The amount of clerical work required of the doctors was no light matter. They had to keep all the notes for their own beds, and as the turn-over was generally fairly rapid, the writing was incessant. Convalescent men reported to the office of the Doctor-in-Charge for discharge on two days a week, and history sheets had to be made up for every one who left or was transferred. The monthly turn-over varied between four hundred and eight hundred cases, and each admission and each discharge or transfer entailed the preparation and despatch of several forms. Invaliding Boards were held regularly, and thirty-nine different forms had to be filled up and signed for each man who came before the Board. As time went on, the work of these Boards became heavier; for the Army Council was clever at inventing new forms. But when once the Ministry of Pensions got into its stride, these were triplicated and amplified, and the hospital’s responsibilities in clothing, equipping and providing for the men were largely increased.

The War Office had a habit of issuing numbers of circular instructions to hospitals, many of which dealt with medical subjects. These were known at Endell Street as ‘purple papers,’ from the colour of their ink, and it was usual to post them in the Staff Room, where they sometimes gave rise to amusement. One circular warned surgeons against using syringes without sterilising them first, and suggested that for this purpose ‘a little warm oil’ should be used; another pointed out that they should not make a practice of amputating the right arm, unless it were absolutely necessary to do so; while a third informed them that ‘death under an anæsthetic’ should in future be regarded as part of the treatment.

The Army has a wonderful way of having an official name and number for each disease. These are to be found in the official ‘Nomenclature of Diseases,’ and no patient may have any disease not mentioned in the book. For instance, the Army does not recognise rheumatism, and many soldiers had to have ‘37 Rheumatic Fever’ or ‘931 Myalgia’ instead. On the other hand, the book had some nice comprehensive diagnoses, such as ‘952 I.C.T. (inflammation of connective tissue)’ and ‘21 P.U.O. (Pyrexia of uncertain origin),’ which were very useful in haste. The proper nomenclature and numbers were much insisted upon by the Medical Statistical Department, and tired doctors sometimes felt that the extra work which had to be done for this department was almost the last straw.

Three auxiliary V.A.D. hospitals—at Dollis Hill, under the Commandant, Mrs. Richardson, O.B.E., and at Highgate, under the Commandant, Lady Crosfield, R.R.C.—were a great source of pleasure and benefit to the men. When fully expanded, these hospitals provided, under fine conditions, a hundred and fifty beds for the more convalescent cases. They were very popular with the men, who were well cared for and very happy in them; and as an important factor in recovery they were greatly appreciated by the medical staff.

CHAPTER IV
THE VISITORS—THE ENTERTAINMENTS—THE LIBRARY

The Deputy Director of Medical Services for the London District was the official head of the hospital, and Endell Street knew three officers in succession in that capacity. The first of these was remarkable for his length of limb and the brevity of his tongue. His frigid attitude might have been misunderstood at the preliminary interview, if he had not been accepted as ‘very Scotch’ and ‘obviously East Coast.’ On his rare visits to the hospital he would stride silently through the wards, making his round, without saying more than ‘Uch ha!’ and a curt ‘Good morning’ on leaving. Time led to a slightly better acquaintance, and on one occasion he even made a joke about misappropriation, and the wintry smile that crossed his face was like a gleam of sunshine in February. His efficiency was liked, and his habit of returning applications (although generally marked ‘inadmissible’) was very convenient. His successors were less tall and had more to say, and relations with them were easy and pleasant.

Visitors were nearly as numerous in London as they had been in Paris. The King and Queen honoured the hospital with a visit, and went through the wards giving great pleasure to the patients. More often, Queen Alexandra and Princess Victoria would arrive, either to see the men or to be present at some entertainment. And it was on one of these occasions that an Irishman begged to be allowed to go down to the recreation room.

‘For,’ said he, ‘the only member of the Royal Family that I have seen is Sir Edward Carson, and I would like to see the Queen.’

When Her Majesty heard this, she asked to be taken to his bedside, so that she might speak to him. She was full of kindness and sympathy for the sick, and would give them little books, or smelling-salts from her own reticule, and once she handed her handkerchief to a dying man with which to wipe his face. This handkerchief he gave to his sister, who preserves it as one of the great treasures of Lancashire. After her visits, Queen Alexandra would send gifts for distribution to the men. Among these valued mementos were ash walking-sticks, with silver bands engraved with ‘A.’ One severely wounded man was found awake at night with his ‘Queen’s stick’ in his bed. He had refused the morphia which had been ordered for him, as he was afraid to go to sleep lest some one should take his stick. It was only when safe custody had been promised for the stick that he consented to rest.

The Princess Royal, the Duke of Connaught and Princess Arthur of Connaught also came to the hospital, and Lord French paid a visit one afternoon, and had many things to say to the patients.