet wistful look
at the resident medical officer, or the nurse who adjusts the
india-rubber ice-bag on his chest. Here, near the door, is that which
should make us bow our heads low before the greatest mystery of mortal
life. Not the mystery of death, but the mystery of meeting death and
awaiting it. A brave, patient, noble man is sitting up in that bed, his
high forehead, fair falling hair, long tawny beard, and steady placid
eye, reminding one of some picture of Norseman or Viking. Lean and gaunt
enough in frame, his long thin hand is little but skin and bone, but it
is clasped gently by the sorrowing wife, who sits beside him, and
glances at us through tearful eyes as we enter. One can almost believe
that the sick man who is going on the great journey whither he cannot
yet take the wife who loves him, has been speaking of it calmly, there
is such an inscrutable look of absolute repose in that face. He is a
Dane, and the doctor tells us has borne his illness and great pain with
a quiet courage that has challenged the admiration of those about him--a
courage born of simple faith, let us believe, a calm resting on an
eternal foundation of peace. Here, in the corridor, is a party, some of
its members still very weak and languid, who, having just dined, are
about to take the afternoon lounge, with book or newspaper, and, leaving
them, we will conclude our visit by descending to the basement, whence
the chief medicine comes in the shape of wholesome nourishing food, of
meat and fish, of pure farina, of wine, and milk, and fresh eggs, of
clean pure linen, and even of ice, for ice is a large ingredient here,
and several tons are consumed every year. The domestic staff have their
apartments in this basement portion of the building, another division of
which is occupied by the kitchens and storerooms, while lifts for coal
and daily meals and every other requisite, ascend to the upper wards,
and shoots or wells from the upper floors convey linen and bedding that
require washing, as well as the dust and refuse of the wards, to special
receptacles.
The kitchen itself is a sight worth seeing with its wide open range,
where prime joints are roasting, or have been roasted, and are now being
cut into great platefuls for the ordinary full-diet patients. In the
great boilers and ovens, vegetables and boiled meats, farinaceous
puddings, rice, tapioca, fish, and a dozen other articles of pure diet
are being prepared, while a reservoir of strong beef-tea represents the
nourishment of those feeble ones to whom liquid, representing either
meat or milk, is all that can be permitted. We have little time to
remain in the separate rooms, which are cool tile-lined larders, where
bread and milk and meat are kept, but among the records of donations and
contributions to the hospital it is very pleasant to read of the
multifarious gifts of food and other comforts sent from time to time by
benevolent friends. They consist of baskets of game, fruits, rice, tea,
flour, books, warm clothing for poor patients leaving the hospital,
prints, pictures, fern-cases, all kinds of useful articles, showing how
thoughtful the donors are, of what will be a solace and a comfort to the
patients, while not the least practically valuable remittances are
bundles of old linen. Still more touching, however, are the records of
gifts brought by patients themselves, or by their friends.
"I was a patient here four years ago," says a man who has made his way
to the secretary's room, "and I made up my mind that if ever I could
scrape a guinea together I should bring it, and now I have, and here it
is, if you'll be so good as to take it, for I want to show I'm truly
grateful."
"If you'll please accept it from us; my husband and I have put by
fifteen shillings, and want to give it to the hospital for your kindness
to our son, who was here before he died."
These are the chronicles that show this to be a people's hospital
indeed, and that should open the hearts of those who can take pounds
instead of shillings. In such cases the secretary has ventured to remind
the grateful donors that they may be unable to afford to leave their
savings, but the evident pain, even of the hint of refusal, was reason
for accepting the poor offering. Poor, did I say? nay, rich--rich in all
that can really give value to such gifts, the wealth of the heart that
must be satisfied by giving.
There is one more adjunct to this great human conservatory which we must
see before we leave. Down four shallow stone steps from the corridor,
and along a cheerful quiet sub-corridor, is the chapel. A very beautiful
building, with no stained glass or sumptuous detail of ornament, and yet
so admirable in its simple architectural decoration and perfect
proportions, that it is an example of what such a place should be. It is
capable of seating three or four hundred persons, and visitors are
freely admitted to the Sunday services when there is room, though of
course seats are reserved for the patients, who have "elbows" provided
in their pews, that they may be able to lean without undue fatigue. The
chapel itself was a gift of a beneficent friend, and was presented
anonymously. One day an architect waited on the committee, and simply
said that if they would permit a chapel to be erected on a vacant space
in their grounds, close to the main building, he had plans for such a
structure with him, and the whole cost would be defrayed by a client of
his, who, however, would not make known his name. The gift was accepted,
and the benevolent contract nobly fulfilled. I should be glad to hear
that some other charitable donor had sent in like manner an offer of
funds to fill those two great vacant wards which, waiting for patients,
are among the saddest sights in this hospital.
_HEALING THE SICK._
Amidst the numerous great charities which distinguish this vast
metropolis, hospitals must always hold a prominent if not preeminent
place. Helpless infancy, the weakness and infirmity of old age, and
prostration by sudden accident, or the ravages of disease, are the
conditions that necessarily appeal to humanity. The latter especially is
so probable an occurrence to any of us, that we are at once impressed by
the necessity for providing some means for its alleviation. Helpless
childhood has passed, old age may seem to be in too dim a future to
challenge our immediate attention; but sickness, sudden disaster, who
shall be able to guard against these, in a world where the strongest are
often smitten down in the full tide of apparent health; where, in the
streets alone, fatal accidents are reckoned monthly as a special item in
Registrars' returns, and injuries amount annually to hundreds?
The great endowed hospitals, therefore, those magnificent monuments of
charity which have distinguished London for so many years, and the value
of which in extending the science of medicine can scarcely be overrated,
are regarded by us all with veneration. At the same time we ought to
feel a certain thrill of pleasure, a satisfaction not far removed from
keen emotion, when we see inscribed on the front of some building, large
or small, where the work of healing is being carried on, the words,
"Supported by Voluntary Contributions." One other condition, too, seems
necessary to the complete recognition of such a charity as having
attained to the full measure of a truly beneficent work--admission to it
should be free: free not only from any demand for money payments, but
untrammelled by the necessity for seeking, often with much suffering and
delay, a governor's order or letter, by which alone a patient can be
received in many of our otherwise admirable and useful institutions for
the sick. It should be remembered that immediate aid is of the utmost
importance in the effort to heal the sick, and that delays, proverbially
dangerous, are in such cases cruel, often fatal, always damaging to the
sense of true beneficence, of the extension of help because of the
_need_ rather than for the sake of any particular influence. It would
seem that we have no right to hesitate, or to insist on the observance
of certain forms, before succouring the grievously sick and wounded, any
more than we have to withhold food from the starving till ceremonial
inquiries are answered, and certificates of character obtained. There
are cases of poverty, and even of suffering, where inquiry before
ultimate and continued relief may be useful, and personal influence may
be necessary, but extreme hunger and nakedness, cold and houselessness,
sudden injury or maiming, the pain of disease, the deep and touching
need of the sick and helpless, are not such. Prompt and effectual
measures for relief, and, if necessary, admission to the place where
that relief can alone be afforded, will be the only means of completely
meeting these wants. Free hospitals, freer even than workhouses, are
what we need, and I am about to visit one of them to-day which rejoices
in its name, "The Royal Free Hospital," now in its forty-seventh year of
useful and, I am glad to say, of vigorous life.
To anyone acquainted with that strange neighbourhood which is
represented by Gray's Inn Lane and all the queer jumble of courts and
alleys that seem to shrink behind the shelter of the broad thoroughfare
of Holborn, there is something consistent in the establishment of such a
noble charity as this hospital in Gray's Inn Road. Its very position
seems to indicate the nature and extent of its duties. Near the homes of
poverty, the streets where people live who cannot go far to seek aid in
their extremest need, it receives those who, breaking down through
sudden disease, or requiring medical and surgical skill to relieve the
pain and weakness of recurrent malady, have no resource but this to
enable them to fulfil their one great desire "to get back to work." The
causes of much of the sickness which sends patients thither may be
preventable: they may be found in foul dwellings, impure water,
insufficient clothing, want of proper food, alternate hunger and
intemperance; but whatever may be its occasion, a remedy must be found
for it. Till all that is preventable _is_ prevented, the consequences
will have to be mitigated, the fatal results averted where it is
possible; and when boards of health and sanitary measures have done,
there will still be sick men to heal, failing children to strengthen,
weak and wasting women to restore.