It was November when I moved my camp, and I seemed to have hardly had time to turn round before Christmas was upon us, and a very bright and cheery Christmas we had, in spite of the fact that we were "taking in," and the cases simply streamed in. Altogether we admitted twenty-one cases during the week for our twenty beds. Of course some kept going out, but we had to send our most movable patients to sleep in other wards, so as to keep a bed always ready for the next accident.
Amongst the cases we had two poor fellows who had cut their throats; one a lad of twenty-one who had had influenza, and the other a man of thirty-two who had been jilted by a girl. They both had tracheotomy done, and both did pretty well at first, but I don't think the younger man wanted to get better, and eventually he got pneumonia and died. The other man got all right again. All through Christmas week they both had policemen sitting by them in case they should attempt suicide again, and these policemen were most useful in helping with the decorations.
At the same time we had a big drayman in, who had fallen off his dray and got slight concussion of the brain. He did not get quite sensible for some time (though he was never very ill), and he was always trying to get out of bed, and whenever any one got up on the ladders to do a little decorating there would be a call that "No. 10 was getting out," and we all had to run to put him back and tuck him up again.
These various interruptions made our decorations a very slow process, but eventually the ward looked very nice, and I think the patients had a very happy Christmas; even the two poor cut-throat men seemed quite pleased and interested in their presents, though they were neither of them able to enjoy the privilege of a smoke, which all the other men (including the policemen) so much enjoyed on Christmas Day.
One man who came in with a damaged knee told me that he was a rival "strong man" to Sandow; and, as he was verging on delirium tremens for some days, we felt a little anxious until he calmed down; but he proved to be quite a nice patient.
XXIV
General Hospital, London,
December 1899.
I seem to have been wasting a lot of time this year in being seedy in one way or another, so I don't think that I have much of interest to write to you about, and now that the war in South Africa is making us all excited (as every one feels as if he ought to lend a hand), it is difficult to think of the trifles that have been filling up our lives for the last few months.