The duties of the R.A.M.C. included the care of the intoxicated men who were constantly brought in by the police or by the London County Council ambulances.
These ambulances were staffed by a fine set of young women, whose serviceable uniform and alert, well-drilled bearing were a credit to their service. It was a pleasure, when the ambulance turned into the square, to see these active girls, in their navy blue suits of breeches and tunic, swing themselves off the car, throw the doors open, unload and bear the stretcher with its burden to the casualty room. If they thought that the N.C.O. on duty might be chary of receiving a case of drunkenness—for, strictly speaking, unless otherwise injured, such cases should not have been brought to the hospital—they were clever in finding another diagnosis: ‘Case of drugging,’ they would cry confidently, tip the man on to a couch and be off in a whirl of wheels and blue legs, before the N.C.O. could stop them. More often they favoured fractures, and their cases would arrive bound in first-aid splints or with collar bones duly bandaged. When splints and bandages were unfastened, it was not uncommon to have the injured man make violent use of his arms and legs.
The Y.M.C.A. huts also were too kind to diagnose drunkenness, and many a time the hospital sent for cases described by their workers as ‘serious’ or ‘immediate,’ only to find them ‘fighting drunk.’ The huts always seemed to postpone dealing with such cases until late at night, and many an uproar arose in the Johnny Walker Ward when the sergt.-major asked these ‘serious’ cases to show their ‘passes.’ Men with ‘both collar bones broken’ were known to attack him with their fists! Some put their feet through the panels of the door, and others their heads through the window-panes; and the peace of the hospital was so often disturbed that the Doctor-in-Charge finally reported the matter to the Command. Her report included as instances an account of one man who ‘bit a policeman and struck the sergt.-major,’ and of another, supposed to have a dislocated shoulder, who arrived at 10 P.M. ‘As it was a Sunday,’ she wrote, ‘some of the staff were off duty, and there were only the sergt.-major and a dwarf, and a man with a wasted arm to deal with him.’ For in 1917 the physique of the R.A.M.C. was very poor.
There were men who became habitués of the Johnny Walker Ward, for they knew enough to simulate fits when in the hands of the police, and these symptoms would insure that they were taken to the nearest hospital. One of these, who was well known to the doctors, was quieting down after the departure of the police, and the doctor sent for lemonade for him. He took a long pull at the mug, and then looked up at her, and with a regretful sigh said:
‘Och! Dochter, jist think ef it was beer!’
Many half-intoxicated men had to be admitted to the wards for slight or serious injuries; for they jumped from windows or fell down areas in their attempts to evade the police; and the nurses and orderlies became more or less accustomed to looking after them. A voluntary worker at a railway station, thinking that a man in this state was really ill, brought him to the hospital, where he was detained for the night. Not being very busy, the voluntary worker called next morning, full of kind intentions, and was able to conduct the man to the railway station. He wrote afterwards, complaining that the gate officer ‘was not by any means sympathetic’ about the poor fellow; which in the circumstances may have been natural, for his case was not exceptional.
When the women orderlies were demobilised in 1919, the male detachment was increased. The men who were sent to the hospital were mostly infantrymen, who for some disability had been transferred to the R.A.M.C. They had had no training, and as a rule they had little liking for ward work, and when put on night duty, they firmly believed that they were entitled to a certain number of hours sleep at night, and to the indignation of the Sisters, were found rolled in rugs on empty beds. It was a rude change, after being accustomed to the ways of the intelligent, gentle young women, to go to a ward at night and ask if a case, newly operated upon, was comfortable, and to be told by a stableman in khaki, ‘T’ y’ung chaap in t’ carner be ’eavin’ a bit.’ From which it was inferred that the patient was somewhat sick.
The mysteries of hospital life and Sisters’ orders, were new to them. One of them, being instructed to shave the leg of a patient going up for operation, was greatly puzzled. ‘Shave him very close,’ said the Sister. ‘You must not leave a single hair anywhere.’ The orderly’s knowledge of asepsis was meagre. He had never heard that legs or arms required shaving; but wishing to carry out his instructions, he attacked the man’s face with energy: strictly obedient, he insisted upon removing his moustache; and so clean did he make his shave that the patient was found sitting up wiping blood from his chin with cotton-wool; but his leg remained unprepared.
There is always some one behind the scenes who plays an important part in making the wheels go smoothly, some one who works hard and gets no kudos; and this was so at Endell Street also. There was a band of some twenty-eight or thirty women, referred to on the pay-sheet as ‘cleaners’ and by most people as ‘char-ladies,’ who cleaned and scrubbed and swept and washed-up, day in and day out, year after year. It is impossible to estimate the value of faithful, continuous service of this sort. The cessation of it is demoralising in an institution, for every one’s comfort depends upon it. So the char-ladies never failed to come. Labouring patiently, they learnt to love the hospital and to regard it as their own. And on the anniversary of their third year of continuous service, the hospital fêted them. A small presentation was made to each one; they were appraised by the C.O. in a speech which ‘went right through you and was felt in yer very bones,’ and cheered by the assembled patients.
Working well together, the staff could also play together; and sometimes a dance would be given, into which they threw themselves with delight. Every one came to it—the char-ladies too; and for once in their lives, these hard-worked, toil-worn women flung care and husband and family aside, and gave themselves up to pleasure. Some yielded to the novelty of wearing men’s clothes and appeared in khaki or blue, as jockeys or as workmen, dancing all night, enjoying the supper and the speeches, and looking back on it afterwards as ‘a little glimpse of ’Eaving.’