CHAPTER VTHE WOMEN ORDERLIES

Themention 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 ofthem 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 mastWaved liberty, no challenge did it wave.

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 absenceof 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 atmosphereof 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 anotherflapper 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 amessenger, 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 explainedto 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 therewithout 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 manyfriends 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 friendlyas 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.

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 wantof 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.

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.

Back to Index Next