tea and spend the afternoon, and a variety entertainment was arranged
to promote the holiday feeling. At Christmas there were concerts and
variety shows, and Mrs. Grein’s pantomime delighted all beholders.
Mystery plays and masques, whist-drives, sports and many other kinds of
fun were introduced and eagerly taken up.
‘I never knew,’ said one, ‘that it was possible to have such pleasure
and enjoy ourselves so much without being drunk!’
A beautiful pageant was arranged in 1915, representing the Patron
Saints of the wards. Miss Waldegrave as St. Mary led the procession,
and each saint entered preceded by her banner-bearer. St. Barbara,
the patron saint of Arms, and St. Felicitas with her seven sons,
were followed by the Abbess Hildegarde and St. Joan of Arc. Rachel,
surrounded by an international group of children, and St. Ursula with
her band of noble maidens completed a very interesting and artistic
spectacle.
The recreation room was a moving sight when it was packed to its
uttermost by an eager and happy audience. On one side of the
gangway were men in beds, and ranks of wheel-chairs with their more
convalescent occupants; on the other, a solid mass of men in blue were
crowded on chairs, window-sills or tables, wherever a corner could
be found; and at the back, a few members of the staff found standing
room. The audience listened with rapt attention to the singing of Mr.
Courtice Pounds, Miss Jean Sterling MacKinlay and Miss Grainger Kerr;
or followed the performances of Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson, Mr.
H. B. Irving, Miss Ellis Jeffreys, Mr. Nigel Playfair and Miss Helen
Haye with great delight. The laughter and cheers which greeted each
item marked their appreciation and pleasure. The programmes were never
long, so that patients who were less well could be included in the fun,
and many of them tried to get better in time for the entertainments.
More than a thousand artistes visited the hospital each year, and
between May 1915 and May 1919 five hundred and eleven entertainments
were held. During these years the Committee arranged two hundred
and sixty concerts; seventy ward concerts; ninety-five orchestras;
fifty-two plays; four pantomimes; and thirty sing-songs.
The King and Queen gave a party to wounded soldiers at Buckingham
Palace, to which a number of Endell Street patients were invited. There
was a sumptuous tea, followed by a wonderful variety entertainment--an
all-star show of the very best. When the men returned, having
thoroughly enjoyed themselves, one of them admitted:
‘Yes, they did us very well; but of course we had seen all the turns
before on our own stage.’
The hospital owed a great deal to the many artistes who so generously
came again and again to amuse and interest the patients.
In the wards reserved for serious cases there were always men whose
beds could not be moved to the recreation room, and these found
pleasure and amusement through the electrophone installed beside their
beds. Every evening men who were still suffering greatly forgot their
pain for a time as they lay with the receivers fastened over their
ears, listening to ‘The Bing Boys’ or other plays. It was delightful to
see them laughing, and often they fell asleep and were unaware of the
night-nurse when she came round and removed the apparatus from their
heads. New-comers were always eager to share in this treat, and a man
who had just arrived and was having an operation done in the afternoon
made his neighbours in the ward promise to rouse him when the time came
for ‘The Bing Boys.’ His surgeon, visiting the ward in the evening, was
surprised to find him propped up in bed, with a smile on his face and
the receiver on his head.
But daily occupations and interests had to be provided for those who
were confined to the hospital for long periods, and to supply this want
basket-weaving, knitting, rug-making and needlework were introduced.
Lady Anderson and a small committee of ladies organised the needlework
and found that the embroidery done by the men was quite unexpectedly
good. About seven thousand regimental badges were worked, but those
who had any aptitude were not restricted to this kind of sewing only.
Miss Rosamond S. Wigram produced designs copied from old pieces of
needlework or from pictures, and taught the men how to do needlework
pictures. Some who had never sewed before developed great skill, and
worked baskets of flowers in excellent shading, or gardens full of
colour, and having learnt to make French knots, they produced life-like
woolly lambs and rabbits. The workers became happily absorbed in their
work, and would take up their sewing frames as soon as it was light and
only lay them aside when it grew dark. Each year a sale of the work
done for the committee was held, at which some of the pictures fetched
a price of five and seven guineas each.
[Illustration: IN THE LIBRARY
(Page 196)
(_Photo, Topical Press_)
]
[Illustration: ORDERLIES IN PROCESSION GOING TO BUCKINGHAM PALACE
(Page 197)
]
Before the Endell Street Hospital opened in 1915, Miss Beatrice
Harraden and Miss Elizabeth Robins were requested to join the staff as
Honorary librarians, and the value of the library which they created
cannot be over-estimated. The important educative influence which it
exercised was due to the personal work of Miss Beatrice Harraden, who
spent many hours daily among the men, sacrificing, during the whole
period of the hospital’s existence, her own work and her leisure to
their needs. Miss Robins was unfortunately unable to continue her help
for long, but in the first weeks Miss Harraden and she made a fine
collection of books and organised an ambulatory service for the wards.
Magazines, newspapers, stationery, stamps, and very often matches,
were supplied freely by the librarian, and the demands made upon this
department were so heavy that it was necessary to give Miss Harraden
two assistants, and in addition she was glad of the help which Miss
Evelyn Glover gave in the afternoons.
At all hours of the day the librarians were to be met in the wards,
getting orders for books, and giving advice or encouragement. Miss
Harraden used to talk to the men till they felt that they wanted to
read the books she spoke of. She catered for every taste: the old
reader and the new reader were equally stimulated. Beginning with
_Tit Bits_ or _Blighty_, by way of Charles Garvice and W. W. Jacobs,
they were led along the path of literature till they found themselves
absorbed in _Henry VIII._ or Bacon’s _Essays_!
A proportion of the patients were educated men, with literary tastes,
to whom a good library made all the difference. Six subscriptions at
Mudie’s were taken out and placed at the disposal of such readers;
so that books could be changed daily if necessary. The rule of the
library was to provide every book asked for, on whatever subject
and in whatever language. If these books were not in the library or
obtainable at Mudie’s, Miss Harraden knew where to find them, and many
valuable books, on seventeenth-century furniture, old silver, zoology
and metaphysics, were lent to the hospital. The technical bookcase
was well stocked, and those who had trades or hobbies were encouraged
to read their own subject. There were many gardeners in the wards, who
pored over books on rose-growing, ferns or chrysanthemums, and furious
debates would rage as to the relative superiority of their favourite
flowers.
Handbooks about motors, aeroplanes and engines were popular, and some
men found interest in fossils and archæology. Men who had been in India
said that they learnt more about that country from an illustrated book
than from living there for seven years, and it was found that there
was quite a vogue for the History of Mexico, Dante and _Don Quixote_.
Abridged representations of Shakespeare’s plays in the recreation room
would send up the demand for this author. One or two men studied for
the London Matriculation examination whilst in hospital, the librarian
finding the text-books and directing their course. To most of them,
reading proved a great source of interest and a great education.
Some, it is true, appraised the value of literature by its price! One
man, who had been devoted to reading tales published at twopence and
had been persuaded to read one of H. Seton Merriman’s books in the
sevenpenny edition, told the librarian that ‘this sevenpenny author
is an improvement on the twopenny ones. Perhaps I might try something
better now. Have you a shilling author I could have?’
‘Oh! why did they bring me back? Why didn’t they let me die?’ groaned
a poor young fellow, restlessly moving his head on his pillow. The
presence of the librarian by his bed roused his interest. He was a
musician, and he asked her to bring him the life of a musician. She
brought _The Life of Chopin_, and a smile came over his face as she
placed it in his hands. That afternoon, still smiling and still holding
the book between his hands, he passed peacefully away.
In a neighbouring ward a man described himself as a sociologist, and
said that the subject he wished to read was ‘one which you will not
know anything about here.’ It was Woman’s Suffrage! With all her years
of suffrage work behind her, Miss Harraden said nothing, but produced
the books required. A few days later, she asked him: ‘Why did you think
that we knew nothing about Woman’s Suffrage here?’ and went on to tell
him something of the practical interest which she herself and other
members of the hospital staff took in that movement.
‘But none of you ever talk about it,’ the man exclaimed with
astonishment. And he listened earnestly while she showed him how the
propaganda was going on all the time, though it was a propaganda of
deeds and not of words.
The book-cases were not locked, and men could handle the books and
choose for themselves, and the staff also had free access at all times
and made great use of the privilege. Some books were lost; but the
main object of the library was to promote reading, and the losses were
accepted quietly. There were generally five thousand books in the
library and large surplus stocks were sent away periodically to start
libraries in other hospitals and to supplement those in Y.W.C.A. huts
and munition factories. The librarian brought real education to the
bedside, and aroused intelligence and interest in a wonderful degree.
CHAPTER V
THE WOMEN ORDERLIES
The mention of the staff of the hospital calls up a picture of that
splendid band of young women who responded to the call of patriotism
and who, laying aside their habits of ease and pleasure, gave
themselves up to the strenuous toil and restricted life of those who
serve in hospitals. It is true that the staff included doctors, matron,
and trained nurses; but they were professional people, carrying out
their professional work; and though each and all of them took her share
and played her part well, their effort did not compare with that of the
young girls, who took up the burden as a simple duty.
The women orderlies who served in the various departments gave the
hospital its distinctive character and were largely responsible for the
fine spirit which kept all ranks united in such complete harmony and
good-fellowship. They were young, and they brought the grace and charm
of youth inside the grey walls. Some of them were beautiful and all of
them looked charming in their uniform, with their fine physique, their
shining hair and look of freedom and self-determination. Their attitude
recalled the words of the poet:
She had the step of the unconquered, brave,
Not arrogant; and if the vessel’s mast
Waved liberty, no challenge did it wave.
Gently nurtured, expensively but ineffectively educated, they were
unequipped and untrained; but they had fine courage, and did not lack
resolution and intelligence, and, with a little training, they took
responsibility in the wards and tackled any difficulty or any situation
on the administrative side. They brought laughter into the wards. Their
very aspect was cheering. They encouraged, protected, chaffed, and
sympathised. Their gaiety was infectious, and their willingness a thing
that could be counted on.
The men felt their influence; but it was only the Australians who could
put their feelings into words.
‘Disciplined women,’ said Sergt. Peto. ‘I have never seen such women.
Ours can’t touch them.’
And it was not only their beauty and their kindness that counted, for
they worked hard and well. They controlled the wards in the absence of
the Sister; they managed the sick or wilful, and they were dignified or
motherly, authoritative or persuasive, at need. The wounded depended
upon them and trusted them, and in return, sought for complimentary
interpretations of the ‘W.H.C.’ on their shoulder-straps. The
‘What-Ho-Corps,’ ‘Wounded Heroes’ Comforters,’ and suchlike, were meant
appreciatively.
At the gate, in the stores, in the offices, they had one desire and
one intention--to make the hospital a success. They worked early and
late, at dull, ever-repeating tasks, in inconvenient quarters, with
humour and with laughter. And out of hours, the residential parts of
the building resounded with merriment. They slept, and rose again with
shouts of talk and laughter, reassuring to those who feared that the
hard work might be too much for them.
The main office was a centre of life, where a cheerful clamour of
voices would arise, regardless of open doors; and tales would be told
by one and another of how the Doctor-in-Charge had looked or spoken
in different circumstances, and how awful it was, and how funny. They
rocked with mirth and capped the stories, till at last a voice from the
other office across the passage broke in: ‘I am sure I didn’t say it
like that.’ Then a sudden silence fell, followed by subdued laughter.
And one by one grey figures flitted right and left, and business was
resumed. To the end of the time, those girls never remembered the open
door nor the Doctor-in-Charge working in the adjacent office!
In the quartermaster’s offices there was a young team, full of good
spirits and ready for any enterprise. They fed and clothed and
administered the hospital, and were ready for every entertainment and
piece of fun. They prepared extra teas and extra suppers; rehearsed
and performed, if need be; danced or sang, or carried tables and
handed refreshments, with equal vigour and enthusiasm. Messages of
appreciation came to the stores from the wards: letters of thanks for
special teas, requests for tomatoes or other dainties. Or a sergeant
would come to the clothing store, to say that the men in his ward were
obliged for being clothed so quickly, and especially for the trouble
taken to give them the proper sizes. Men who had left would write with
confidence to the quartermaster for jerseys, socks, cakes, musical
instruments, belts and other wants, and in answer she constantly sent
parcels to France and Salonika.
It was the orderlies who made the special atmosphere of the hospital
and who kept its standard of conduct high. Though young in years,
they were wonderfully sensible. Their duties were performed with
friendliness and charm, but with unfailing dignity, and no man ever
took liberties or caused them inconvenience.
They threw themselves readily into amusements for the wards, and under
their guidance, men dressed up and played parts, while others sang and
recited. Sports and games were organised, and the designs for Christmas
decorations owed much to their suggestions and ingenuity.
They formed a choir which sang carols in the square at Christmas time,
and which on Christmas Eve clothed itself in white dominoes and hoods,
and bearing gaily coloured lanterns, passed singing from ward to ward.
This little procession of white-robed girls singing the familiar old
carols in their sweet voices touched many of the men. One of them told
his nurse next day that when it had passed he had said his prayers,
‘though he didn’t usually.’
An Australian described his arrival at the hospital, when he was on
leave in London and felt unwell.
‘When I went in at the gate, a flapper asked me what I had come for.
Then she called another flapper to take me to the sick-room. I found
another flapper there, and she took my temperature and told me to sit
down. Then she brought another flapper, and she said I should go into
a ward. So I was taken upstairs, and there were more of them. And I’m
blest! if another flapper didn’t come and stand by my bed and write my
medicine down.’
But he stayed long enough to become much attached to the ‘flapper’s
hospital.’
‘What beats me,’ he said, ‘is that they all go on as though they had
been doing it always.’
This was true; for each one learnt her part or her office very quickly,
and carried on her work with a sense of responsibility and without
self-consciousness.
The orderlies showed a great power of endurance. Many of them remained
at work for four and a half years, while others stayed for three or two
years. It was rare to have any one leave under one and a half years.
Miss Anderson, Miss Nicholson, and Miss Paul nursed right through.
They were among the first to come and the last to go. Miss Chance
and Miss Tanner gave four years, many months of which were spent in
the operating theatre. Miss Joyce Ward joined up at the beginning,
aged sixteen, as a messenger, and finished in November 1919, as head
financial clerk. There were many others who did equally well, and more
than one girl asked to have a vacancy reserved for her before her last
term at school was ended. There were failures, but they were allowed
to go and were forgotten. There were disappointments, but they were
grieved over in silence. The bulk of the girls inspired pride and
admiration in those who looked on.
The management disliked rules, and none were drafted for the guidance
of the staff. It was desired that they should be free when off duty,
and the trust reposed in them was not abused. The orderlies were asked
only to take one late pass a week, and they generally fell in with this
request; but they appreciated the freedom of the life they might lead,
and used to say how lovely it was to be able to go out without being
asked where you were going to. Some supervision and some advice were
given to those who were younger and less experienced; but the absence
of rules and regulations was insisted on, and girls who could not do
without them, were advised to return to their mothers. Rumour in the
main office had it that the Doctor-in-Charge disapproved of mothers and
of marriage, and that you should keep your mother from her, and never,
never on any account allow your parents to write to her. The fact
was that, acting on the principle that they were adult people, doing
responsible work, the Doctor-in-Charge did not write to their parents
without their knowledge, and whenever a letter came from parents, even
though it contained a request for secrecy, the orderly in question
was invited to come and discuss it. From the Doctor-in-Charge’s point
of view, it was impossible to treat these young women as children, or
carry on a correspondence which concerned them without their knowledge,
and they would have had little confidence in a chief who acted in such
a manner.
It was strange how the kindest of parents thought it proper to control
the actions of women well over age, and how younger brothers, uncles,
brothers-in-law and the family doctor would think that they had a right
to interfere in her business, and would invite the Doctor-in-Charge or
the Matron to conspire with them. One could not help sympathising with
healthy girls who were made to relinquish the work in which they were
successful, and a life which they enjoyed, because ‘Mother was dull at
home’ or ‘Father likes to have his girls with him in the evenings,’
or ‘She has been away long enough.’ No one could blame the girls so
coerced if they were bitter and discontented, or the others if they
‘strictly forbade’ their mothers to interfere. But on the other hand,
there were parents whose self-sacrifice and devotion equalled that of
their daughters. They gave them their freedom generously, watching them
develop with pride, and finding compensation in their happiness and in
the knowledge that they were successful and appreciated.
From time to time, an effort was made to interest the orderlies in
public questions and to educate their communal sense; but they viewed
these attempts as mild peculiarities on the part of those senior
persons who made them, and, smiling and polite, they discouraged them.
In January 1918, the Bill enfranchising women passed the House of
Lords, and early the next morning the Doctor-in-Charge was on the steps
of her office. She made known to Sergt. Robertson her desire to have
the flags run up.
‘Certainly doctor,’ he replied. And then hesitated.
‘I was not aware, Doctor, that it was any special occasion.’
The significance of the occasion was explained to him, and the whole
place was soon gay with bunting.
The young women viewed this celebration with some amusement. They were
kind about it, and a little patronising in their congratulations.
‘I am so glad your bill has passed all right’; ‘It is awfully nice your
bill is through’; ‘Simply topping about your bill’; said the potential
voters, pleased that the older members of the community should have
obtained something they desired, and personally quite untouched by
their possible share in it.
The beautiful spirit which dominated the staff pervaded the hospital.
It was inspiring and uplifting, uniting every one in loyalty and
affection, and triumphing over all difficulties and all sorrows. It was
the spirit of hope and youth and courage; the spirit which breathed
charity for each other and success for all.
When Dr. Louisa Woodcock was dying, she sent her love to Endell Street.
‘It is a nice place,’ she said, ‘a nice spirit.’ And then, ‘Spirit is
the thing that counts.’
It counted, as year succeeded year, and effort had to be multiplied and
sacrifice prolonged. It kept the women loyal and generous, harmonious
and disciplined. No one came there without being sensible of the
spirit of the place, and no one left without being touched by it.
The health of the staff was good on the whole. In 1916, measles claimed
a number of victims; but when once disinfection by means of the steam
spray was introduced, the rate of sickness was kept very low. During
the second influenza epidemic in 1919, only twenty-two persons out of
a staff of a hundred and eighty-four were laid low, and this at a time
when every one was exposed to infection and was working very hard.
The hospital did not escape without having to mourn the loss of more
than one comrade. In January 1918, Miss Eva Prior passed away, dying
of Vincent’s Angina after a tragic forty-eight hours’ illness. She
was in the second year of her service, and loved by every one for her
sweet disposition and her strength of character. It was the first
tragedy. In July 1918, at a time of high pressure and great anxiety,
Miss Gladys E. Morrison developed influenza and pneumonia and died, in
spite of all that nurses and doctors could do. She was one of those who
joined the hospital when it opened, and she had just completed three
years continuous and splendid service. Her long association with the
hospital had made her part of it, and her many friends and admirers
missed her sadly. Miss Helen Wilks, who had been one of the assistants
in the Pathological Laboratory, died at home on January 15th, 1919, of
appendicitis, after many weeks of illness. She was only eighteen and
full of promise. Dr. Elizabeth Wilks, her mother, wrote:
Endell Street was the great time of her life. She loved the
place and was completely happy. She was sixteen and a half
when Dr. Murray agreed to take her. We wanted her to continue
her studies, thinking her too young for war work, but she was
absolutely determined to take her part.... It was completely
successful, and we always felt so thankful that we agreed to
her doing what she wanted to do; for the last eighteen months
were lived with intense enthusiasm and satisfaction.
In February 1919, Miss Joan Palmes succumbed to influenza and
pneumonia, her death casting a sad gloom over the hospital. Although,
for family reasons, her service had not been continuous, she had been a
member of the staff since 1915. She had a most endearing personality,
gay and courageous and considerate for others.
In the same year Miss Mary Graham died, away from the hospital, to the
great sorrow and regret of all who knew her.
In a small community, so united and so friendly as Endell Street,
tragedies like these were deeply felt, and those who fell were not
forgotten. When Dr. Woodcock died, her funeral took place from Christ
Church, Endell Street. And in January 1918, when Dr. Elizabeth Garrett
Anderson died, a memorial service for her was held there also. So each
fallen comrade was honoured in the church, a guard of honour standing
round her, and her comrades forming the choir which gave the Nunc
Dimittis. Then, following in sad procession, they stood round her in
the square and with sorrowful hearts, took their last farewell. Their
feeling was voiced in the paragraph which appeared in ‘Orders for the
Day’:
It is with the deepest sorrow and regret that I have to record
the death on active service, at this hospital of ..........
She was our comrade and fellow-worker. She leaves in our hearts
a fine memory of one who gave generous and tender service to
those who suffered, of one whom we admired and trusted because
she responded with courage and devotion to the call of her
country.
Our united sympathy will go out to her mother and to those who
love and mourn her.
From her work, her example and her sacrifice let us draw fresh
inspiration and fresh courage. Let us also put Duty first, as
she did. Let us strive to give more, to do more, to sacrifice
more, in memory and for the sake of our lost comrade.
In April of 1919, the Doctor-in-Charge was informed that the hospital
would be required until the autumn, and arrangements for staffing it
for this further period had to be considered.
It was reluctantly decided to demobilise the greater number of the
nursing orderlies. The presence of so many young people, however
delightful, had always been a heavy responsibility, and the dread of
serious illness occurring amongst them again was ever present. Many of
them were tired; others were young and immature; and since the pressing
need for their services no longer existed, it was felt that they should
not be subjected to the strain of another six months’ work. Only a few
of them wished to go, and the motive which prompted those in authority
was probably not appreciated, even if it were understood; but the
wisdom of the decision was undoubted. The sorrow and regret at parting
was mutual; it was the first step towards disintegration; and their
fellow-workers and the hospital missed them sorely.
The senior nursing orderlies, who remained by their own wish, were
supplemented in the wards by R.A.M.C. men, of whom plenty were
available then. Their want of training and want of interest in the
work made them poor substitutes for the girls who had left.
Time takes them home that we loved, fair names and famous,
To the soft long sleep, to the broad sweet bosom of death;
But the flower of their souls he shall take not away to shame us,
Nor the lips lack song for ever that now lack breath.
For with us shall the music and perfume that die not dwell,
Though the dead to our dead bid welcome, and we farewell.
CHAPTER VI
THOSE WHO MADE THE WHEELS GO ROUND
In such a community, one of the most difficult offices to fill
successfully was that of chaplain; for it is not always possible to
combine a vocation for the sick with a sympathetic understanding of
young men and women. The chaplain’s work was solitary and lacked the
stimulus of companionship, which was so helpful to the doctors; and
it cannot be denied that a large proportion of the patients were
more interested in the quality of the surgeons than of the parsons.
The efforts of the Church of England chaplains were supplemented by
chaplains of other denominations, but these only visited the wards and
did not give their whole time to the hospital.
Five chaplains were appointed in succession to Endell Street, but,
except the Rev. Edward Wells, none of them remained there for any
length of time. Mr. Wells’s close and happy association with the
hospital continued for more than two years and was only terminated in
1919 by his decision to accept a living. From time to time, a locum
tenens came for holiday duty or during an interregnum; but the duties
were not easy, and the young and inexperienced men who were sent must
often have felt discouraged.
The attitude of the soldier to the chaplain was one of shyness or
embarrassment. He was unwilling to be seen talking long with him
because other men might tease him about it. Every new chaplain
approached him in a different way--some with assumed confidence, some
with a brotherly bluffness, some with diffidence. They seemed to find
it as hard to be natural as he did. One of them who laid his hand on
the patients’ heads and stroked their faces, ruined his own cause by
the discomfort he caused them. A convalescent, speaking of him, said,
‘I am sure he speaks beautifully, but I never could listen: I was so
afraid he was going to kiss me.’ And the fear was not unfounded; for in
his earnestness, the parson used to bend nearer and nearer, till the
men became so nervous that they almost screamed.
Visits out of ordinary hours had a terrifying effect upon the seriously
ill, and the wrath of Heaven, in the form of the Chief Surgeon,
overtook one chaplain who ventured to disturb a case she was specially
concerned about at eleven o’clock at night and again at seven in the
morning.
Private Stephens, white and trembling, asked: ‘Doctor, is it true I am
dying?’
‘No, you’re not going to die. Who said you were?’
He rejoined, with tears, ‘Chaplain says I must be prepared; but I’d
rather trust in you, Doctor.’
Which he did, with the best result.
The visiting of the acutely ill required judgment; for if it caused
fear and excitement instead of comfort, it could be harmful; and
at times both Sister and doctor might be anxious to ward off the
chaplain’s visit, and yet hesitate to interfere with his prerogative.
Under Army Orders, church parade was compulsory. It was unfortunate
that it was almost the only thing which was compulsory at Endell
Street. In church, the men sat rigidly during the sermons, their eyes
fixed on the preacher with an appearance of attention, which must have
been very helpful to him. The methods of preaching varied with the
chaplains. Those who were young, favoured local colour. The Bible would
be referred to as a trenching tool; the Prayer Book as an enamelled
mug, and the Twelve Apostles were termed staff officers. Stories of
the piety of men in the trenches or other hospitals were given and
letters from men to the chaplain were often quoted. One preacher was
fond of inventing allegories, and conversations between himself and
imaginary soldiers, which mystified the men very much. And another who
was in favour of Women’s Suffrage, preached on the ‘New Womanhood,’
and exhorted his hearers not to regard those in charge of the hospital
as ‘playthings,’ but as ‘their own equals in every respect’; the women
being for the time in the position of the men’s superior officers!
In the summer of 1919, an Education officer was added to the staff of
the hospital, and a few of the men were persuaded to take classes.
The first of these officers was unfortunate in having a hesitating,
uncertain manner and a bad delivery, which made the men call him ‘Mr.
Er-er.’ The second was very deaf. As a rule, the patients showed little
desire to study anything, and only about two per cent. welcomed the
scheme, on which the country was spending such enormous sums of money.
Teachers in every branch of knowledge were produced. One came to teach
shorthand; another, book-keeping; others, history, German, singing, or
typewriting. The Jewish men were the most anxious for lessons, but they
preferred instruction in voice-production or singing, and one wished
the army to train him for the operatic stage. The attempt was not very
successful. It did not equal the real education which the librarian had
carried on during the years that had gone before.
[Illustration: STRETCHER-BEARERS AND SERGEANT-MAJOR HARRIS
(Page 218)
(_Photo, Reginald Haines_)
]
[Illustration: QUARTERMASTER CAMPBELL AND ORDERLY COOK MAKE PLASTER
PYLONS
(Page 219)
(_Photo, Reginald Haines_)
]
The Hospital was more than fortunate in its R.A.M.C. detachment, which,
though small, was excellent of its kind. Sergt.-major Harris was in
charge of it from August 1915, until his demobilisation in July 1919.
When he was promoted to the rank of corporal and sent to Endell Street,
his friends in the 35th Company R.A.M.C. kindly prophesied failure and
disaster; but he remained there for four years as one of the pillars
of the hospital. His experience had been gained in the St. John’s
Ambulance Brigade and in the South African War, and he had not had the
advantage of any training in the work of a warrant officer. However,
his sense of responsibility and his devotion to duty overcame all
obstacles, and his value to the hospital grew with his rapid promotion.
There were occasions on which neither the Doctor-in-Charge nor he felt
sure of the correct procedure, and then they would shut themselves
up in her office with ‘King’s Regulations’ and ‘Regulations for the
R.A.M.C.,’ and make a careful study of those wonderful and intricate
volumes. Emerging later, with minds made up, they pursued the line
of action decided upon, with an air of confidence and custom, very
impressive to all who witnessed it.
In the sergt.-major, the medical staff had a loyal supporter, who never
failed to back up their authority. He adopted the hospital; took it to
his heart; and often sacrificed Mrs. Harris and his own leisure to its
service. When women were added to his detachment he trained and drilled
them, and guarded them in a manner almost paternal. In the sergeants’
mess of the 35th Company R.A.M.C., which he visited occasionally, he
upheld the credit of his hospital and of his mixed Company. After such
visits, he would tell the Doctor-in-Charge interesting details, chiefly
about the discipline in other hospitals, where men habitually stayed
out all night, and where lists of forty or sixty defaulters were of
daily occurrence. ‘Nothing like that here, Doctor,’ he would say, with
pardonable self-congratulation.
He was assisted and supported in his duties by Sergt. Robertson, who
began as a private in 1915, and whose reliability and excellence soon
brought him promotion. His good nature was unfailing. He believed
that the Endell Street Hospital showed the way to all others, and his
chivalry towards women, whether working under him or as his officers,
never failed; his avuncular manner included them all.
When the hospital opened, Privates Bishop, Price, and Hedges, who had
been in France with the Corps, and who had enlisted in February 1915,
were transferred to the 35th Company R.A.M.C., and included in the
Endell Street detachment. The help of such experienced nurses in the
first year was invaluable and their places were always in the serious
wards, where the heaviest cases and the greatest need of skill were to
be found. Later, when all men of class ‘A’ were sent abroad, they found
wider fields of usefulness and more thrilling experiences in France and
in the East.
Corpl. Musselbrook was theatre orderly. Under the training of the
Chief Surgeon and Sister, he had become very expert in his duties,
when to every one’s regret he was suddenly called in and sent, with
several hundred other R.A.M.C. men, to be trained and transferred
into an infantry regiment. He took with him a document certifying
him to be a trained theatre orderly; and on the strength of this, he
subsequently got back into the R.A.M.C. and was sent to Salonika and
Russia. On his return to England in 1919, he came to Endell Street and
related his experiences and successes. He described his feelings when
he went to a hospital in Salonika and was detailed for duty in the
operating theatre. How the major, in his apron, holding out his gloved
hands, stood silently watching him arrange the patient; how he himself
perspired with anxiety, as he placed the hands and folded the clothing;
and how suddenly he was asked: ‘Where have you been?’ When he replied
that he had been at Endell Street, it was a joy to find that the major
had been there too, and that he shared Corpl. Musselbrook’s admiration
for that place and for its women surgeons. Through all the months that
followed, he had one important post after another, attributing his
success to the early training and to the document, which he always kept
on him.
Corpl. Washington succeeded him in the operating theatre, and soon
equalled him in skill and keenness, remaining at his post through
several years of pressure. He was a favourite with the rest of the
staff, and on summer mornings, when ices were sold in the canteen,
Orderly Tanner might be met slowly ascending the stairs, consuming an
ice with her right hand and carrying another for Washington in her left.
The duties of the R.A.M.C. included the care of the intoxicated men
who were constantly brought in by the police or by the London County
Council ambulances.
These ambulances were staffed by a fine set of young women, whose
serviceable uniform and alert, well-drilled bearing were a credit to
their service. It was a pleasure, when the ambulance turned into the
square, to see these active girls, in their navy blue suits of breeches
and tunic, swing themselves off the car, throw the doors open, unload
and bear the stretcher with its burden to the casualty room. If they
thought that the N.C.O. on duty might be chary of receiving a case of
drunkenness--for, strictly speaking, unless otherwise injured, such
cases should not have been brought to the hospital--they were clever
in finding another diagnosis: ‘Case of drugging,’ they would cry
confidently, tip the man on to a couch and be off in a whirl of wheels
and blue legs, before the N.C.O. could stop them. More often they
favoured fractures, and their cases would arrive bound in first-aid
splints or with collar bones duly bandaged. When splints and bandages
were unfastened, it was not uncommon to have the injured man make
violent use of his arms and legs.
The Y.M.C.A. huts also were too kind to diagnose drunkenness, and
many a time the hospital sent for cases described by their workers
as ‘serious’ or ‘immediate,’ only to find them ‘fighting drunk.’ The
huts always seemed to postpone dealing with such cases until late at
night, and many an uproar arose in the Johnny Walker Ward when the
sergt.-major asked these ‘serious’ cases to show their ‘passes.’ Men
with ‘both collar bones broken’ were known to attack him with their
fists! Some put their feet through the panels of the door, and others
their heads through the window-panes; and the peace of the hospital
was so often disturbed that the Doctor-in-Charge finally reported the
matter to the Command. Her report included as instances an account
of one man who ‘bit a policeman and struck the sergt.-major,’ and of
another, supposed to have a dislocated shoulder, who arrived at 10 P.M.
‘As it was a Sunday,’ she wrote, ‘some of the staff were off duty, and
there were only the sergt.-major and a dwarf, and a man with a wasted
arm to deal with him.’ For in 1917 the physique of the R.A.M.C. was
very poor.
There were men who became habitués of the Johnny Walker Ward, for they
knew enough to simulate fits when in the hands of the police, and these
symptoms would insure that they were taken to the nearest hospital. One
of these, who was well known to the doctors, was quieting down after
the departure of the police, and the doctor sent for lemonade for him.
He took a long pull at the mug, and then looked up at her, and with a
regretful sigh said:
‘Och! Dochter, jist think ef it was beer!’
Many half-intoxicated men had to be admitted to the wards for slight or
serious injuries; for they jumped from windows or fell down areas in
their attempts to evade the police; and the nurses and orderlies became
more or less accustomed to looking after them. A voluntary worker at
a railway station, thinking that a man in this state was really ill,
brought him to the hospital, where he was detained for the night. Not
being very busy, the voluntary worker called next morning, full of kind
intentions, and was able to conduct the man to the railway station. He
wrote afterwards, complaining that the gate officer ‘was not by any
means sympathetic’ about the poor fellow; which in the circumstances
may have been natural, for his case was not exceptional.
When the women orderlies were demobilised in 1919, the male detachment
was increased. The men who were sent to the hospital were mostly
infantrymen, who for some disability had been transferred to the
R.A.M.C. They had had no training, and as a rule they had little liking
for ward work, and when put on night duty, they firmly believed that
they were entitled to a certain number of hours sleep at night, and
to the indignation of the Sisters, were found rolled in rugs on empty
beds. It was a rude change, after being accustomed to the ways of the
intelligent, gentle young women, to go to a ward at night and ask if
a case, newly operated upon, was comfortable, and to be told by a
stableman in khaki, ‘T’ y’ung chaap in t’ carner be ’eavin’ a bit.’
From which it was inferred that the patient was somewhat sick.
The mysteries of hospital life and Sisters’ orders, were new to them.
One of them, being instructed to shave the leg of a patient going up
for operation, was greatly puzzled. ‘Shave him very close,’ said the
Sister. ‘You must not leave a single hair anywhere.’ The orderly’s
knowledge of asepsis was meagre. He had never heard that legs or
arms required shaving; but wishing to carry out his instructions, he
attacked the man’s face with energy: strictly obedient, he insisted
upon removing his moustache; and so clean did he make his shave that
the patient was found sitting up wiping blood from his chin with
cotton-wool; but his leg remained unprepared.
There is always some one behind the scenes who plays an important part
in making the wheels go smoothly, some one who works hard and gets
no kudos; and this was so at Endell Street also. There was a band
of some twenty-eight or thirty women, referred to on the pay-sheet
as ‘cleaners’ and by most people as ‘char-ladies,’ who cleaned and
scrubbed and swept and washed-up, day in and day out, year after year.
It is impossible to estimate the value of faithful, continuous service
of this sort. The cessation of it is demoralising in an institution,
for every one’s comfort depends upon it. So the char-ladies never
failed to come. Labouring patiently, they learnt to love the hospital
and to regard it as their own. And on the anniversary of their
third year of continuous service, the hospital fêted them. A small
presentation was made to each one; they were appraised by the C.O. in a
speech which ‘went right through you and was felt in yer very bones,’
and cheered by the assembled patients.
Working well together, the staff could also play together; and
sometimes a dance would be given, into which they threw themselves with
delight. Every one came to it--the char-ladies too; and for once in
their lives, these hard-worked, toil-worn women flung care and husband
and family aside, and gave themselves up to pleasure. Some yielded to
the novelty of wearing men’s clothes and appeared in khaki or blue, as
jockeys or as workmen, dancing all night, enjoying the supper and the
speeches, and looking back on it afterwards as ‘a little glimpse of
’Eaving.’
The R.A.M.C. gleefully decorated the recreation room and polished the
floor, and then arrived disguised as niggers, cowboys, or nurses, led
by the Sergt.-major dressed as a ‘lady doctor.’
The Sisters, the masseuses, and the orderlies were well known to the
assistants at Clarkson’s and Simpson’s, whose shops they ransacked
periodically. Every kind of dress was worn. ‘Little Bits of Fluff’ and
cavaliers, pages, sailors, officers, ballet girls; early Victorian
ladies jostled doctors in Plantagenet costumes, doctors as Turkish
houris, as pierrots or as navvies. Colonel and Mrs. Dug-out--the one
exuberant in kilt and plaid, with fierce red whiskers; the other
clinging and elegant, in lace cap and mittens--received the guests
and joined in the dance. The invitation to sit down to supper was
greeted with loud cheers by the guests, so was the Colonel’s speech;
and the toast of ‘The Hospital’ was drunk with Highland honours and
much acclamation. There never were such dances as those. Youth, in its
beauty and happiness, was at its best.
No record of Endell Street would be complete which did not mention
‘Keogh Garrett.’ At the age of six months, he sat on the office table,
asking for approval: a rather weak puppy, with a beautiful head, neat
pointed ears and a manner which won all hearts. Once assured of his
position, he grew more attractive every day; and a chorus of praise
and adulation was wont to follow him as he passed--a dainty little
aristocrat, full of character, full of idiosyncrasies, trotting at the
heel of the Chief Surgeon, lying down before those he loved, turning
a deaf ear and a white eye to those he did not favour. Affectionate
to Sister Lawrence, who massaged his weak forelegs, adoring the
Quartermaster, he was reticent and dignified towards the patients,
failing to notice their friendly advances, but remonstrating with any
man not in khaki or blue who entered the square. Outside, in park or
street, he would recognise and run to greet the hospital uniform. To
this day a floating veil attracts him, and he will do homage to unknown
nurses.
The long hours that his family spent in the operating theatre tried
him, and as the afternoon waned, he would come upstairs and lie with
his nose on his paw just outside the door. He knew he must not enter
and cross that shining surface of floor; but he also knew that it
mattered less about the floor if the Sister was at tea. What hours he
spent on the table in the office window, watching the lift by which
friends came back to his world again; how many muddy footprints he left
on official documents, and how many colonels he growled at, from his
safe retreat on the blotting-paper!
For the sake of companionship, a little ball of white fluff with the
blackest of black eyes and nose was added to the staff; and as they
grew older, they became wonderfully possessive. William was every one’s
friend--a veritable cupboard lover and wheedler. He had an unsubdued
and boisterous spirit.
How naughty they were to the cats of Soho, who sought a refuge in the
hospital precincts, and how rude to the Matron’s dog, whose lineage
they persistently insulted. On their walks abroad, they excited
admiration and constant reference to Buchanan’s Whisky. Elderly
gentlemen, tightly buttoned into majors’ tunics, would journey the
whole length of a railway car, swinging perilously on the straps, to
bend over their guardian and chuckle, ‘Black and white!’ The patients
thought they must be brothers, regardless of the difference of breed;
and some even thought them the sons of Matron’s ‘Bully’; while the
_Daily Mail_, describing a historic scene, referred to them as
‘Black and white Airedales.’ Garrett had all the dignity and airs of
Dog-in-Charge. William was the little friend of all the world, and they
accepted their position as the pets and mascots of the hospital.
CHAPTER VII
THE POSITION OF WOMEN UNDER THE WAR OFFICE
In the Spring of 1916, Sir Alfred Keogh called for forty women doctors
to replace men in the hospitals of Malta. It was already a well-known
fact that the soldier and the woman doctor were compatibles, and the
outcry which had greeted the establishment of the Military Hospital,
Endell Street, was not repeated. Out of her experience as an army
surgeon, Dr. Garrett Anderson wrote to those who were engaged in
recruiting these doctors, urging that an effort should be made to
secure temporary rank as officers for them, and that they should ask to
be formed into a uniformed corps attached to the R.A.M.C. She pointed
out that as they were proceeding abroad and were to be distributed
among the various hospitals, they would be working with R.A.M.C.
officers, and that they would be at a disadvantage professionally if
they had not the same status and position as their men colleagues.
Her advice was not taken, and the medical women left England in mufti.
They were not graded, nor paid at officers’ rates, but were given a
flat rate which made no allowance for seniority. These terms, once
accepted, were imposed, in spite of protest, upon all the medical
women--except those at Endell Street--who subsequently served in
hospitals and camps at home or abroad under the War Office. They
did fine work in Malta, Egypt, Salonika, India, and in France with
the Q.M.A.A.C. At least four hundred of them gave of their best in
the service of the sick and wounded, carrying on courageously and
generously, although the conditions under which they had taken service
often proved difficult and humiliating.
The Army’s need of women’s service grew greater every day, and the
War Office was forced to consider the necessity of introducing them
widely into hospitals and camps, as dispensers, storekeepers, cooks,
and motor-drivers. In November 1916, a deputation of Red Cross ladies,
headed by Dame Katherine Furse, visited the Doctor-in-Charge, to
inquire into the work done by women who had replaced men at Endell
Street, and to discuss the formation of a new section of V.A.D.’s
for general service. The uniform of the Women’s Hospital Corps was
highly approved by the deputation as a practical service dress, and
when a letter was received asking for the name of the maker, the
Doctor-in-Charge thought it advisable to request in writing that it
might not be too closely copied. In her reply Dame Katherine Furse
wrote:
Would a different colour, style and absence of veil on cap and
black shoes and stockings, be sufficient protection?... It
would be iniquitous to copy your uniform, which is very much
respected by all of us here.
The writer went on to ask questions as to the physical fitness of women
for the work it was proposed that they should do.
The Doctor-in-Charge was also asked to give evidence before a Committee
of Enquiry which met in December under the auspices of the Board
of Education, with a view to determining the capacity of women as
substitutes for men. She was actively questioned by the members of the
Committee on the subject of stretcher-bearing by women, and offered to
arrange a demonstration, so that they might see how well-trained women
could acquit themselves in this work.
[Illustration: THE CHIEF COMPOUNDER IN THE DISPENSARY
(Page 232)
(_Photo, Reginald Haines_)
]
[Illustration: THE CHIEF CLERK IN THE OFFICE
(Page 233)
(_Photo, Alfieri_)
]
A few weeks later, Dr. Chalmers Watson, C.B.E., engaged in the
organisation of the Q.M.A.A.C., and many long talks over formations
and detail were held in the doctor’s sitting-room upstairs, when Dr.
Chalmers Watson’s ideas on uniforms and her views on discipline and
regulations came in for some friendly criticism. It was at Endell
Street, too, that she and Dame Helen Gwynne Vaughan were first made
known to each other, and it was from the same quarter that she drew
some of the early members of her corps. In the desire to help the new
service, the Doctor-in-Charge set free Miss Ethel Thomas, the Steward,
and Miss Doreen Allen, the Assistant Steward, that they might take
administrative posts in the Q.M.A.A.C. Afterwards she always maintained
that their success in that corps was due, not so much to their own
ability and exceptional qualities, as to the training which they had
received at Endell Street.
Dr. Chalmers Watson steered the Q.M.A.A.C. through the shoal of
vexatious delays and difficulties which beset its early days with
great skill, and she and Dr. Laura Sandeman made a gallant struggle
to procure for the women doctors serving with it a position and terms
equal to those granted to men.
The first detachments of Q.M.A.A.C. were hurried overseas in the
early summer of 1917, and as was only natural, a demand for hospital
accommodation arose almost at once. In August, the Deputy Director of
Medical Services, finding himself at a loss how to meet this demand,
approached the Doctor-in-Charge and asked whether Endell Street could
make temporary accommodation for women returning from France. The
arrangement of the building did not lend itself easily to this purpose,
but his request was met most willingly, and the top floor of one of
the blocks was made ready for their reception. The situation was
complicated by an order from the War Office to set aside two beds for
officials of the corps.
At first a little room on the Women’s floor was adapted for these
ladies; but an order was shortly received to make room for women
requiring to be segregated, and the little room was no longer
available for general use. Small rooms on other floors were very
seldom empty, and in these circumstances the only beds which could be
offered to officials were those in curtained cubicles in the general
ward, which were used in sickness by the Sisters of the hospital.
The ladies objected to this accommodation even temporarily, and they
were certainly entitled to better quarters; but they were apt to
lay the blame for a situation over which it had no control on the
hospital, instead of on the Army Medical Department. After frequent
representations from the Doctor-in-Charge, extending over nine months,
instructions were given for the reception of officials elsewhere; but
in the meantime irate administrators, arriving in the middle of the
night and refusing to make use of the only empty bed in the hospital,
were sometimes a real difficulty.
The Q.M.A.A.C. Hospital at Isleworth was not opened till the end of
January 1919, and the ‘temporary accommodation’ at Endell Street was
required for more than two years. The other women’s services found it
convenient to use it, and members of the G.S.V.A.D., the W.R.N.S.,
N.A.C.B., W.R.A.F., and W.L., found a resting place there. Ladies were
admitted from overseas and the East, with babies, nurses, governesses,
and occasionally husbands; while, under the heading of ‘civilians,’
women who were working in France with the Y.M.C.A., the Soldiers’
Christian Union, the Expeditionary Force Canteens, the Lena Ashwell
Concert Parties, and officers’ wives and servants, were also given
hospitality.
While this development in the women’s services was proceeding, the
Government was making increasing demands upon medical women, and
was introducing them in greater numbers into the hospitals at home
and abroad. In August 1917, a cable from Lady Chelmsford reached Dr.
Garrett Anderson, asking to be informed as to the terms of appointment
of doctors at Endell Street, and this was followed by a letter from
the Secretary of the Central Committee of the Countess of Dufferin’s
Fund at Simla. She stated that it had been decided ‘that one of the
large military hospitals in Bombay should be handed over to women
doctors,’ and she asked for information and suggestions which might be
helpful in organising it. The reply sent gave details of the Endell
Street establishment, and urged that the women should undertake the
‘entire control and management’ of the hospital. It advised, on
grounds of economy, that women should be employed as quartermasters
and storekeepers, spoke of the ease with which discipline could be
maintained by women, and of the help which a good warrant officer could
give.
The Indian hospital was established on one of the finest sites in
Bombay; but the charge of the hospital was vested in men, a Colonel
and a Registrar being appointed, although women doctors could have
filled these posts. The professional work, however, was in the hands
of women, and they made an undoubted success of it. In 1919 when men
were brought home from India in large numbers, some who had been in the
Women’s Hospital at Bombay came to Endell Street. They said it was ‘the
only good hospital they had been to in India,’ and spoke of it and of
its doctors with great appreciation and pleasure.
A request for information and help came from medical women in
America during 1918, enclosing a copy of a resolution which the
Women Physicians of California were sending to their Government. The
resolution urged
upon the Secretary of War that the services of women physicians
be utilised to the fullest extent by the United States War
Department in the present war; that opportunities for medical
service be given to medical women equal to the opportunities
given to medical men, both as members of the staffs of base
hospitals and otherwise; and that the women so serving be given
the same rank, title and pay given to men holding equivalent
positions.
As a result of this petition, the American War Department communicated
with the British War Office, asking a number of questions concerning
the employment of women doctors. The right hand of the War Office never
seemed to know what the left hand was doing, and three separate staff
officers, each armed with notebook and pencil, called on three separate
occasions to obtain the information which the American Government
required from the Doctor-in-Charge.
Doctors working for the Army in isolated posts wrote to Endell Street
to tell of difficulties or grievances arising out of their anomalous
position. They were doing the work of officers and were supposed to
exercise the authority of officers, yet they were not officers. In
some cases, they were refused first-class travelling warrants and were
furnished with third-class ‘as for soldiers’ families,’ while their
R.A.M.C. colleagues and the nurses were issued with the former. Or, on
the ground that they were ‘civilian women,’ the right to drive in an
army motor-car would be withheld from them; or they would be excluded
from the officers’ mess.
One wrote from East Africa, stating that her position had been
excellent under a C.O. who allowed her to wear a captain’s badge of
rank, but that his successor had ordered her to remove it, and she was
therefore a discredited person in the hospital to which she was posted.
Women working under R.A.M.C. colonels in R.A.M.C. hospitals were at
the mercy of the wisdom or the prejudices of the officers-in-charge,
and the pin-pricks and little indignities to which they were often
subjected were very unfair. They were volunteers, in the best sense of
the word, and if their services were accepted at all, no difference
should have been made between them and the men they worked among.
In a women’s unit, internal difficulties like these did not arise; but
the officer-in-charge of a military hospital is required to deal with
small offences; and when the Doctor-in-Charge ‘admonished’ defaulters,
she was conscious that her authority would have been greatly
strengthened if she had been wearing the badges of a lieut.-colonel.
In the casualty room, where men might not recognise a woman as an
officer, the doctors were sometimes placed at a disadvantage; but the
good feeling of the N.C.O.’s and the support which they gave to their
medical staff avoided any real trouble.
Urged thereto by the President of the Medical Women’s Federation,
Dr. Garrett Anderson and Dr. Flora Murray took up the question with
the War Office, and asked for honorary rank or commissioned rank for
women doctors serving with H.M. Forces. The Department refused, but
it was interesting to find that many individual officers could see no
objection to rank being held by women.
During the weeks of tension and anxiety which preceded the armistice,
no further action seemed possible; but shortly after that event, the
medical staff was unanimously in favour of reopening the matter. The
campaign started with a letter from Dr. Garrett Anderson to _The
Times_. But the Editor suppressed the correspondence which followed,
and the doctors therefore circularised the House of Commons. A leaflet
entitled ‘Bricks without Straw’ was sent out to all Members of
Parliament in November 1918. It stated the disabilities complained of
by medical women serving under the War Office, and called attention to
the action of the Income Tax Commissioners, who had refused their claim
to be assessed at the service rate.
Women had been recently enfranchised and the General Election was
approaching. The circular received a large and sympathetic response.
One member wrote:
As they are doing the same work as men in the military
hospitals, I can see no reason why they should not be entitled
to the same style or commission....
Other members wrote:
There is ample precedent for the grant of honorary rank to
ladies in the Armies of Europe--and seeing that the practical
value of it can be proved in this case, I think it should be
given.
The decision of the Income Tax Commissioners referred to in
your letter to _The Times_ must be reversed if the rank is
granted, and should be challenged if the rank is not granted.
And:
... You may rely upon me now and upon all future occasions to
support the demand you make.
And:
There seems to me to be great force in your contention that
where a woman doctor has to perform the duties of a colonel, in
authority over a large number of different sorts of troops in a
general military hospital, she should have the advantage which
military rank would give in maintaining discipline among them.
Altogether sixty-two Members of Parliament gave definite promises of
support and many others expressed a desire to help. Questions were
asked in the House; and the amount of sympathy and interest evinced by
Members were astonishing to those who made the usual official replies.
It was, however, too late in the session to do more. Parliament was on
the point of dissolving, and every one’s thoughts were concerned with
the coming election.
When the new House of Commons met in February 1919, the Prime Minister
and Mr. Bonar Law were pledged ‘to remove all existing inequalities
of the law as between men and women.’ The doctors circularised the
new House without delay, desiring to obtain consideration for their
requests before the new Army Act and Finance Act were drafted.
The documents forwarded to Members were entitled: ‘Memorandum on
the position of Women Doctors serving under the War Office,’ and
‘Application for Relief under Service Rate of Income Tax by Women
Doctors serving the War Office.’ The first requested that legislation
might ‘be introduced under the New Army Act to enable women doctors
serving under or attached to the War Office to hold Commissions.’ The
second asked for an alteration in the wording of the Income Tax Act.
In 1915–16, the doctors had claimed to be assessed under the Service
Rate of Income Tax, quoting Schedule E, page 2:
Persons who have served during the year as members of any
of the naval or military forces of the Crown, or in service
of a naval or military character in connection with the
present war for which payment is made out of money provided by
Parliament ... special rates of tax and scales of allowances
are applicable to the pay in connection with any such service.
The Surveyor of Taxes, however, disallowed the claim, though he could
give no reason for doing so. The matter was referred to the Secretary
of the Board of Inland Revenue in 1916–17, and without giving any
reason, he also informed them that they were not eligible for the
special rate of tax. In 1917–18, an appeal was heard by the Income Tax
Commissioners, who decided that ‘on the wording of the Section relief
could not be granted,’ and advised them to spend a large sum of money
in making an application to the High Court. All these persons were
profuse in expressions of sympathy, which were naturally irritating to
women who were only asking for justice. The application to Parliament
made a point of asking that relief might be made retrospective over
the years 1914–1919. This appeal to the House of Commons met with far
less response than the first one had done. Members who had written
almost gushingly before the general election, forgot to reply at all;
others thought that everything had been done which could be done, or
pointed out that the War was over; and when unsatisfactory replies to
questions were received and friends moved the adjournment of the House,
sufficient support was not forthcoming.
The women were supported by the British Medical Association. The matter
had been brought before the Naval and Military Sub-Committee, and its
members had been unanimously in favour of commissioning medical women.
Although the first point was not conceded, the second was, and the
new Income Tax gave women doctors relief under the Service Rate,
and allowed them to claim to be refunded, as from the year 1915–16.
The staff at Endell Street had learnt to look upon Surveyors and
Commissioners as ‘oppressors of the poor,’ and it was with genuine
satisfaction that they forwarded to these sympathetic gentlemen claims
for abatement and refund.
In the autumn of 1919, an official circular letter invited the
commanding officers of all units and formations to suggest ‘amendments’
to the Army Act. This gave the Doctor-in-Charge a last opportunity of
pleading for equality for women and men, whether as medical officers,
nursing orderlies, general service orderlies, clerks, or storekeepers.
And it enabled her to propose the formation of a reserve of women
organised on territorial lines and available in future emergencies.
Whether her draft ever reached the War Office, or whether it was buried
in some waste-paper basket on the way, is not known.
CHAPTER VIII
CLOSURE OF THE MILITARY HOSPITAL ENDELL STREET
Government Departments tend to economise by keeping a careful watch
over the salaries of their subordinate staff, and a great deal of
correspondence and effort were directed to improve the conditions of
pay for various groups of the women employed.
A strenuous attempt was made to obtain better terms for clerks, for the
pay given to them in 1915 was not a living wage. Twenty-five shillings
a week was considered enough for shorthand typists; and a colonel who
was interviewed on the subject refused assistance on the ground that
‘the girls in his office got no more, and they looked alright.’ After
weeks of letter writing, the pay was raised to twenty-six shillings,
with overtime at ninepence an hour; and gradually it was pushed up
for all grades of Government clerks. When a bonus for clerks was
introduced, the men received four shillings a week and the women
two shillings, although they were doing the same work. The weekly
salary finally reached thirty-nine shillings and forty-five shillings,
but the rate was always below that paid by civilian employers, and
the Government was in the position of exploiting the patriotism and
generous feeling of the women who worked for it.
The Quartermaster was graded and paid as a sergeant-major and the
storekeepers as sergeants. When these officials had given two years’
service, it was requested that the Quartermaster might be promoted to
a higher grade, and as this was refused because she was a ‘civilian,’
a claim was made for authority to draw the bonus for her and the
sergeants to which civilian employees were entitled. After many weeks
of waiting, the Doctor-in-Charge was informed that these members of the
staff were not civilians. Since they were paid under Royal Warrant,
they were N.C.O.’s, R.A.M.C., and were entitled to draw an additional
penny a day for each year of service. Thus, instead of a bonus
amounting to some shillings weekly, the Quartermaster was allowed to
draw an additional 1s. 2d. per week; and a similar economy was made in
respect of other members of her staff. Many months later, when the army
bonus and new rates of pay were introduced, the authorities would fain
have designated these officials as ‘civilians.’ But the letter calling
them N.C.O.’s, R.A.M.C., was very definite, and both they and the
medical officers benefited by the new rates.
The files were full of letters about inadequate pay or insufficient
allowances, or requests that the staff of Endell Street might come
under new rates announced in Army Council Instructions which did not
specially mention that hospital. In most cases the requests were
granted after long delay, and the arrears which accumulated during the
period of negotiation were drawn in a lump sum, and made a pleasant
impression of wealth.
A notable instance of procrastination occurred over the cooks’ pay,
correspondence concerning which spread over eleven months! The cooks
all had three or four years of continuous service to their credit;
during that period they had not received any increment, and the bonus
granted to ‘civilian subordinates’ had been refused to them. Then the
rate of pay for women engaged in cleaning and in the kitchen work was
raised; and the vegetable women and kitchen maids began to draw higher
pay than the cooks under whom they worked. It speaks volumes for the
good-feeling and loyalty of the cooks that no unpleasantness occurred
over this situation; and that although readjustment was delayed month
after month, everything continued to go smoothly and well. A few weeks
before the hospital closed the new rate of pay was settled, and a
substantial sum in arrears was available for each one.
[Illustration: AIRING LINEN
(Page 246)
(_Photo, Reginald Haines_)
]
[Illustration: HOSING THE SQUARE
(Page 247)
(_Photo, Reginald Haines_)
]
It may have been that the new Women’s Corps and Services offered a
more attractive life to women, or that hospital work began to pall
upon them after several years of war; but it became more difficult to
find recruits, and in 1918 a glad welcome was extended to a number of
American women who came over to London to serve as orderlies at the
Military Hospital, Endell Street. This little group of women was known
as the ‘Hazard unit’; for the work of organising it and sending it to
England was due to the energy, resource and friendship of Mrs. Hazard
of Syracuse. The American women, though untrained in hospital work and
unaccustomed to English life, took up the task before them with great
enthusiasm, and proved very useful members of the staff. The hospital
was much indebted to Miss Nancy Cook and Miss Marion Dickerman, who
gave a year of most valuable service, and whose happy personalities
endeared them to all those with whom they came in contact.
The problem of resting the orderly staff was always important, and as
the years passed, it became more pressing. The holidays allowed under
the terms of appointment were very insufficient, and it was essential
to give each one a full month’s leave in the summer, if they were to
keep well and fit for the work. This could only be done if other girls
could be found to take their places temporarily; for the summer was
always the busiest time of the year. An appeal for temporary workers
was sent to a number of the women’s colleges and girls’ schools, and in
1917 and 1918 a very cordial response was met with.
During the vacation, students from the London School of Medicine for
Women came in large numbers to work in the wards and laboratories and
operating theatre. Teachers from the women’s colleges at Oxford and
Cambridge and from girls’ schools gave up a month or a fortnight of
their hard-earned rest to relieve the hospital orderlies. Older girls
came by tens from Roedean School for girls to take up administrative or
clerical work or to be general duties orderlies. Wycombe Abbey sent its
contingent, and friends and younger sisters volunteered to help also.
The scheme was a great success: the regular orderlies appreciated the
good holiday and came back better for it, and the substitutes enjoyed
the novelty of the work and surroundings, and learnt much that was
useful to themselves. Sunburnt, muscular schoolgirls appeared to find
great pleasure in conveying stores and linen about the hospital, and
their good spirits were a delightful asset. They took an interest too,
in the personnel and customs of the hospital, and were wont to carry
on conversations about them in loud tones, which were very amusing to
those who could not help overhearing them.
A dormitory which three Roedean girls and an Endell Street orderly were
using was very close to the rooms occupied by Dr. Flora Murray and
Dr. Garrett Anderson. One summer night, as the babel of voices in the
residential quarters died down, the piercing conversation close at hand
attracted their attention.
1st Roedean: ‘Do you like Dr. Murray?’
2nd Roedean: ‘No, I don’t think I do.’
1st Roedean: ‘Why don’t you like her?’
2nd Roedean: ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think I like her manner.’
3rd Roedean: ‘Have you ever spoken to her?’
2nd Roedean: ‘Yes, I have, once.’
1st Roedean: ‘What does she do?’
Orderly: ‘Oh, she sits in that office.’
1st Roedean: ‘Do you like Dr. Anderson?’
2nd Roedean: ‘Yes, I like her awfully.’
3rd Roedean: ‘Have you ever spoken to her?’
2nd Roedean: ‘Oh no, I’ve never spoken to her.’
1st Roedean: ‘What does she do?’
Orderly: ‘Oh, she does all the operations.’
Roedean in chorus: ‘Oh! how horrible!’
Warning voice from room above: ‘Campbell!’
Orderly: ‘Yes.’
Voice: ‘_They_ can hear every word you say.’
The silence which fell was almost as penetrating as the voices had been.
But while they retained their independence of mind and their vivacity,
they gave very real service to the hospital; and the Doctor-in-Charge
and the Matron were not less grateful than the orderlies who owed so
much to the students and others who set them temporarily free.
During the winter months which followed the Armistice there was little
change in the work coming into the hospital. Men arrived in large
numbers from France and from the East, and the hospital was full to
overflowing for Christmas 1918. It was to be the last Christmas at
Endell Street, and the Entertainment Committee and the staff decided
that it was to be the best, and festivities and gaieties were organised
on a special scale. As the new year advanced, men began to arrive from
every part of the world; the hospital ships brought them from India,
Egypt, Mesopotamia, Palestine, and Turkey, Salonika and Russia, Italy
and Africa. Some were recovering from wounds; some were repatriated
prisoners of war; and others were suffering from diseases contracted in
the East.
The surgical work became less pressing, and more wards were set aside
for medical patients. Cases of pneumonia and acute appendicitis were as
frequent as ever, but there was less night work; the convoys were fewer
and came at reasonably early hours, and there were no air-raids to get
every one out of bed. Innumerable men on demobilisation leave reported
or were brought in for accidents or illness, and the ‘Johnny Walker’
Ward was in constant use at night.
The returning soldier was strangely unmoved by the countries he had
visited, and seemed to have learnt little of their geography and
inhabitants, and to care not at all what became of them. Palestine,
perhaps, had interested him most, for the familiar Biblical stories and
names of places had made it real for him. A Scotsman, who was wounded
two miles distant from Jerusalem, never ceased to regret that he had
not entered that city. He had been thrilled by the waters of Jordan
and moved by the sight of Gaza and Beersheba, and it was a bitter
disappointment to be carried back and to miss the Holy City. Others
spoke of the Mount of Olivet and the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, of
Joppa and of Lebanon, with an interest and an appreciation which was
very different from that shown for Italy or Greece. But the general
feeling was one of relief at being back in England, combined with an
intense eagerness to be demobilised.
Regulations for demobilisation were issued at first in pamphlet
form, and later as thick books in more than one volume. They were
supplemented by conferences held at Headquarters, at which most
confusing discussions took place, and the blind attempted to lead the
blind to their mutual embarrassment. The regulations were amended,
altered, or amplified almost week by week, and the frequent small
changes in procedure had to be observed and noted. It was easy to make
a slip among the complicated rules for the disposal of patients. The
men did not themselves understand the regulations for demobilisation,
and each one was inclined to think himself entitled to ‘get out first,’
or failed to see how his position differed from that of his more
fortunate neighbour. Convoys of convalescent hospital cases arrived
from Russia or Italy or India, all eager to get home, and anxious not
to be detained long in the home hospital. The staff applied itself with
energy to the task of holding Boards and making up documents, and many
were the compliments received from N.C.O.’s and men upon the rapidity
with which their demobilisation was completed. Men from various units
who were about to be demobilised, or men who had been demobilised,
attended by hundreds in the casualty room, for medical examination and
report, and the task of examining them and assessing their disabilities
made heavy demands on the time of the doctors.
As the summer months passed, the tone of the men in the wards gradually
changed. They only wanted to get out of the army: to be rid of
discipline, to get back their former work, or to be pensioned. They
craved for liberty and plenty of amusement, and above everything they
desired to see restrictions of every kind removed. The inevitable
reaction had set in, and they were filled with half-understood desires
and a dissatisfaction which they could not explain.
As other hospitals in London closed, their patients were transferred to
those that remained open, and many such transfers were sent to Endell
Street. Apart from further treatment, which might or might not be
required, numbers of these men were ready to be demobilised, others to
be invalided; and many asked to be transferred to the neighbourhood of
their own homes. The Scots would wish to be sent to Scotland, the Irish
to Ireland, the Welsh to Wales; and for all such local accommodation
was obtained. The tone and manner of men transferred from other
hospitals, where discipline was slack, were unpopular with the staff;
but after a few days, the civilising influences of the nurses triumphed
and the men adopted more gentle ways. There were times when eighty or
a hundred men arrived with the intention of giving trouble, and those
in charge found it necessary to exert their authority and take a firm
stand. It was especially during these latter months that the work of
the doctors would have been much easier if they had been wearing badges
of rank.
In October 1919, an order was issued to evacuate and close the
hospital; and though this instruction had been more or less expected,
it was nevertheless received with regret; for it meant the termination
of the work and the dispersal of those who had been united so long and
so happily in the Women’s Hospital Corps.
No more convoys came in, and as the disposal of the present cases
was systematically proceeded with, the wards gradually fell vacant.
There was stock-taking to do and equipment to be returned to store
before the nursing staff could be released. Deficiencies and breakages
were disclosed, and the unaccountable disappearance of scissors and
bath-towels clouded the last days. By the end of the month, the
remaining patients had been passed over to other hospitals. The doctors
dined together and spent a festive evening at the Alhambra. They held
their last staff meeting and separated, with a pleasant sense of work
accomplished, many happy memories and the knowledge that the ties of
friendship would not be readily broken.
The Matron and Sisters were demobilised, and sadly turned to other
work or holidays. The last of the nursing orderlies said farewell, and
there remained only the clerks and quartermaster’s staff, with the
Doctor-in-Charge, for the purpose of winding up.
In recognition of their services, six awards of the Order of the
British Empire were made to doctors, and eleven Royal Red Crosses were
bestowed upon the Matron and nursing Sisters. Members of the Corps who
had served in France were also entitled to receive the 1914 Star, the
British War Medal and the Victory Medal.
* * * * *
Before finally separating, the members of the Women’s Hospital Corps
determined to perpetuate the name of the hospital which had grown so
dear to them all, and it was decided to raise a Commemoration Fund and
to endow a bed in the Women’s Hospital for Children in Harrow Road.
This hospital was chosen because Dr. Garrett Anderson, Dr. Flora Murray
and Dr. Buckley were on its staff, and because it aimed at giving
opportunities to women doctors in the study and practice of children’s
medicine. Under the able direction of Dr. Buckley and Dr. Sheppard, an
appeal was issued to all who had worked at Endell Street and to all who
had been patients there; and within a few months the first £1000 was
subscribed. The response from old patients was very friendly, and many
of them took a great deal of trouble to collect among their friends
and fellow-workmen, and sent substantial contributions.
Private S---- sent 50s. with a letter: ‘I have done my best for you. I
took the letter you sent me into work with me and some of them agreed
to help me, so I made out a paper as you will see and took it round the
Firm so you must excuse it being so dirty and would you kindly let me
have a letter back to take into work and show my Fellow workmen.’
Private C---- wrote that he had got up a dance. ‘I thought I would like
to do something towards it, being so good to me while I was in Hospital
there, so I have been able to get up a Dance in our village and I am
glad to say I had a good company there to help towards it, being for a
good cause, so I hope you will accept this order for £5, 9s. 0d.’
Private Cl---- enclosed 14s., with the words: ‘I try my best to help
you the way I was cared for when I was there.’
A touching letter from the niece of a man who had been killed since
his stay in the hospital, said: ‘... which my Mother’s brother was
an inmate for a time wounded, I wish to state that he was killed at
Bullecourt in France some few months afterwards. He was my Mother’s
only brother, and she is now the only one left of the family. She
wishes to most heartily thank all who cared and tendered for him whilst
he lay so far from home. She also wishes to send a small donation of
2s. 6d. to help a little your grand and God given work.’
The wife of another man who had died sent £1, ‘on behalf of my Late
Husband ... who died Feb. 28th, 1919, from Influenza and Lobar
Pneumonia after a week’s illness. He was just demobed three weeks to
the day we buried him. It will be a surprise to those who nursed him at
Endell St. He often spoke about it of what they had done for him & the
kindness shown to them the sister he said was a mother to him there was
no hospital as good as Endell St. to him he had some real good times
there & he never forgot them.’
Others became annual subscribers or filled collecting boxes, and their
letters showed affectionate remembrance of the staff. ‘I was very
Thankful for what I had done for me in Endell Street Hospital. And
thanks for sending me the Photo of the Staff. As the Doctor is on it
what attended me. So I can show it to my Friends.’
And again: ‘I was cared for kindly at that hospital and I was sorry to
leave it. I was wounded twice after being at that Hospital but I wasn’t
cared for anywhere else so kindly as I was at Endell St.’
Contributions came, too, from Australia and New Zealand, from Canada,
America, and South Africa; and during the year 1920, enough money was
subscribed to name a second cot after the Military Hospital, Endell
Street.
* * * * *
Endell Street was a changed place. The dreary, empty wards, where
equipment was collected and counted and checked, were miserable in
their loneliness. The busy kitchen was handed over to the R.A.M.C.
cook. The girls who remained counted linen and glass and china, or
sorted cutlery, furniture, pianos, wheel-chairs, and all the hospital
impedimenta. They concentrated on ledgers and registers. They entered
and checked and corrected, from morning till night. Romance had gone
out of the life and ‘Finis’ was written on the walls; but the old
unquenchable cheerfulness still dominated the stores and offices.
The Office of Works invaded the buildings early in November. After
that, workmen, who seemed to be always waiting for something or some
one, hung round the empty wards and staircases. A discourteous foreman
lounged about, with his hands in his pockets, and smoked and spat and
pushed his way into the offices without asking permission. The noise in
the square became intolerable: carts and vans and motor-lorries came
and went constantly; workmen played football at all hours, and the bell
clanged to summon them to and from work. In a confidential moment,
an officer at Headquarters said that ‘the Office of Works was almost
more than flesh and blood could bear.’ And the Doctor-in-Charge fully
endorsed this opinion.
By the end of November the ledgers and returns were practically
finished, and it was possible to demobilise the remaining members
of the staff. When they separated, as they did reluctantly and with
sorrow, the closure of the hospital was complete.
There was other work for professional people, like doctors and nurses
and clerks, to take up; but the future was blank to the young girls who
had been there so long and who were now to be unemployed. They missed
the hospital and the hospital life sadly. In many cases there was no
special place in the home circles for daughters who had been living
away for some years; those who had experienced the joy of work and of
responsibility, had to exchange these for the comparative inactivity of
home-life. Parental restrictions had become unfamiliar and now seemed
irksome to them; and they found unrelieved amusement a poor substitute
for work. Thus they suffered considerably, until they were able to
adapt themselves to new conditions or to find new openings.
The Doctor-in-Charge and Miss Draper, the chief compounder, were
detained for some weeks longer to supervise the removal of the stores
and equipment. Once this was accomplished, their work was finished, and
on the 8th January 1920 the buildings were formally handed over.
The Office of Works took final possession of the premises, and devoted
them to a different purpose under a quite different name, and ‘The
Military Hospital, Endell Street,’ became a wonderful and cherished
memory.
Printed in Great Britain by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to
His Majesty, at the Edinburgh University Press.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed. Spelling variations related to dialect were not
changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.
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