One medical case, taught cunning by circumstances, discovered when he was being moved from one hospital to another that a special sort of headache he suffered from could be relieved by a large, impressive bandage. With this head adornment he successfully deceived us at —— Hospital. A rumour went around that he was a trepanned case, and as Rumour stalked from bed to bed the size of the silver plate in his skull grew and grew until it was almost the size of a dinner plate. His shameful secret was at length discovered; he was only a fever or a heart or something, and, whilst we were all sorry for him, he no longer disputed favour with our ward pet—a delightfully cheerful pip-squeak whose body was so be-stitched that we felt sure they had a sewing machine in the operating room for him.
It is etiquette in a military hospital to be very much interested in one's neighbour's wounds and to affect to hold lightly one's own. It is very bad form to hint that your lot is more severe than his lot.
"Oh, I am all right, thanks," (you say in answer to his first advances); "except for a bit of my liver and a few yards of lung blown away, I'm as fit as can be. But that looks an awful leg of yours."
"Not at all, not at all. It is almost certain now to stay on. But it must be horribly interesting to have a body wound."
And so the ghoulish chat goes on.
Quite half of G.H.Q. had hospital reminiscences to exchange; indeed a spell in hospital with a bad wound was often the clinching argument leading to "red tabs" if an officer were qualified for the distinction; and Medical Boards in England were quite willing to certify a man as fit for France if he was marked for a Staff Appointment even though his category was "light duty."
"Trench Feet" gave the Medical Services more trouble than any other single disease, and almost as much trouble as the shells of the enemy. In the winter of 1915 a pilgrim to Flanders (supposing him to have a military permit) might have observed in the rest camps behind the British lines companies of men with bare feet, and officers bending down anointing them. And he might have perhaps concluded that this was some religious ritual of humiliation, such as the theatrical washing of beggars' feet by the late Austrian Emperor once a year. But such a conclusion would have been wrong. The proceeding was religious certainly, in the highest sense, but in no way theatrical. It was "Trench Feet" treatment.
The disease known as "Trench Feet" was one of the most serious developments which the Army on the Western Front had to face when the Germans, beaten in the field, "dug in," and Trench War began. The struggle with the disease was a long and strenuous one, taxing to the utmost the resources of the British Army Medical Service.
The causes of the disease were not plain at the outset, and inquiry proved them to be various. Everybody knows that it is uncomfortable and, to a certain extent, unhealthy to stand for too long at a time. (The social legislation that shop employees must be allowed seats is an indication of this). The soldier in the trenches must often stand for long periods. That makes him to some extent liable to foot trouble. Again, tight boots and tight bandages round the legs are bad for the blood circulation, and can make foot trouble without any other cause. The soldier used to be rather careless as to whether his boots were of a proper fit, and he was apt to bind his puttees too tightly.