Miss Van Tonder very, very low in hospital; cannot bear thought of her perhaps dying; it will be too, too sad; so young, so good, so patient. God only knows!
Yesterday eight buried; mostly children.
Let me rather fill pipe; get into bed, and listen to soothing rain without.
Tuesday, October 8.—Getting lazy with diary; effects of comforts of house, no doubt. Just copied Dr. M.'s list of patients; total 150; mostly in new camp; wonder how on earth am to find time to visit these tents; and this is but one of the three doctors' lists! So one's time is just made up with visits to sick, and for other work there is no opportunity. One gets "daarom" (literally, therefore) a bit hopeless with the amount of work. O for a few more to help!
Hospital runs away with whole morning; and positively cannot neglect that work, and then come the funerals every other day.
Buried four children this afternoon; one girlie I often visited; "En zij brachten kinderkens tot Jezus" (And they brought children to Jesus).
One cannot help smiling sometimes in midst of death; the comic element will crop up everywhere and the sublime verges on the ridiculous. Old Mrs. Griesel, delirious, "Ach, minheer, en moet ik nou sterve en dit zonder eers een glas karren melk to kry?" (O, sir, and must I die now, and that without one glass of buttermilk?); wonder, wonder how many will get well in that fatal ward. Give Miss Van Tonder up, also Mrs. Steyn and Mrs. Griesel—but!
Four children struggling with Death just now; among these a tiny little girl three years—the dearest, sweetest, little cherub imaginable. It knocks one over completely to see mother kneeling silently by bedside. There is pathetic element in the utter helplessness of human love. How hard to witness suffering with a breaking heart and to be—helpless!
Our new hospital matron arrived; let us hope for better things now.[63]