‘Oh, I am not at all upset by painful sights,’ they would say.
And it was still more difficult to make them understand that the men could not be disturbed late in the evening. Officers, Members of Parliament, countesses, ladies who claimed to have been ‘born and bred in the Army,’ ladies with husbands ‘in the Blues’ or the War Office, colonels’ wives and V.A.D. commandants, were apt to arrive at 8 P.M. or even later, expecting to be admitted. All these people had to be seen and dealt with—reasoned with, cajoled and smoothed down, or otherwise they did not hesitate to write and worry the War Office about their grievances. The staff stood as buffers between the helpless and sick men and those who did not understand; and the buffer gets most of the jar.
Impartial witnesses have marvelled at the patience and self-control of the girls in charge of the gate. Their post was difficult and onerous. They were constantly receiving parcels, answering inquiries, taking telephone calls or running messages, obtaining reports for relatives, bringing walking cases down at odd hours to see odd callers in the square, admitting, directing, checking; they had to convince callers that the man they wanted to see was not in this hospital, or that it was true that another whom they were seeking had been discharged. But most difficult of all tasks was that of tracing men on quite insufficient data.
‘I have come to see my father’s footman,’ said one lady.
‘Yes, what is his name?’ asked the gate-keeper.
‘David.’
‘Is that his surname?’
‘I don’t know. We always called him David.’
‘What is his regiment?’
‘Oh! a Highland regiment.’