My Day

Winter 1915-1916

The Matron, in the article which we print below, gives an account - a far from exhaustive one, by the by - of some of the multitudinous cares which claim her attention in her daily routine at the hospital.

I am usually wakened very early in the morning by the sound of the lift going up and down, and I think to myself, '6.30: day has begun for the General Duty Section.' But if they are very kind in the amount of noise they make - or refrain from making - I sometimes have another sleep. Then comes my tea, and I hear the bath being turned on and my maid saying, 'It is a quarter to eight, Matron.' With many groans from me (and growls from the pup) my day begins; and, after having breakfast, I am in the office by 9 a.m.

First come the Night Sisters - three of them - each with her tale of the night's adventures. Sometimes it is a tale of woe - this man or that man has had a big haemorrhage and been taken to the theatre - someone has fallen over a stretcher carelessly left in the corridor (or down a drain left uncovered in the awful darkness which we have to live in nowadays; the Germans have many things to answer for!). After the Night Sisters have gone, the Sisters, Nurses, and V.A.D.'s sometimes stream in, one after the other; some have matters of importance to report, others want 'long days'; many and varied stories I listen to until 10 a.m. The Home Sister and Assistant Matron then come with their reports, one of the houses and sick nurses, the other with the menu for the day and usually many other matters. After seeing Captain Dodson about the sick nurses, if necessary, I go to the Colonel's office, and take my night reports and the list of the empty beds for the morning.

Now comes the 'daily round.' Sometimes we go round the main buildings, another day the huts, and finally the kitchen, to see the dinners go out. It always does me good to see the steaming hot dinners in the tins waiting to be fetched by the general duty gang, and the orderlies waiting their turns to draw the 'extras' - and I think with regret that my own lunch is not until 1.30. Often I turn into the Assistant Matron's store and see the extra clothes, generously given by many friends, being got ready for distribution to the wards. Then a peep into the theatre to see Sister very busy with her instruments, and nurses, orderlies, and many masked and gowned figures hurrying here and there in the discharge of their duties - one patients on his way to the theatre, while another is being brought out; the one going in is always cheerful, and says, 'Good morning, Matron,' as if nothing mattered. Back again to my office, where usually many telephone messages and enquiries wait for me.

Lunch comes at 1.30, and I always enjoy talking over events with the Sisters; there is invariably a joke to repeat or an amusing anecdote told by someone. Two o'clock finds me back in my office, and I deal with any matter that has arisen since my morning office hour. After a cup of tea I dictate the letters of the day, and then generally there are visitors to see the hospital, and I go round once more - sometimes more than once - and never tire of showing the hospital which I, at any rate, love. It has gradually grown up round us here, and I feel as if, when the time does come for me to say good-bye to it and hand it over to others, that it will be a very, very sad day - in spite of the worry and trouble and many anxieties which must occur in a big institution.

Three or four afternoons a week there is a concert, and my office is turned into the tea room for the concert party. Tea at 4 and concert at 4.30 is the rule of the 3rd London. It is very interesting talking to the different artistes and their friends, and they one and all agree in the opinion that Tommy Atkins makes a splendid audience, and all want to come again. After tea we go to the Recreation Room, which by this time is packed with patients, some on ordinary chairs, other on wheel chairs or stretchers; and very soon we are all singing 'What About It?' or 'Till the Boys Come Home.' Sometimes this is the only part of the day during which I have leisure to sit down and think - and one does think even if the roof stands in danger of being lifted with applause, as is not infrequently the case. The concert ends a a rule about 6.30, and, after seeing that no one is left on a stretcher and forgotten, I go back to my office, where my letters are waiting to be signed and posted. This brings me nearly to eight o'clock, and I hear the Night Nurses going on duty and the Day Nurses coming off.

Practically every day, at some hour, we 'take in.' The War Office notifies us of a train coming to Clapham Junction at a certain time. Orderlies are sent to the station to help the unloading, the C.O. goes down with an officer to superintend, Captain Gosse takes charge of the Receiving Hall, and I sign all the cards as the cars and ambulances come up to the door. The orderlies line up outside the front door, and help with the men into the Receiving Hall, where hot drinks are waiting for them, and they are given tickets for the different wards and taken out to the baths. It is a very busy scene while we are unloading, but, under the able direction of Sergeant-Major Smith, everything is done quickly and quietly, and soon the Receiving Hall is cleared again and ready for the next convoy.

Supper is at 8.15, and when the nurses and probationers have gone off to the houses the Sisters and I usually sit round the supper table and talk over the happenings of the day, and I look forward to having my fortune read when the 'witches' are at supper. At nine I see the Night Sisters after their first round of the hospital, and hear how the bad cases and operations of the day are going on. The post comes about 9.30, and, after seeing the evening letters, I generally go up to my room - and find that morning comes round again only too soon.

EDITH HOLDEN, Matron