THE SPIRIT OF ST. DUNSTAN's
To give an adequate account of the work done at St. Dunstan's, and of
the spirit of the place, it is necessary to touch upon the personnel of
the hostel. I have already dwelt at some length on the patient
self-sacrifice of the teachers of Braille: the spirit they display
animates the entire staff. The work of the V.A.D.'s is beyond praise.
Very few of these noble women actually live on the premises; most of
them live in annexes provided for them by the St. Dunstan's management.
What they do, what they endure, can best be comprehended by following
them through a day's work.
They rise at 6 a.m., and after acting as their own housemaids for their
sleeping apartments, wend their way to the various houses to which they
are assigned. Breakfast hour is at 7 a.m. After this meal, the real work
of the day begins. At the Bungalow, where I was staying, the V.A.D.'s
ate at three tables; and after each meal two were told off to clear the
tables. At 8 o'clock the men had their breakfast, two of the women being
given the task of waiting on each table; and as they had to attend to
sixteen men, all healthy specimens of humanity, some of whom had been
out on the lake since early morning, getting up a voracious appetite,
their work was far from light. There was, I might say just here, no
shortage of food at St. Dunstan's, not even while the war was on; and we
had a lingering suspicion that Sir Arthur had a "pull" with the Food
Minister. At any rate, he secured us all we could eat, and of excellent
variety; and there were few in London who could say as much after food
was rationed. Breakfast over, the Sisters, as they are called, went to
the dormitories. Each dormitory held twenty-five beds; and with these
and in other ways, they were kept busy until 11.45. The dinner hour was
twelve o'clock. After dinner some of the men always went for a row on
the lake; and of course, they needed some one to steer the boat. A
Sister was called, and she gladly joined the boys. During my entire
stay at the Bungalow, I never heard one grumble or complain at these
calls on her time and energy. At 2 p.m., the morning Sisters went off
duty, and their time was their own until six in the evening, when they
again came on, and devoted themselves to the needs of the men until nine
o'clock. They were allowed one afternoon a week, which afternoon began
at 6 p.m.; and on this day they were on duty until this hour from six in
the morning. In addition, they were granted a week-end every three
months. These women did their bit during the war--and are still doing
it--as truly as did the men at the front. Their work was hard,
nerve-racking, and often of a disagreeable kind; and it must be
remembered that many of them had never so much as dusted off their own
pianos before taking up their duties at St. Dunstan's.
The matron of the Bungalow was Mrs. Craven, a sympathetic woman of
heroic mould, and with a wide experience in war work. She has two South
African medals, and for twelve months was matron of the hospital at
Bar-le-Duc that Fritzie once termed "that damned little British
hospital," just eight miles behind the lines at Verdun; at a time when
the Germans were exerting their utmost power to break through, and were
making the destruction of hospitals and clearing stations a specialty.
Mrs. Craven was every inch a soldier. The following incident admirably
illustrates her character. One of the men was one day calling for a
Sister just at the time that they were going off duty for the morning,
and waiting to be relieved by the afternoon Sisters. The man had called
three or four times at the top of his voice, "Sister! Sister! Anybody's
Sister!" There was no response. The matron heard him, and rushed to his
assistance. As she passed through the Lounge Room she met a Sister--a
new one, by the way--who had paid no attention to the call. The matron
asked her, somewhat sternly, "Did you not hear that man calling?"
"Yes, Matron; but I am off duty now."
"Off duty! If you were up the line and were going off duty, and a convoy
of broken, bleeding men were being brought in, would you think that you
would be justified in not going to their aid because you were off
duty?"
"Under such circumstances I should not think of such a thing."
"Well, I wish you to remember that there is no time here when you are
off duty. While working in St. Dunstan's all the staff are on duty for
twenty-four hours a day. These men have been deprived of the most
precious thing God had given them while seeing to it that we women might
live here in comparative safety and comfort. I am here to see to their
welfare, and I intend that everyone working with me shall do the same at
all seasons and all hours. Never let me hear you speak of being off duty
again when a cry of distress goes up. The work here is just as important
as if you were up the line. These men, although healed of their open
wounds, need our aid, for the time being at any rate, to help them bear
the burden that has been laid upon them."
Mrs. Craven was a veritable mother to all who came under her care, and
the boys showed their appreciation of her services when she was "called
up" by the War Office to take charge at one of the largest hospitals in
England.
The matron of the House, known to all as "Sister Pat," was compelled to
retire from her position on account of a breakdown in health. When she
was leaving, the boys presented her with a trifling gift as a mark of
their esteem, and to keep them green in her memory. But no gift was
needed for that. As she accepted the present, she said: "Boys, Sister
Pat will come back to you. She cannot leave her boys for ever. I will
come back to you if you will have me, if it is only to clean your
boots." Her place in the heart of her boys will never be filled.
Then there was Captain McMahon, adjutant at the Bungalow. The captain
had lost a leg in the South African War. The operation had not been a
success, and the "Skipper," as we affectionately called him, put in many
painful hours. To my own knowledge, on one occasion, he endured extreme
suffering for thirty-six hours at a stretch. It was clear to all that a
second operation was needed. One day, while in his office, I asked him
why he did not go to a hospital and have another amputation. My remark
was an innocent one, but I was quickly made to regret it.
"Rawlinson," he replied, "I did not think you would ask me such a
question."
"Why?" I continued.
"Why!" he snapped back. "Don't you know that there are still hundreds of
boys coming down the line wounded and broken?"
"Yes," I answered. "But why should that stop you?"
Then I got it. "Jim," he said, "there might be one of those boys that
would require the bed that I occupied, and my being there might
necessitate that lad having to go to one of the hospitals perhaps right
in the north of England. No, Jim, I will wait till all of them have been
set on their feet again before I make application for a bed in one of
the London hospitals."
And so Captain McMahon heroically continued to bear his suffering rather
than keep one of the derelicts from France out of a bed. Next to Sir
Arthur Pearson, he was dearest to the men in the Bungalow. They loved
him, and there was not one of the two hundred and fifty men there who
would not gladly have allowed him to walk over his body if it would be
for his good. The "Skipper" was a Man, a man's man, a father to all of
us, whom it was good to know. When the boys were worried they took their
troubles to him. He made all their worries his own, and it was
surprising what a big load of care he could carry.
Mrs. Craven, "Sister Pat," and Captain McMahon were leaders in the life
at St. Dunstan's. But the whole place was animated with the same spirit
that inspired them; the spirit that manifested itself in its fulness in
Sir Arthur Pearson, and in a lesser degree in every student. It made all
the boys workers, and created in them the desire to help others, to make
the world a little better for their being in it, even if they had to
work under a handicap.