AT ST. DUNSTAN'S
When I arrived at St. Dunstan's, the place was practically deserted. The
summer holidays were on, and all the men were away, either at their
homes in the British Isles or at one of the annexes of St. Dunstan's.
Sir Arthur sees to it that no man goes without his vacation. Torquay and
Brighton were within easy reach, and at these seaside resorts there were
rest homes for the St. Dunstan's men. Since that time, so greatly has
the attendance increased, it has been found necessary to open other
vacation resorts. It is to these places that the sightless Colonials go.
When the boys got back, work began in earnest.
I have been speaking of St. Dunstan's; it is now fitting that I give a
description of this Mecca of the sightless, or, as we say, of those who
do not see quite as well as other people. A hostel for the training of
those having defective sight suggests a barrack-like structure with
whitewashed walls, board forms for the accommodation of the students,
and the rudest of furniture. What need is there of the beautiful for
those who are without eyes, or who have eyes that see not? But the blind
have a keen appreciation of the beautiful, and ample provision has been
made by the founders of St. Dunstan's for satisfying the aesthetic
craving of the students.
[Illustration: St. Dunstan's: The House]
St. Dunstan's stands on one of the largest estates in the city of
London. It is surpassed in size only by the Royal Palace of Buckingham.
The grounds are over sixteen acres in extent, and it has one of the most
beautiful lawns in the United Kingdom. The House belongs to Mr. Otto
Kahn, an American financier, who played an important part in bringing
the United States to the side of the Allies. When Sir Arthur Pearson
started out on his big drive in the interests of the soldiers and
sailors who might be deprived of their sight in the Great World War, Mr.
Kahn generously laid the whole of this magnificent estate at his
disposal. The House itself is one of the most famous in the United
Kingdom. In the days when it was the property of Lord Londesborough, it
was often the scene of royal gatherings. The Kaiser visited it so
frequently that the people in the vicinity began to look upon his coming
as a matter of course. Entering the gate to the left, the first object
to meet the eye is the lodge-keeper's house, a picturesque,
rose-embowered structure. Then comes the lawn, a wide stretch of velvety
turf, cool and restful. The approach to the House itself is through an
avenue of mulberry trees, well intermingled with lime. In the summer
season the air is filled with the scent of flowers, welling forth from
roses, yellow jasmine, and pink almond blossoms. Entering the building
by the main entrance, to the left of the hallway the visitor sees the
office of Sir Arthur and those of his staff, who, under the supervision
of the chief, control the hostel. At either side of the hallway are two
magnificent chairs, one of which was the favourite seat of Edward the
Peacemaker, and the other that of Kaiser Wilhelm II., the German War
Lord. Passing through the hallway, the lounge room is reached, and a
little farther the outer lounge, formerly Lord Londesborough's ballroom,
where are staged the charming concerts for which the House is famous.
But St. Dunstan's is not a mere resthouse. It is essentially a humming
hive of industry, an educational institution where there is something
for everyone to learn. Whether a man can see or not, he can here find
occupation for his hands and mind. After all, we do not _see_ with our
_eyes_; they merely carry sights to the seeing brain, and the hands, and
even feet, can perform the same duties, only in a different way.
Teachers were many and willing. And here I should like to record the
fact that no one can teach the blind quite as well as the other fellow
who is also sightless. I know whereof I speak, for I have been piloted
around localities by people who could see and also by people whose
"eyesight was not as good as it once was." This last expression is
borrowed from Sir Arthur, who always speaks of his sightless boys as:
"The boys whose eyesight is not quite as good as it once was."
About a week after the boys had returned from their vacation, I had a
chance to visit the workshops. What a hive of industry these same
workshops are! Go there, you men and women blessed with sight, and see
for yourselves what your sightless brother is doing in the way of making
himself over again, bringing into play his latent powers, and turning
what seemed to be a worthless creature, a burden to himself and
humanity, into the only asset--a producer--that is worth while to any
country. The obstacles he faces at the beginning seem unsurmountable;
but at St. Dunstan's the spirit of the place grips him and the word
"cannot" disappears from his dictionary. But at first he has much to
unlearn. All his old methods of work have to be forgotten. He is, in a
sense, a child again, born the day his sight was taken from him. But
though his sight is lost, if he is the right sort, the greatest asset a
man possesses can never be taken from him--his spirit, his determination
never to be a burden on others; his feeling, his knowledge that what
others have done he can do. His confidence in his ability to make good,
his spirit of independence--he still has these, and they enable him to
win greater victories than any he might have achieved in battle,
victories over that terror of the sighted--blindness.
Those of us who claim St. Dunstan's as our _Alma Mater_ are often told
that we can talk of nothing but the place and the treatment we received
there. Our answer is: Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth
speaketh. She took us up when we were in the depths and remade us into
_men_; she taught us to be real producers; she made it possible for us
to take our place in the ranks of the earners--in fact, all that we know
and all that we are we owe to her. There is only one point on which Sir
Arthur and his boys disagree. Sir Arthur claims that it was the boys who
made St. Dunstan's; the boys maintain that St. Dunstan's made the men.
While I was in residence there, there were about five hundred and fifty
men undergoing instruction, and yet St. Dunstan's carried on smoothly
and serenely without the slightest vestige of discipline in the ordinary
sense of the word. Only two per cent. of those who passed through the
institution failed to make good. What other educational establishment
can boast such a record? And yet nothing was compulsory except sobriety.
I was at St. Dunstan's for sixteen months, and as my case was typical I
cannot do better, in order to give a detailed account of the work there,
than relate my own experiences. When I was ready to begin work, I went
before the Adjutant and arranged what courses I would take up. Times for
classes were fixed, teachers named, and everything done to enable me to
begin my training for the battle of life. I was, as it were, a child
again, about to enter school for the second time, but under vastly
different conditions from my first entrance, about a quarter of a
century before. Braille and typewriting were taken up as a matter of
course. Braille is taught to enable the sightless to read for
themselves, and typewriting in order that it will not be so hard on
their friends, as it is much easier for the blind to learn to typewrite
than it is for the sighted to learn to read Braille. It took me four
months to master Braille, but I passed my typewriting test in less than
three weeks. I was pleased with my achievement in respect to the
latter, as I had determined to take up stenography and typewriting as a
profession. There was an added incentive for the students to take up
typewriting, for Sir Arthur, the most generous of men, presents each of
his boys with a typewriter when he is leaving St. Dunstan's.
The occupations were varied, and in my early days as a student, my
greatest pleasure was to visit the various rooms where workers were
engaged at different callings. Here some were repairing shoes, and
humming ditties happily as they worked; now the rustling and crackling
told me that I was in the presence of men making baskets and mats;
again, the sound of hammers driving home nails and of planes made me
aware that I was among carpenters. In addition to these trades, men were
at work studying poultry-keeping, and taking courses in massage work. At
first I viewed all this from the attitude of the sighted, and it seemed
to me an unparalleled miracle; but after a time I took it all as a
matter of course.
[Illustration: The Carpenter Shop]
The stenographic and massage courses take the longest time; but at St.
Dunstan's there is no time limit set for any course. If proficiency
is not achieved in one month or six months, the student can keep
doggedly at it for a longer period. St. Dunstan's is a home until
proficiency in the chosen calling is achieved. "Grow proficient" was Sir
Arthur's demand of his boys; and with few exceptions they stuck at it
till he was satisfied.
The time of actual work for each man was about three and a half hours
per day. From this it will be seen that it was not all work at St.
Dunstan's. While the main purpose of the institution is to make
producers of men with a serious handicap, another great aim is to
brighten their lives and create in them that buoyant spirit--the _moral_
of life--that is half the battle.