Monday, 5 April 2010
Two Canadians' Experiences
Back from the Grave
A striking reunion took place in the hospital on the day after the arrival of the exchanged prisoners sent home from Germany. It was one of those dramatic episodes which in fiction would seem to stretch the long arm of coincidence unduly far, but which the war has made not uncommon. The occurrence is described at first hand in the following paragraph, which all who have met him here will recognise as characteristic of its writer:
Always together through Canada, England, France, Belgium, and only separated on the night of April 22nd (when we went into action); both wounded in practically the same spot; he managed to get away, and landed safely in England; I was taken a prisoner and confined in the Prison Camp at Ohrdruf, Germany, for four months; each thinking the other dead, then meeting in the corridor here.
This is the rather unique experience of Sergt. J. O'Reilly and myself. My pleasure at meeting my old pal again is beyond expression. And although he has a badly shattered right hand and I have lost my left arm, when we both look back and think of that Hades of shell fire and bloody Ypres, we can express our feelings in the following seven words:
"Gee, but it's good to be alive."
Sergt. Fred F. Wells, 1st B.C. Regiment
A striking reunion took place in the hospital on the day after the arrival of the exchanged prisoners sent home from Germany. It was one of those dramatic episodes which in fiction would seem to stretch the long arm of coincidence unduly far, but which the war has made not uncommon. The occurrence is described at first hand in the following paragraph, which all who have met him here will recognise as characteristic of its writer:
Always together through Canada, England, France, Belgium, and only separated on the night of April 22nd (when we went into action); both wounded in practically the same spot; he managed to get away, and landed safely in England; I was taken a prisoner and confined in the Prison Camp at Ohrdruf, Germany, for four months; each thinking the other dead, then meeting in the corridor here.
This is the rather unique experience of Sergt. J. O'Reilly and myself. My pleasure at meeting my old pal again is beyond expression. And although he has a badly shattered right hand and I have lost my left arm, when we both look back and think of that Hades of shell fire and bloody Ypres, we can express our feelings in the following seven words:
"Gee, but it's good to be alive."
Sergt. Fred F. Wells, 1st B.C. Regiment
Sunday, 4 April 2010
The Staff
It may be of interest to our readers if we give, in brief, some figures as to the number of officers, N.C.O.'s and men, sisters, nurses, and other employees on the pay list of the Hospital.
There are 42 officers and 204 N.C.O.'s and men. Of the latter, 80 additional have been sanctioned. There are 114 Territorial Force sisters and nurses. Of T.F. Nursing Association probationers - which is the title accorded to our friends the V.A.D.'s as soon as they enter the hospital - there are 134.
These figures (which may have altered - but only slightly - since The Gazette went to press) will be increased as the hospital extension is completed. Other employees, in addition to the above are: Engineer's staff, 9; laundry, 1; tailoresses, 2; secretary, 1; officers' servants, male 6, female 2; nurses' servants (for hospital and houses) 31; lady helpers (from Red Cross Society and Labour Exchange) 25.
October 1915
[Strikes me that that poor laundry worker must have been run off her/his feet]
There are 42 officers and 204 N.C.O.'s and men. Of the latter, 80 additional have been sanctioned. There are 114 Territorial Force sisters and nurses. Of T.F. Nursing Association probationers - which is the title accorded to our friends the V.A.D.'s as soon as they enter the hospital - there are 134.
These figures (which may have altered - but only slightly - since The Gazette went to press) will be increased as the hospital extension is completed. Other employees, in addition to the above are: Engineer's staff, 9; laundry, 1; tailoresses, 2; secretary, 1; officers' servants, male 6, female 2; nurses' servants (for hospital and houses) 31; lady helpers (from Red Cross Society and Labour Exchange) 25.
October 1915
[Strikes me that that poor laundry worker must have been run off her/his feet]
Saturday, 3 April 2010
The Former Occupants
Where are the Former Occupants of the Hospital?
A Question Answered by our Chaplain
Inmates of the Hospital have several times asked me what has happened to the three hundred orphans, who, before the war, occupied the main building. I now propose briefly to answer the question.
Fortunately, at the time of the conversion of the Royal Victoria Patriotic School into the 3rd London General Hospital, the children were away on their holiday. The Committee of Management, after careful and anxious thought, resolved that the interests of the orphans should suffer as little as possible. It was, therefore, decided to take a number of large vacant houses in Spencer Park, Wandsworth Common. Here the children are now comfortably located, well cared for, and as happy as the changed conditions will allow - longing, however, for the end of the war and their return to the old home with its beautiful park-like grounds.
The Royal Victoria Patriotic School was established and endowed for the maintenance and education of fatherless daughters of Sailors, Soldiers, and Marines from the Patriotic Fund which was raised at the time of the Crimean War. Her late Majesty Queen Victoria laid the first stone, and the institution was opened on July 1st, 1859. Its object is to give a sound elementary and religious education, with a practical training for domestic service, and to maintain the orphan daughters - in such numbers as the Committee from time to time may determine - until the age of sixteen, free of all expense to the mother or guardian.
This article would not be complete without a reference to the handsome chapel, which all should see, and where Divine services are now held. The scarlet-clothed three hundred orphans assembled to worship God in this chapel was a striking picture, and appealed profoundly to all who have witnessed it. Through the kindness of Colonel and Mrs. Bruce Porter and others, generous donations have been given towards the Chapel Fund for providing Prayer and Hymn Books and appointments, and for the improvement of the kneeling accommodation. Donations and thank-offerings to the Chapel Fund will be gratefully received and acknowledged by the Chaplain of the Hospital. All who give have the satisfaction of knowing that the money expended will not only assist the reverential worship of God for the occupants of the Hospital, but also for the orphans of Sailors, Soldiers and Marines who, after the war, will again offer their prayers, praises, and thanksgivings to Almighty God in the chapel as of yore.
J. Thompson Phipps, Chaplain.
A Question Answered by our Chaplain
Inmates of the Hospital have several times asked me what has happened to the three hundred orphans, who, before the war, occupied the main building. I now propose briefly to answer the question.
Fortunately, at the time of the conversion of the Royal Victoria Patriotic School into the 3rd London General Hospital, the children were away on their holiday. The Committee of Management, after careful and anxious thought, resolved that the interests of the orphans should suffer as little as possible. It was, therefore, decided to take a number of large vacant houses in Spencer Park, Wandsworth Common. Here the children are now comfortably located, well cared for, and as happy as the changed conditions will allow - longing, however, for the end of the war and their return to the old home with its beautiful park-like grounds.
The Royal Victoria Patriotic School was established and endowed for the maintenance and education of fatherless daughters of Sailors, Soldiers, and Marines from the Patriotic Fund which was raised at the time of the Crimean War. Her late Majesty Queen Victoria laid the first stone, and the institution was opened on July 1st, 1859. Its object is to give a sound elementary and religious education, with a practical training for domestic service, and to maintain the orphan daughters - in such numbers as the Committee from time to time may determine - until the age of sixteen, free of all expense to the mother or guardian.
This article would not be complete without a reference to the handsome chapel, which all should see, and where Divine services are now held. The scarlet-clothed three hundred orphans assembled to worship God in this chapel was a striking picture, and appealed profoundly to all who have witnessed it. Through the kindness of Colonel and Mrs. Bruce Porter and others, generous donations have been given towards the Chapel Fund for providing Prayer and Hymn Books and appointments, and for the improvement of the kneeling accommodation. Donations and thank-offerings to the Chapel Fund will be gratefully received and acknowledged by the Chaplain of the Hospital. All who give have the satisfaction of knowing that the money expended will not only assist the reverential worship of God for the occupants of the Hospital, but also for the orphans of Sailors, Soldiers and Marines who, after the war, will again offer their prayers, praises, and thanksgivings to Almighty God in the chapel as of yore.
J. Thompson Phipps, Chaplain.
Friday, 2 April 2010
First Impressions
By Malcolm Savage Treacher (A Battery, H.A.C.)
"We want to go to London," shouted those of us in the ambulance train capable of vocal exertion; others less fortunate, among which I include myself, were content to express mute disapproval according to our several physical disabilities.
"We want to go to London," reiterated the malcontents, thereupon expressing a pleasing ignorance of the city's boundaries by adding, "and Clapham Junction ain't London."
Anyhow, we all had to quit; I was borne by two Red Cross stretcher bearers boasting legs of equal attenuation to my own, comparable only to pea sticks; others struggling on crutches, walking, or, like myself, flattened on litters.
Now I object to such places as Brixton and Clapham with genuine prejudice. Yet it was a lucky shuffle of Dame Fortune's cards that guided my footsteps to Clapham, for thereby I made early acquaintance with the 3rd London General Hospital. Thither I was transported in a remarkably easy-going motor ambulance, and here I would express my utmost satisfaction and approval of the powers that be in ordaining low speed for the car and consequent high comfort for the patient. In Egypt, whence I had come, a frenzy of hurry and bustle seems to pervade the transport staff of the hospitals at Cairo and Alexandria, greatly to the detriment of their charges.
What were my first impressions of the Hospital? They were favourable in the highest and most emphatic definition of the word. Organisation here seemed tuned to high perfection, studied as an art, brought to an exact science. An N.C.O. demanded the nature of my injuries. Six men thereupon laid me gently from stretcher to bed. Mark you, my masters, six men for a stomach case (me) means gentle handling indeed. Then somebody brought me steaming cocoa boiled with milk, while more N.C.O.'s gathered like vultures around my bed to fill fat-bellied books concerning me. Others, this time orderlies, examined my kit, brought me clothes to wear in hospital, patted my pillows. Meanwhile, I discovered I was laid to rest in a large, well-aired hall, boasting stained-glass windows and as severe in its scheme of decoration as a Nonconformist chapel. I closed my eyes blissfully. I was at peace with the world. For some time at least both my travels and my troubles were at an end. I dreamed day-dreams; I saw visions. I was in England again, that rich land of my birth, the land of orchards and ripe fruits, of yellow cornfields and full granaries. I repeat, I was at peace with the whole world.
But the rude awakening was to come. Scarcely had I made myself full-comfortable when somebody touched my elbow.
"Don't go to sleep, Sergeant," said the orderly who had taken my name. "Why not, pray?" demanded I with asperity. "You're off to your Ward," replied he. "You're only in the Receiving Ward now."
Thereupon they hoisted me into a stretcher and bore me off. Through miles of corridor we seemed to go; along passages that seemed without end; around corners; up inclines; down steep gradients. Finally two doors opened, two nurses bore me tenderly to Bed 22, two hands dropped, two eyes closed again. But joyful was their opening a few minutes later, epicurean in their glance, glad their expression. for the good sisters of C6 had prepared already for the wanderers a meal of eggs and toast, of steaming tea, of wafer-like bread and butter. It was all like some dream, when temporarily one lived again in the piping old days of peace.
Some plump little body with merry eyes and a happy boyish laugh bore down upon me. Her rank as Ward sister give her two stripes on the sleeve.
"Are you comfortable, laddie?" she asked in a motherly tone. "Very," I responded, "but I'm pretty cold. I've only three blankets on, and a quilt."
Then we both laughed, for by the calendar in England it was August and by the temperature nigh on Michelmas. A sweet-faced sister wearing pince-nez brought me another blanket; then a hot water bottle; and even suggested another blanket, at which we both laughed. An air cushion for my back was the next item for my comfort. And when I hinted that my very thin backbone would puncture the cushion we both laughed again. I was sure we were a very happy family in the Hospital. Such are my first impressions of the Hospital, but one day I am devoting a whole article to that sister of the sweet face, for she throughout will be the real and lasting impression.
"We want to go to London," shouted those of us in the ambulance train capable of vocal exertion; others less fortunate, among which I include myself, were content to express mute disapproval according to our several physical disabilities.
"We want to go to London," reiterated the malcontents, thereupon expressing a pleasing ignorance of the city's boundaries by adding, "and Clapham Junction ain't London."
Anyhow, we all had to quit; I was borne by two Red Cross stretcher bearers boasting legs of equal attenuation to my own, comparable only to pea sticks; others struggling on crutches, walking, or, like myself, flattened on litters.
Now I object to such places as Brixton and Clapham with genuine prejudice. Yet it was a lucky shuffle of Dame Fortune's cards that guided my footsteps to Clapham, for thereby I made early acquaintance with the 3rd London General Hospital. Thither I was transported in a remarkably easy-going motor ambulance, and here I would express my utmost satisfaction and approval of the powers that be in ordaining low speed for the car and consequent high comfort for the patient. In Egypt, whence I had come, a frenzy of hurry and bustle seems to pervade the transport staff of the hospitals at Cairo and Alexandria, greatly to the detriment of their charges.
What were my first impressions of the Hospital? They were favourable in the highest and most emphatic definition of the word. Organisation here seemed tuned to high perfection, studied as an art, brought to an exact science. An N.C.O. demanded the nature of my injuries. Six men thereupon laid me gently from stretcher to bed. Mark you, my masters, six men for a stomach case (me) means gentle handling indeed. Then somebody brought me steaming cocoa boiled with milk, while more N.C.O.'s gathered like vultures around my bed to fill fat-bellied books concerning me. Others, this time orderlies, examined my kit, brought me clothes to wear in hospital, patted my pillows. Meanwhile, I discovered I was laid to rest in a large, well-aired hall, boasting stained-glass windows and as severe in its scheme of decoration as a Nonconformist chapel. I closed my eyes blissfully. I was at peace with the world. For some time at least both my travels and my troubles were at an end. I dreamed day-dreams; I saw visions. I was in England again, that rich land of my birth, the land of orchards and ripe fruits, of yellow cornfields and full granaries. I repeat, I was at peace with the whole world.
But the rude awakening was to come. Scarcely had I made myself full-comfortable when somebody touched my elbow.
"Don't go to sleep, Sergeant," said the orderly who had taken my name. "Why not, pray?" demanded I with asperity. "You're off to your Ward," replied he. "You're only in the Receiving Ward now."
Thereupon they hoisted me into a stretcher and bore me off. Through miles of corridor we seemed to go; along passages that seemed without end; around corners; up inclines; down steep gradients. Finally two doors opened, two nurses bore me tenderly to Bed 22, two hands dropped, two eyes closed again. But joyful was their opening a few minutes later, epicurean in their glance, glad their expression. for the good sisters of C6 had prepared already for the wanderers a meal of eggs and toast, of steaming tea, of wafer-like bread and butter. It was all like some dream, when temporarily one lived again in the piping old days of peace.
Some plump little body with merry eyes and a happy boyish laugh bore down upon me. Her rank as Ward sister give her two stripes on the sleeve.
"Are you comfortable, laddie?" she asked in a motherly tone. "Very," I responded, "but I'm pretty cold. I've only three blankets on, and a quilt."
Then we both laughed, for by the calendar in England it was August and by the temperature nigh on Michelmas. A sweet-faced sister wearing pince-nez brought me another blanket; then a hot water bottle; and even suggested another blanket, at which we both laughed. An air cushion for my back was the next item for my comfort. And when I hinted that my very thin backbone would puncture the cushion we both laughed again. I was sure we were a very happy family in the Hospital. Such are my first impressions of the Hospital, but one day I am devoting a whole article to that sister of the sweet face, for she throughout will be the real and lasting impression.
A Slight Misunderstanding
A benevolent old gentleman stopped opposite the bed of the orderly - no need to mention names - bitten on the cheek by the Wandsworth mosquito. By the doctor's orders he had gone into a ward for a couple of days' rest, and his genial countenance, as big as a football, was swathed in bandages which would not have seemed excessive on the average V.C.
"Poor man! Was it a shrapnel wound?"
"No, only a mosquito," came the modest mumble from behind the bandages.
The compassionate visitor missed the mumble's drift. "I hope it didn't knock any of your teeth out," he remarked, as he passed on to continue his tour.
And those of us who have encountered the Wandsworth mosquito don't think this is so funny after all.
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Hospital Notice Board
Concerning Visitors' Passes
A problem has arisen in connection with visitors' passes which requires only a word of explanation to be appreciated by the patients, who, we are sure, are sincerely anxious to assist the hospital authorities in the maintenance of that Discipline without Institutionalism which is so characteristically the keynote of life within the walls of the 3rd L.G.H.
The matter may be stated thus: Pte. Smith, in Ward 25, sends a Pass to Miss Jones, of Clapham, and is duly visited by that lady. While paying her Sunday afternoon call on Pte. Smith she is introduced to Ptes. Jones and Robinson, who are in the next beds in Ward 25; perhaps she even makes the acquaintance of Ptes. Black and White, who have dropped in from Wards 24 and 26. By the time Pte. Smith leaves the hospital Miss Jones has quite a circle of acquaintances therein, whom she continues to visit on the now departed Smith's pass.
Imagine this happening over and over again, with hosts of fresh arrivals, and it will be seen that we eventually create an ever-increasing band of regular visitors to the hospital who have, strictly speaking, no business to be within its walls, and who thus - quite innocently no doubt - cause a good deal of confusion. Patients who have friends in the immediate neighbourhood are therefore very earnestly requested to exercise discretion in the granting of Passes. We all have every desire to be sociable, and to make the visiting days as pleasant as possible for all concerned; we appreciate, too, the kindliness which induces our neighbours to come into the wards to cheer their wounded defenders. But the 'snowball' effect of Passes being used after the patients who granted them have left threatens to become serious, and if not remedied by the goodwill of the individuals concerned will have to be dealt with by the exercise of a far greater, and therefore more irksome strictness by the sentries and ward orderlies.
A problem has arisen in connection with visitors' passes which requires only a word of explanation to be appreciated by the patients, who, we are sure, are sincerely anxious to assist the hospital authorities in the maintenance of that Discipline without Institutionalism which is so characteristically the keynote of life within the walls of the 3rd L.G.H.
The matter may be stated thus: Pte. Smith, in Ward 25, sends a Pass to Miss Jones, of Clapham, and is duly visited by that lady. While paying her Sunday afternoon call on Pte. Smith she is introduced to Ptes. Jones and Robinson, who are in the next beds in Ward 25; perhaps she even makes the acquaintance of Ptes. Black and White, who have dropped in from Wards 24 and 26. By the time Pte. Smith leaves the hospital Miss Jones has quite a circle of acquaintances therein, whom she continues to visit on the now departed Smith's pass.
Imagine this happening over and over again, with hosts of fresh arrivals, and it will be seen that we eventually create an ever-increasing band of regular visitors to the hospital who have, strictly speaking, no business to be within its walls, and who thus - quite innocently no doubt - cause a good deal of confusion. Patients who have friends in the immediate neighbourhood are therefore very earnestly requested to exercise discretion in the granting of Passes. We all have every desire to be sociable, and to make the visiting days as pleasant as possible for all concerned; we appreciate, too, the kindliness which induces our neighbours to come into the wards to cheer their wounded defenders. But the 'snowball' effect of Passes being used after the patients who granted them have left threatens to become serious, and if not remedied by the goodwill of the individuals concerned will have to be dealt with by the exercise of a far greater, and therefore more irksome strictness by the sentries and ward orderlies.
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