LONDON
THE NEW HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN
DUBLIN
THE ROTUNDA
1892-1894
‘We take up the task eternal and the burden and the lesson,
Pioneers, O Pioneers.’--WALT WHITMAN.
After completing her clinical work in Glasgow, and passing the
examination for the Triple Qualification in 1892, it was decided that
Elsie should go to London and work as house-surgeon in the new Hospital
for Women in the Euston Road. In 1916 that hospital kept its jubilee
year, and when Elsie went to work there it had been established for
nearly thirty years. Its story contains the record of the leading names
among women doctors. In the commemorative prayer of Bishop Paget, an
especial thanksgiving was made ‘for the good example of those now at
rest, Elizabeth Blackwell, and Sophia Jex Blake, of good work done
by women doctors throughout the whole world, and now especially of
the high trust and great responsibility committed to women doctors in
this hour of need.’ The hearts of many present went over the washing
seas, to the lands wasted by fire and sword, and to the leader of
the Scottish Women’s Hospitals, who had gained her earliest surgical
experience in the wards of the first hospital founded by the first
woman doctor, and standing for the new principle that women can
practise the healing art.
Elsie Inglis took up her work with keen energy and a happy power
of combining work with varied interests. In the active months of
her residence she resolutely ‘tramped’ London, attended most of the
outstanding churches, and was a great sermon taster of ministers
ranging from Boyd Carpenter to Father Maturin. Innumerable relatives
and friends tempted her to lawn tennis and the theatres. She had a keen
eye to all the humours of the staff, and formed her own opinions on
patients and doctors with her usual independence of judgment.
Elsie’s letters to her father were detailed and written daily. Only a
very small selection can be quoted, but every one of them is instinct
with a buoyant outlook, and they are full of the joy of service.
It is interesting to read in these letters her descriptions of the work
of Dr. Garrett Anderson, and then to read Dr. Louisa Garrett Anderson’s
speech on her mother at the jubilee of the hospital. ‘I shall never
forget her at Victoria Station on the day when the Women’s Hospital
Corps was leaving England for France, early in September 1914. She was
quite an old woman, her life’s work done, but the light of battle was
in her eyes, and she said, “Had I been twenty years younger I would
have been taking you myself.” Just twenty-one years before the war
broke down the last of the barriers against women’s work as doctors,
Elsie Inglis entered the New Hospital for Women, to learn with that
staff of women doctors who had achieved so much under conditions so
full of difficulties and discouragements.
‘NEW HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN,
‘EUSTON RD., 1892-3.
‘MY OWN DEAREST PAPA,--Here we begin another long series of letters.
The people in the carriage were very quiet, so I slept all right. Of
course they shut up all the windows, so I opened all the ventilators,
and I also opened the window two or three times. I had breakfast at
once, and then a bath, and then came in for a big operation by Mrs.
Boyd. Her husband came up to help her. Mrs. Scharlieb and Mrs. de la
Cherois were up too--both of them visiting doctors. I have been all
round the wards and got a sort of idea of the cases in my head, but
I shall have to get them all up properly. The visiting physicians
seem to call all over the day, from nine o’clock in the morning till
three in the afternoon. Some of the students from the School of
Medicine are dressers and clerks. I believe I have to drill them,
but of course they are only very senior students, because their real
hospital is the Royal Free. There are four wards, two of them round,
with two fireplaces back to back in the middle. The other two wards
are oblong, and they are all prettily painted, and bright. Then there
are two small wards for serious cases. I have not arranged my room
yet, as I have not had a minute. I am going out to post this and get
a stethescope. Mrs. de la Cherois has been here; she is a nice old
lady, and awfully particular. I would much rather work with people
like that than people who are anyhow. Mrs. Scharlieb is about forty,
very dark and solemn. The nurses seem nice, but they don’t have any
special uniform, which I think is a pity; so they are pinks and greys
and blues, and twenty different patterns of caps. I think I shall
like being here very much. I only hope I shall get on with all my
mistresses! And, I _hope_ I shall always remember what to do.
‘The last big operation case died. It was very sad, and very
provoking, for she really was doing well, but she had not vitality
enough to stand the shock. That was the case whose doctor told her and
her husband that she was suffering from _hysteria_. And that man, you
know, can be a fellow of the colleges, and member of any society he
likes to apply to, while Mrs. G. Anderson and Mrs. Scharlieb cannot!
Is it not ridiculous?
‘Mrs. G. Anderson said she was going to speak to Mrs. M‘Call about my
having one of her maternity posts. I shall come home first, however,
my own dearest Papa. Mrs. G. A. said she thought I should have a good
deal more of that kind of work if I was going to set up in a lonely
place like Edinburgh, as I ought _never_ to have to call in a man to
help me out of a hole!
‘Mrs. G. Anderson is going to take me to a Cinderella dance to-night
in aid of the hospital. I am to meet her at St. James’ Hall. We had an
awful morning of it. Mrs. G. A. is taking Mrs. M.’s ward, and turned
up 9.30, Mrs. S.’s hour. Then Miss C. came in on the top to consult
about two of her cases. Into the bargain, A. slept late, and did not
arrive till near ten, so, by the time they had all left, I had a
lovely medley of treatment in my head. My fan has arrived, and will
come in for to-night. I hope Mrs. G. Anderson will be a nice chaperone
and introduce one properly. I am to go early, and her son is to look
out for me, and begin the introducing till she comes. Miss Garrett has
been to-day painting the hall for the Chicago Exhibition. She is going
to the dance to-night. She says Mrs. Fawcett got some more money out
of the English Commissioners in a lovely way. These Commissioners have
spent £17,000 in building themselves a kiosk in the ground, and they
allowed Mrs. Fawcett £500 to represent women’s work in England. Every
one is furious about it. Well, Mrs. Fawcett has managed to get an
extra £500. She wrote, and said that if she did not get any more she
could not mount all the photographs and drawings, but would put up a
notice that “the English Commission was too poor to allow for mounting
and framing.” This, with the kiosk in the ground!
‘One of the patients here was once upon a time a servant at the
Baroness Burdett Coutts’. She certainly was most awfully kind to
her, sent her £10 to pay her rent, and has now paid to send her to
the Cottage. Miss B. is in hopes she may get her interested in the
hospital now, but it seems she does not approve of women doctors and
such things. Perhaps, as the old housemaid did so well here, she may
change her mind. The Report is out now. I shall send them to some of
the doctors in Edinburgh. I see in it that Mr. Robertson left £1000 in
memory of his wife to the hospital, and that is how that bed comes to
be called the “Caroline Croom Robertson bed.”
‘We had two big operations to-day. We had the usual round in the
morning, and then we had to prepare. I did one lovely thing! This
morning, I pointed out to Mrs. Scharlieb with indignation that our
galvanic battery had run out. I said that it really was disgraceful
of C., for it had only been used once for a quarter of an hour since
the last time he had charged it. Mrs. S. agreed, and said she would go
in and speak to him and tell him to send her battery, which was with
him being charged. We wanted a battery for the galvanic cautery. Well,
Mrs. Scharlieb’s battery arrived. I tried it, and found it would not
heat the cautery properly. So I was very angry, and I sat down and
wrote C. a peppery letter. I told him to send some competent person
_at once_ to look at the battery, and to be prepared to lend us one,
if this competent person saw it was necessary. M. flew off, and in
twenty minutes a man from C. arrived, very humble. I turned on the
batteries, and showed him that they would not heat up properly. Sister
said I talked to him like a mother. He departed very humbly to bring
another battery. In about half an hour Sister whistled up, C.’s man
would like to see me. Down I went. He looked at me with a twinkle in
his eye. “You had not taken the resistance off, Miss,” and held one of
the cautery red-hot attached to our own battery. Was not I sold! I had
humbly to apologise. And the amount of nervous energy I had wasted on
that battery!
‘We began to-day with a big operation. It went perfectly splendidly.
The chloroform was given by a Dr. B., some special friend of the
patient, so, I hoped there would be no hitch, and there was none. He
had the cheek afterwards to say to Dr. S., that no one could have done
it better! Mrs. S. seemed rather pleased, but I thought it awfully
patronising, was it not?
‘Did I tell you that Mrs. S. and Miss Walker were talking the other
morning of the time when they would make this a qualifying hospital?
Miss C. said it would certainly come some day, and of course, to make
it a qualifying hospital, they must have men’s beds, and that will
mean a mixed staff. However, all that is in the future. Then, we will
show the old-fashioned hospitals, with their retrograde managers,
etc., _how_ a mixed staff can work. I wonder if they will have mixed
classes too!
‘I enjoyed _King Lear_ very much. The scenery was magnificent. King
Lear was not a bit kingly, but just a weak, old man. I suppose that
was what he was meant to be. Ellen Terry was splendid. The storm
on the heath awful. I shivered in my seat when the wind whistled.
The last scene--the French camp on the cliffs on Dover--was really
beautiful.
‘Yesterday, I did a lovely thing--slept like a top till almost nine.
I suppose I was tired after the exciting cases. Janet burst into my
room with “Mrs. S. will be here in a very few minutes, Miss.” So, out
I tumbled, and tore downstairs to meet Mrs. S. in the hall! I tried to
look as if I had had breakfast _hours_ before, and I don’t think she
suspected that was my first appearance. She did her visit, and then I
went to breakfast. As luck would have it, Mrs. G. Anderson chose that
morning of all others to show a friend of hers round the hospital. She
marched calmly into the board-room to find me grubbing. I saw the only
thing to do was to be quite cool, so I got up and shook hands, and
remarked, “I am rather late this morning,” and she only laughed. It
was about 10.30, a nice time for an H.S. to be having breakfast.
‘I did not go to hear Father Maturin after all yesterday. I have been
very busy; we have had another big operation, doing all right so
far. She is an artist’s wife; she has had an unhappy time for four
years, because she has been very ill, and their doctor said it was
hysteria, and told her husband not to give in to the nonsense. Really,
some of these general practitioners are _grand_. They send some of
the patients in with the most outrageous diagnoses you can imagine.
One woman was told her life was not worth a year’s purchase, and she
must have a big operation. So she came in. We pummelled her all over,
and could not find the grounds of his diagnosis, and finally treated
for something quite different, and she went out well in six weeks.
Her doctor came to see her, and said, “Well, madam, I could not have
believed it.” It is better they should err in that direction than in
the direction of calling real illness “hysteria.”
‘I mean to have a hospital of my own in Edinburgh some day.
‘A patient with a well-balanced nervous system will get well in just
half the time that one of these hysterical women will. There is one
plucky little woman in just now. She has had a bad operation, but
nothing has ever disturbed her equilibrium. She smiles away in the
pluckiest way, and gets well more quickly than anybody. I agree with
Kingsley: one of the necessities of the world is to teach girls to be
brave, and not whine over everything, and the first step for that is
to teach them to play games!
‘Fancy who has been here this evening--Bailie Walcot. He has come
up to London on Parliamentary business. He investigated every hole
and corner of the hospital. He says our girls are going to Dr.
Littlejohn’s class with Jex’s girls at Surgery Hall. It is wonderful
how these men who would do nothing at first are beginning to see it
pays to be neutral now.
‘We have a lot to be grateful to J. B. for; Bailie W. told me the
Leith managers have approached the Edinburgh managers, saying, “If
you will undertake no more women students, we will undertake to take
both schools, and to build immediately.” Bailie Walcot said he and Mr.
Scott of St. George’s were the _only_ two who opposed this. If they
send us down to Leith we must make the best of it, and really try to
make it a good school, but it will be a great pity.
‘The dance was awfully nice. Mrs. G. Anderson is a capital chaperone.
I managed to go off without my ticket, and the damsel at the door was
very severe, and said I must wait till Mrs. Garrett Anderson came. I
waited quietly a minute or two, and was just going to ask her to send
in to see if Mrs. Anderson had come, then a man marched in, and said
in a lovely manner, “I have forgotten my ticket,” and she merely said,
“You must give me your name, sir,” and let him pass. After that I gave
my name and passed too! I found I might have waited till doomsday, for
Mrs. G. A. was inside. I danced every dance; it was a lovely floor and
lovely music, and you may make up your mind, papa dear, that I go to
all the balls in Edinburgh after this. They had two odd dances called
Barn-door. I thought it would be a kind of Sir Roger, but it was the
oddest kind of hop, skip and dance I ever saw. I said to Mrs. G. A. it
was something like a Schottische, only not a quarter so pretty. She
said it was pretty when nicely danced, but people have not learnt it
yet. I rashly said to Mrs. G. A. that I could get some tea from the
night nurse when I got home (because I wanted to dance the extras),
but she was horrified at tea just before going to sleep, and swept me
into the refreshment-room and made me drink soup by the gallon. I came
home with Miss Garrett. We had an operation this morning, so you see
dances don’t interfere with the serious business of life.
‘Mrs. Scharlieb came in here the other day, and declared I was
qualifying for acute bronchitis; but I told her nobody could have
acute bronchitis who had a cold bath every morning, and had been
brought up to open windows. This is the third sit down to your letter.
Talk of women at home never being able to do anything without being
interrupted every few minutes! I think you have only to be house
surgeon to know what being interrupted means. They not only knock
and march in at the door, but they also whistle up the tube--most
frightfully startling it used to be at first, to hear a sort of shrill
fog-horn in the room. There are three high temperatures, and the
results are sent up to me whenever they are taken. We are sponging
them, and may have to put them into cold baths, but I hope not. Mrs.
G. A. told me to do it without waiting for the chief, if I thought it
necessary, whereupon Mrs. B. remarked, “I think Miss Inglis ought to
be warned the patient may die.”
‘Lovely weather here. I have been prescribing sunshine, sunshine,
sunshine for all the patients. There are only two balconies on each
floor, and nurse Rose is reported to have said that she supposed I
wanted the patients hung out over the railings, for otherwise there
would not be room. Miss W. came this morning, to Sister’s indignation.
“Does not she think she can trust me for one day?” So I said it was
only that she was so delighted at having a ward; and that I was sure
I would do the same. “Oh,” said Sister, “I am thankful you have not a
ward. You would bring a box with sandwiches and sit there all day.”
I am always having former H.S.’s thrown at my head who came round
exactly to the minute, twice a day, whereas they say I am never out
of the wards, at least they never know when I am coming. I tell them
I don’t want them to trot round after me with an ink-bottle. Miss R.
says I have no idea of discipline! I make one grand round a day, with
the ink-bottle, and then I don’t want the nurses to take any more
notice of me. I think that is far more sensible than having fixed
times. I quite agree the ink-bottle round ought to be at a fixed time,
but I cannot help other things turning up to be done.
‘I had to toddle off and ask for Mrs. K. She is the one who is
appointed to give anæsthetics in the hospital. They are all most
frightfully nervous about anæsthetics here, in all the hospitals,
and have regular anæsthetists. In Edinburgh and Glasgow the students
give it, under the house surgeons of course. I never saw any death,
or anything that was very frightening. One real reason is, I believe,
that they watch the wrong organ, viz. the heart. In Scotland they
hardly think of the heart, and simply watch the breathing. The
Hydrabad Commission settled conclusively that it was the breathing
gave out first; but having made up their minds that it does not, all
the Commissions in the world won’t convince them to the contrary.
In the meantime they do their operations in fear and trembling,
continually asking if the patient is all right.
‘You never saw such a splendid out-patient department as they have
here--a perfectly lovely, comfortable waiting-room, and pretty
receiving waiting-room. The patients have to pay a small sum, yet they
had over 20,000 visits this year up to November--that is about half
the size of the Glasgow Royal, one of the biggest out-patients in the
kingdom, and general. This is paying, and for women! Who says women
doctors are not wanted!
‘This morning I started off, meaning to go to Dr. Vaughan in the
Temple Church. Sister C. told me I ought to be early, and of course
I was as late as I could be. As I was running downstairs Nurse Helen
asked me if I had ever heard Stopford Brooke. I had heard his name,
but I could not remember anything about him. Nurse H. said he was an
awful heretic, and had got into trouble for his opinions. As a general
rule men who get into trouble for their opinions are worth listening
to--at least they _have_ opinions. So I left Dr. Vaughan, and went off
to Mr. S. Brooke. He gave a capital sermon with nothing heterodox in
it, about loving our fellow-men. I liked him, and would go to-night to
hear his lecture on “In Memoriam,” but Sister C. is going out.
‘You know you must not aim at a separate but at a mixed school in
Edinburgh. I am sure this is best, and all the women here think so
too. I wonder when the University means to succumb.
‘Mrs. G. Anderson asked me to come and help her with a small operation
in an hotel. She gave me a half-guinea fee for so doing. We drove
there in a hansom, and drove back in her carriage. She was most jovial
and talkative. We went into the Deanery, Westminster Abbey, on our way
back to leave cards on somebody. You suddenly seem to get out of the
noise and rush of London when you turn in there. It is quite quiet and
green. All sorts of men were wandering about in red gowns and black
gowns. We were told it was Convocation.
‘Mrs. Scharlieb was awfully nice and kind. She said she hoped I would
get on always as well as I had here. Was not it nice of her? I said I
hoped I would do much better, for I thought I had made an awful lot of
mistakes since I came here. She says everybody has to make mistakes.
The worst of being a doctor is that one’s mistakes matter so much. In
everything else you just throw away what you have messed and begin
again, but you cannot do that as a doctor.
‘She said she expects to be called in as my consultant when I am a
surgeon. Won’t my patients have to pay fees to get her up from London!
‘Miss C. has been trying to get on to some of the medical societies,
and has failed. I shall not demean myself by asking to get on--shall
wait till they beseech the honour of adding my name.
‘As to women doctors here having an assured position, I rather like
the pioneer work, I think! I mean to make friends with all the nice
doctors, and vanquish all the horrid selfish ones, and end by being a
Missionary Professor.
‘If I don’t get into the Infirmary in Edinburgh, I mean to build a
hospital for myself, like this one. Indeed I don’t know that I should
not like the hospital to myself better! I’ll build it where the Cattle
Market is, at the head of Lady Lawson Street. That would be convenient
for all the women in Fountainbridge, and the Grassmarket and Cowgate,
and it would be comparatively high. To begin with, I mean to rent
Eva’s hall from her for a dispensary. You see it is all arranged!’
The next course Elsie decided on taking was one of three months in
Midwifery in the Rotunda, Dublin. There was a greater equality of
teaching there in mixed classes, and also she thought the position of
the whole hospital staff was on lines which would enable her to gain
the most experience in this branch, where she ultimately achieved so
much for her fellow-citizens in Edinburgh.
‘COSTIGAN’S HOTEL, UPPER SACKVILLE ST.,
‘DUBLIN, _Nov. 18, 1893_.
‘I went over to the Rotunda and saw Dr. Glenn, the assistant master.
I am “clerk” on Mondays and Thursdays. The only other person here is
a native from the Nizam’s Dominions. At breakfast this morning he
told me about his children, who are quite fair “like their mother.”
How fond he was of London, and how he would not live in India now for
anything; he finds the climate enervating! I told him I thought India
a first-rate place to live in, and that I should like to go back.
‘By the way, fancy the franchise for the Parish Councils being
carried. The first thing I saw when I landed was defeat of the
Government! The _Independent_ here is jubilant, partly because the
point of woman’s suffrage is carried, partly because the Government is
beaten.
‘So the strike has ended, and the men go back to work on their old
wages till February. I expect both sides are sick of it, but I am glad
the men have carried it so far. Lord Rosebery is a clever man.
‘Mrs. C. evidently thinks I am quite mad, for I have asked for a cold
bath in my room. “Good gracious me, miss! it’s not cold entoirely
ye’ll be meaning.”
‘I went to see the D.’s. The first thing I was told was that a
Miss D. sat in their church, an M.B. of the Royal Infirmary. A very
clever girl, she has just taken a travelling bursary and is going to
Vienna. “But we don’t know her, they are Home Rulers!” Mrs. D. went
on to say both she and her father were Home Rulers, but that she for
one would not mind if they did not obtrude their politics. So, I
thought, “Well, I won’t obtrude mine.” Then Mrs. D. said, “You must
take a side, you know, and say distinctly what side you are on when
you are asked.” So I thought, “Well, I’ll wait till I am asked,” and
I have got through to-day without being asked. But, positively, they
used the word “boycott” about those D.’s. They have been boycotted
by the congregation. It must be rather hard to be a Home Ruler and
a Presbyterian just now in Ireland. Positively, they frightened me
so, I nearly squirmed under the table. However, when I looked round
the congregation I thought I should not mind much being boycotted by
them. The sermon was one about forgiving your enemies. Mrs. D. has
given me a standing invitation to come to dinner on Sunday. What will
happen when I am suddenly asked to take my side, I don’t know. In the
meantime I will let things slide! Mrs. D. asked me if the Costigans
were Catholics, and said she thought Mrs. C. looked so nice she could
not be one.’
‘_Dec. 1893._
‘I have done nothing but race after cases to-day. One old woman was
killing. She came for Dr. B., whom she said she had known before he
was born. Dr. B. could not go, so I went. “Hech,” she said, “I came
for a _doctor_.” “Well, I’m the doctor. Come along.” “Deed no,” she
said; “ye’re no a doctor--ye’re just a wumman.” I did laugh, and
marched her off. She was grandly tipsy when I left the home, so I am
going back to see how the patient has got on, in spite of the nursing.
‘I had a second polite speech made to me last night. I was introduced
into a house by the person who came for me as the doctor. When I
had been in about two minutes, a small man of four years old, said
suddenly in a clear voice “That is _not_ a doctor, it’s a girl!” I
told him he was behind the age not to know that one could be both.
‘We had a chloroform scare this morning. I admired Dr. S.’s coolness
immensely. He finished tying his stitches quietly while two doctors
were skipping round like a pair of frightened girls. It ended all
right. They don’t know how to give chloroform anywhere out of
Scotland. It is very odd.
‘Mrs. D. declared she was going to write to you that she had found
I had gone out without my breakfast. So, here are the _facts_! I was
out last night, and was not up when they rang over for me. So, before
having my breakfast I just ran over to see what they wanted me for,
and finding it would keep I came back for my breakfast to find Mrs.
D. here. I am not such an idiot as to miss my meals, Papa, dearest.
My temper won’t stand it! I always have a glass of milk and a biscuit
when I go out at night. I am as sensible as I can be. I know you
cannot do work with blunt instruments, and this instrument blunts very
easily without food and exercise.
‘_Jan. 1, 1894._
‘I have been round all my patients to-day, and had to drink glasses
of very questionable wine in each house. It is really very trying to
a practical teetotaller like me. Literally, I could hardly see them
when I left the last house! There was simply no getting off it, and I
did not want to hurt their feelings. When they catch hold of your hand
and say “Now, doctor dear, or doctor jewel, ye’ll just be takin’ a wee
glass, deed an ye will,” what are you to do?
‘Do you think this “Famasha” with the French in Africa is going to
be the beginning of the big war? That is an awful idea. England
single-handed against Europe. But, it would be the English-speaking
peoples, Australia, the States, and Canada.
‘I have made a convert to the ranks of women’s rights. Did I tell
you that Dr. B. and I had had an awful argument. I never mentioned
the subject again, for it is no good arguing with a man who has made
up his mind (and is a North of Ireland man, who will die in the last
ditch into the bargain). However, in the middle of the operation, he
suddenly said, “By the way, you are right about the suffrage, Miss
Inglis.” Then I found he had come over about the whole question. As
a convert is always the most violent supporter, I hope he’ll do some
good.
‘_Feb. 5, 1894._
‘After three months you have learnt all the Rotunda can teach. If you
were a man, it would be worth while to stay, because senior students,
if they are men, get a lot of the C.C.’s work to do. But they never
think of letting you do it if you are a woman. It is not deliberate
unfairness, but they never think of it. If one stays six months they
examine one, and give a degree, L.M., Licentiate of Midwifery. If I
could I would rather spend three months in Paris with Pozzi. I have
learnt a tremendous lot here, and feel very happy about my work in
this special line. It is their methods which are so good. If you can
really afford to give me another three months it would be wiser to go
to Paris. There are three men who are quite in the front rank there,
Pozzi, Apostoli, and Péon.’
‘COSTIGAN’S, UPPER SACKVILLE STREET,
‘DUBLIN, _Feb. 10, 1894._
‘I got your letter at eleven when I came down to breakfast. I shall
never get into regular order for home again. No one blames one for
lying in bed here or being late, for no one knows how late you have
been up the night before, or how many cases you have been at before
you get to the lecture. It is partly that, and partly their casual
Irish ways. I have had a letter from Miss MacGregor this morning,
asking what I should say to our starting together in Edinburgh.
It is a thing to be thought about. It is quite true, as she says,
that two women are much more comfortable working together. They can
give chloroform for one another and so on, and consult together. On
the other hand, we could do that just as well if we simply started
separately, and were friends.
‘Miss MacGregor was one of the J.-B. lot, and she and I had awful
rows over that question. But we certainly got on very well before
that, and, as she says, that was not a personal question. I am quite
sure Miss MacGregor is Scotch enough not to propose any arrangement
which won’t be to her own advantage. Probably, I know a good many more
people than she does. The question for me is whether it will be for my
advantage. I am rather inclined to think it will. Miss MacGregor is
a splendid pathologist. Nowadays one ought to do a lot of that work
with one’s cases, and I have been puzzling over how one could, and yet
keep aseptic. If we could make some arrangement by which we could work
into one another’s hands in that way, I think it would be for both our
advantages. There is one thing in favour of it, if Miss MacGregor and
I are definitely working together, no one can be astonished at our not
calling in other people. Miss MacGregor, apart from everything else,
is distinctly one of our best women, and it would be nice working with
her. What do you think of it, Papa, dear? Of course I should live at
home in any case. My consulting rooms anyhow would have to be outside,
for the old ladies would not climb up the stair!
‘DUBLIN, _Feb. 1894_.
‘I do thank you so much for having let me come here. I have learnt
such a lot. The money has certainly not been wasted. But it was
awfully good of you to let me come. I am sure it will make a
difference all my life. I really feel on my feet in this subject now.
The more I think of it, the more I think it would be wise to start
with Miss MacGregor. Apart altogether from Eva’s instincts! we will
start the dispensary, and we’ll end by having a hospital like the
Rotunda, where students shall live on the premises--female students
only. Not that these boys are not very nice and good-natured, only
they are out of place in the Rotunda.’
This was nearly the last letter written by Elsie to her father. In most
of her letters during the preceding months it was obvious Mr. Inglis’
health was causing her anxiety, and the inquiries and suggestions
for his well-being grew more urgent as the shadow of death fell
increasingly dark on the written pages.
Elsie returned to receive his eager welcome, but even her eyes were
blinded to the rapidly approaching parting. On the 15th of March 1894,
she wrote to her brother Ernest in India, telling all the story of Mr.
Inglis’ passing on the 13th of that month. There was much suffering
borne with quiet patience, ‘He never once complained: I never saw such
a patient.’ At the end, he turned towards the window, and then a bright
look came into his eyes. He said, ‘Pull down the blind.’ Then the
chivalrous, knightly soul passed into the light that never was on sea
or land.
‘It was a splendid life he led,’ writes Elsie to her brother; ‘his old
Indian friends write now and say how “the name of John Inglis always
represented everything that was upright and straightforward and high
principled in the character of a Christian gentleman.” He always said
that he did not believe that death was the stopping place, but that
one would go on growing and learning through all eternity. God bless
him in his onward journey. I simply cannot imagine life without him.
We had made such plans, and now it does not seem worth while to go on
working at all. I wish he could have seen me begin. He was so pleased
about my beginning. I said it would be such a joke to see Dr. Elsie
Inglis up. Saturday afternoons were to be his, and he was to come over
in my trap.
‘He never thought of himself at all. Even when he was very ill at
the end, he always looked up when one went in, and said, “Well, my
darling.” I am glad I knew about nursing, for we did not need to have
any stranger about him. He would have hated that.’