And it was not only their beauty and their kindness that counted, for they worked hard and well. They controlled the wards in the absence of 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 atmosphere of 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 another flapper 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.’